Chapter Two A Universe Within: The Birth of Inner Vitality

After dinner, Fang Zheng became busy again. The little girl, like a shadow, continued to follow him around, now less timid and growing bolder. Before, she would only show her childish nature when Madam Zhao was present, chattering non-stop. In the morning, when Fang Zheng was chopping firewood, she quietly helped him, stealing a few curious glances whenever he wasn't looking, but never uttered a word. Now she chatted with Fang Zheng about trivial matters while handing him tools, creating a warm and homely atmosphere.

Fang Zheng prepared to repair the roof. Madam Zhao’s dilapidated courtyard consisted of only three thatched huts. One, whose original purpose was unknown, now housed Fang Zheng. The other two were connected: the larger inhabited by the grandmother and granddaughter, the smaller serving as a kitchen. Both had long fallen into disrepair and leaked during rainstorms. Besides these, there was only a tiny henhouse, which once held their sole old hen—Madam Zhao had cooked it for Fang Zheng. The sight of the empty henhouse now made him feel a pang of guilt.

As he worked, Fang Zheng listened to the little girl, who mostly did the talking. Gradually, he learned much about the pair’s circumstances. They were not originally from here, but had arrived as refugees. Madam Zhao hadn’t hidden from her granddaughter the fact that her parents had died during their flight. Details were unclear, but the girl recounted how villagers bullied her and her grandmother, especially a certain man named Shen Wan. In her telling, he was a local ruffian, who had repeatedly insulted and even beaten Madam Zhao, calling the girl a “bastard.”

Fang Zheng quietly memorized the name, assuring the girl that he would teach Shen Wan a lesson someday. The promise delighted her, making her bounce with joy.

By dusk, Fang Zheng had patched up all three huts’ leaks, earning the little girl’s greatest admiration, which satisfied his vanity immensely.

While repairing, Fang Zheng pondered his next steps. He certainly wanted to pursue his aspirations, but after recent events, he wouldn’t rush blindly into the unknown. This world differed greatly from Earth. With cultivators possessing mystical powers, surely there were monsters and demons beyond his comprehension. Even disregarding those, the wild beasts and daunting distances were more than he could handle for now. Moreover, he had a pressing personal matter to resolve.

Ever since that night when, in jest, he’d dripped his blood onto those three strange pages, inadvertently unlocking their secret, a method had appeared on them. Fang Zheng deduced it was a cultivation technique, as the thousand-plus words referenced meridians and the dantian. The content was difficult for him—an utter novice ignorant of acupoints. Contrary to the novels he’d read on Earth, where protagonists mastered techniques overnight and became invincible, he found it all quite mysterious. The accompanying illustrations, however, were vivid and seemed explanatory. Unable to resist his curiosity, he imitated the first of nine depicted poses; the others were too difficult, leaving him uncomfortable and exhausted when attempted.

That night, he tried the first pose, but felt little change. He was exhausted and soon fell asleep. The next morning, he awoke unusually refreshed, though he attributed it to a good night’s rest. Days later, recalling this experiment, he practiced for an hour before bed and felt the same invigorating effect the next day. Realizing it wasn’t coincidence, he began to take it seriously, casting aside earlier worries about unintended consequences. For over a month, he practiced an hour each night while traveling. Aside from improved energy, he noticed no other effects—until Madam Zhao rescued him after his recent collapse.

Upon regaining consciousness, Fang Zheng sensed something new in his lower abdomen, a faint warmth there just minutes ago. This made him uneasy, uncertain if it was a health issue or a result of his practice. He needed to determine the cause—if illness, a physician could prescribe herbs, and he’d always been healthy. If it was due to the practice, he had to discover whether this change was good or bad. His gut told him it was beneficial—after all, in movies and novels, the protagonist felt similar sensations after taking miraculous pills or practicing immortal arts, calling it “energy rushing to the dantian.” Still, he couldn’t rely solely on conjecture for matters concerning his body. He resolved to consult a physician.

After tidying up, Fang Zheng informed Madam Zhao and set out for the village with the little girl. Madam Zhao entrusted her granddaughter to him out of kindness and simplicity, not imagining any harm. The feudal society here, like elsewhere, favored boys—not that Madam Zhao loved the girl any less; she was her treasure. Based on Fang Zheng’s understanding from his time in Qingniu Village, human trafficking here targeted boys, given the low productivity and scarce resources—no trafficker would bother abducting a girl. Even if sold as a servant or to a brothel, she wouldn’t fetch much, making it not worth the risk.

