Chapter Twenty: The Arrival

After a while, under the lead of Zhou Xing, a fierce tiger among men, the convoy’s formation was thoroughly shattered. Though aided by archers, the merchant guards, skilled as they were, lacked true martial artists; bereft of the wagons’ protection, they stood no chance against the bloodthirsty bandits. After several charges, the merchants were divided into scattered groups, left only with the desperate hope of survival.

“A pity—no martial artists to escort them!” Hu San sighed deeply. Today’s battle had brought him many gains; with a theoretical foundation now in place, witnessing Zhou Xing’s blade techniques in action resolved countless doubts lingering in his mind. Yet, because their opponents were so weak, Zhou Xing had not displayed the full extent of his abilities. Many subtleties of the horizontal blade remained unseen, leaving Hu San somewhat disappointed. Even so, his gains were enough to advance him greatly.

Soon, the surrounded members of the merchant caravan fell one after another beneath the bandits’ blades, their cries echoing briefly as all resistance was slaughtered. The bandits emerged victorious, though not without cost. Thanks to Zhou Xing’s ferocity, only a dozen bandits were lost breaking through the defenses; otherwise, with the enemy’s archers, their casualties would have doubled.

Thus, though wounded, their losses were not crippling, and the bandits’ spirits soared. They shouted and prepared to return to their mountain stronghold in celebration. Bandits took charge of the aftermath; at Zhou Xing’s signal, several gathered the loot, transporting it with him to the stronghold, while the wounded received prompt treatment.

Even those mortally wounded were carried back, and no further slaughter of their own occurred at the gates due to excessive injuries. The field was swiftly cleared—wounded and booty taken away—Zhou Xing and his main force departed, leaving a handful behind to gather the fallen and bury the enemy dead.

The newcomers, having witnessed the carnage as reserve troops, were naturally put to work by the veterans: erasing signs of battle, burning enemy remains, collecting their own scattered bodies for families to claim. As a new recruit, Hu San could not escape such labor.

By the time they finished, the mountain was aglow with lanterns. The newcomers, in small groups, made their way to the rear hills, nervous yet exhilarated. Today’s fight had shocked them deeply, showing the stark difference between real combat and training.

For Hu San, such feelings were faint. It was Zhou Xing’s performance that benefited him most. Seizing the opportunity while his memory was fresh, Hu San told his companions to go ahead, then slipped into a grove halfway up the mountain, intent on practicing his horizontal blade technique beneath the moonlight.

With the strength of three men, the sharpness of fish-step and bird-strike, and his rough mastery of the horizontal blade, Hu San feared no one but true martial artists. He could act freely within the stronghold.

Hu San’s accumulated authority made his orders unquestioned; soon, his companions vanished from sight. Alone, he found a broad clearing amid the peach trees, recalling his usual route, and began to practice with earnestness.

The moonlight cast his blade’s brilliance like a silvery ribbon through the darkness, drawing sharp traces in the night. Hu San’s body clung to the blade’s flash as if fused to it, moving with uncanny precision. In the dimness, he became a blur, hidden beneath the blade’s glow, evoking a faint sense of transcendence.

After some time, having fully digested what he’d observed that day, his blade moved with a life of its own, the glow forming a faint disk, the usual whistling of the blade through air gradually fading to silence. Amid the brightness, only a single white flash remained, flickering like a legendary sword immortal’s treasure or a mountain spirit’s ghost, as if it might sprout wings and soar away.

“Huff, huff, huff!” The white glow vanished, revealing a long blade in Hu San’s hand. He leaned on it, one hand pressed to his abdomen, his body bent like a shrimp, gasping for breath. Clearly, the frenzy of battle and hours of practice had pushed his physical limits.

“The blade strikes like lightning, its form ghostly—this horizontal blade is indeed remarkable.” After a brief rest, a smile of joy spread across Hu San’s face; it seemed he had finally grasped the essence of the technique, his efforts well rewarded.

“If I meet Zhou Xing now, even without relying on strength, the horizontal blade alone would let me match him. The technique is exquisite but shallow and has reached its limit.” With the strength of three men, Hu San sensed the blade’s limitations. For ordinary bandits like Zhou Xing, its moves were formidable, but for Hu San, its development had reached the end.

His current power was enough to display the blade’s peak, revealing its boundaries. From this point, even direct instruction from Zhou Xing would not advance him further. Such was the might of a body with the strength of three men.

Hu San was not a martial arts prodigy—perhaps even a genius might not grasp so much so quickly—but thanks to his extraordinary physique, a short period of imitation had allowed him to master a technique that would take ordinary people years or decades. It was a testament to the profound impact of innate differences.

“With horizontal blade as my martial skill, so long as I don’t face a true martial artist, I can protect myself among the bandits. The training camp is settled; next, my focus must shift to internal skill manuals.”

With a twig in his mouth, Hu San reclined on a thick peach tree, recovering from fatigue and pondering his future plans.

One leg draped over a broad branch, Hu San reached into his breast and drew out a small, dark sword. By moonlight, he examined it; a layer of radiance flowed over its ancient surface, making it look even more extraordinary.

Yet this sword troubled him deeply—it had not come to him by chance. Should someone come seeking it, he would be hard-pressed to resist.

“For now, I must become a martial artist. I have half an internal skill manual; since the bandit holding the other half remains hidden, I’ll have to make do with what I have.”

“Once I return, I’ll seek out the Zhou youth who can read. With my current status, he shouldn’t refuse.”

Playing with the small sword, thoughts spun in Hu San’s mind. He knew the dangers of an incomplete manual but had no other choice. The bandit with the other half was well hidden, and with time passing, the immortal sect that owned the sword was likely to come searching soon. If his strength did not improve, he might die without knowing how.

Better to take a risk now.

Since being taken from his village, three or four months had passed, and in that time, Hu San had changed most of all—his strength had grown by leaps and bounds.

Yet now, his growth had reached its limit. As for martial skills, the horizontal blade was the strongest technique ordinary bandits could master; anything beyond was the exclusive secret of martial artists.

Fish-step and bird-strike clearly had remarkable origins, but could not be improved quickly.

After gaining the strength of three men, even with full meals, Hu San’s bodily enhancement slowed. First, the rough camp rations could no longer meet his needs, and the warming energy they produced dwindled. Secondly, he’d reached the age’s limit; further progress was far harder than drawing on a blank canvas.

Thus, Hu San turned his focus to internal skills, seeking to strengthen himself further before enemies arrived.

This granted him the time and energy to devote himself to reading and writing, as well as preparing to cultivate inner power.

The night grew deep, the moon solemn, autumn winds cold. From the wilds came the brief calls of insects.

As Hu San idly prepared to return to the training camp, the nearby woods suddenly fell silent. Then, a hurried flapping stirred the forest.

By moonlight, Hu San saw a large dark shape dash out of the woods, angling away.

“A fat mountain pheasant—what a pity I didn’t notice it before.” He licked his lips in longing, sat up, stretched, and thought, “It’s late, best head back before the patrols see me, or I’ll have to explain myself tomorrow.”

Just as he was about to climb down, his ears twitched, brow furrowed, and he thought in alarm, “No, that sudden silence is typical of insects when a predator passes, but the pheasant’s panic is not so simple.”

Listening carefully, he found that the area of quiet was moving closer while farther woods revived with insect song.

“Someone’s coming!?”

The thought flashed through his mind, and a smile crept across his lips. “Whoever’s out here at this hour, I’ll see what secrets they hold—maybe there’s something to gain.”

With that, Hu San stayed put, climbing higher into the peach tree, concealing himself in the dense branches. Peering through the gaps, he fixed his gaze on the direction of the disturbance.

Soon, the peach grove rustled, branches parted, and a group emerged from the shadows.