After a day together, the little girl had completely let down her guard around Fang Zheng, being just a child of ten or so. Now she chattered away about her own anecdotes as Fang Zheng listened with a smile.

Before leaving, Fang Zheng had asked Madam Zhao about the village. Though Shen Family Village was small, it was well-equipped. It served as the economic center for a hundred li around, boasting a marketplace with two pharmacies.

According to Madam Zhao, the physician at the street’s entrance, Old Doctor Shen, was highly skilled and kind; she often sold her gathered herbs to him. The little girl knew the place well, another reason Madam Zhao was willing to let her accompany Fang Zheng.

Fang Zheng and the little girl soon arrived at the street entrance. The sky was darkening and few people remained. They went straight to the pharmacy. As they reached the door, the little girl let go of Fang Zheng’s hand and ran inside, calling, “Grandpa Shen! Grandpa Shen! Fang brother and I have come to see the doctor!” Fang Zheng followed. The pharmacy was small, about twenty square meters, but furnished with antique elegance. There were no other patients, just a white-haired old man busy at the medicine rack. Hearing the girl’s voice, he put down his herbs and turned, smiling, “Ah, Yaya! Is your grandmother well?” Clearly, he was fond of her.

“Grandpa Shen, Grandma is very well. It’s Fang brother who wants to see the doctor,” she said, grabbing Fang Zheng’s hand and gesturing toward the elder. The old man looked Fang Zheng over, “You must be young Fang. I heard the Zhao family rescued a stranger—must be you. Where are you feeling unwell?”

His tone was somewhat reserved, but Fang Zheng didn’t mind. “Just a bit of heat and fullness in my abdomen, nothing else. I’d appreciate it if you could take a look,” Fang Zheng said, bowing slightly. The elder, seeing Fang Zheng’s respectful manners and decent appearance, relaxed a bit. He stepped out from the medicine rack, indicating Fang Zheng should sit at the consultation table by the door. He sat across, took Fang Zheng’s wrist, and closed his eyes to feel the pulse. The little girl stood quietly beside Fang Zheng, clutching his hand, seemingly more nervous than he was. When the elder finally opened his eyes, she asked eagerly, “Grandpa Shen, how is Fang brother’s health?” “Ha ha, what’s got you so worried? Your Fang brother is in excellent health!” Fang Zheng breathed a sigh of relief, habitually patting the girl’s head. “Thank you, sir. May I ask what causes this abdominal heat and fullness?” The elder raised his eyes and scrutinized Fang Zheng. “You look like a scholar, not a rough fellow from the martial world. Where did you learn such a superior internal method? Judging by your pulse, your internal breath is long and steady—you’ve clearly entered the threshold. Didn’t your elders teach you these basic symptoms?”

“So it’s from practicing?” Fang Zheng paused, then replied, “Your insight is remarkable. I have no master—just followed an ancient text and practiced on my own.” He was in high spirits, giving a bit of flattery and marveling at the physician’s skill.

“When I was young, I traveled far and wide, treating many heroes from the martial world. Most were famous only in name, as true internal methods are not easily obtained or practiced. Your pulse is long and your qi and blood are abundant. The heat in your abdomen is a sign of overflowing internal energy—you must be practicing a genuine internal method. In a short while, you’ll likely open your qi sea. You are truly fortunate.”

Fang Zheng was completely reassured. The elder seemed lost in memories and remained silent for a while, making the atmosphere quiet. Then the little girl exclaimed excitedly, “Grandpa Shen, does that mean Fang brother is a martial arts master? No wonder he can fix houses, too!” Her bright eyes were filled with admiration. Fang Zheng sweated—what did martial arts mastery have to do with house repairs?

“Master? The path of cultivation is fraught with difficulties. Before crossing the Dragon Gate, one remains mortal. How many in this world truly deserve the title ‘master’? Even if such people exist, they are as elusive as dragons, rarely seen.”

Fang Zheng sensed the elder’s mood had shifted, likely stirred by memories. Though Fang Zheng had many questions—like what the Dragon Gate and qi sea actually were—the elder clearly knew much but today wasn’t the time to ask. Luckily, with the pharmacy nearby, he’d have plenty of chances to visit in the future.

With that thought, Fang Zheng stood, left a piece of broken silver, and bid farewell. The elder merely waved, sinking back into his world.

Another man with a story, Fang Zheng mused, leading the little girl out into the twilight...