Jueul Village
Tang Mujin had fallen completely into circulating qi practice.
Ever since succeeding in the Small Heavenly Cycle with the Eccentric's help, and beginning to accumulate inner strength, his progress had only accelerated.
Even after walking all day until his body was weary, he would cut down on sleep to cultivate. He moved his meager inner qi this way and that—like a child playing with his very first toy.
Since the Eccentric, Yi Chung, hadn't taught him even the rudiments of sword techniques or martial forms, Mujin's growing inner strength had no practical combat use. At most, he felt his body a little lighter.
Yet Mujin was captivated by the training—because every day brought unmistakable progress.
"My inner qi has grown just a little more than yesterday."
Adding something piece by piece was, in itself, a joy.
The Eccentric never rushed to teach him more. He only watched Mujin's practice in silence, answering when asked.
This was the time to lay foundations—not to snatch at skills greedily.
"Old man, you said I had talent, didn't you?"
The Eccentric had accepted that title of old man without complaint. He had made clear it was just a temporary label, until something more fitting arose—but at this point, it didn't seem like any other name would stick.
"Talent? Not bad. Most have to repeat True Breath Guidance three days before they can properly sense qi, and ten days before finishing their first Small Heavenly Cycle."
Mujin had sensed qi on the first day, and completed a Small Heavenly Cycle on the second. What took others ten days, he had done in two.
And yet the Eccentric's judgment was only: "Not bad."
"Why so lukewarm? That's not 'not bad,' that's incredible!"
"In terms of sensitivity, yes. But your talent is skewed."
"Skewed?"
"You're excellent at sensing and moving qi. But your rate of accumulation isn't particularly fast. About average, at best."
"So you're saying I can't become a master?"
"Not necessarily. My own reserves aren't vast. But you must avoid clashing directly, strength against strength."
"What happens if I do?"
"You'll find out. Bring me a decent branch."
Mujin snapped off a branch nearby, stripped the twigs, and shaved it smooth with his small knife. Soon it resembled a makeshift cudgel.
He handed it to the Eccentric, who in turn drew the sword from his own waist and passed it to Mujin.
"Swing at me."
Mujin looked doubtful.
He knew the old man was skilled, but not how much. The Eccentric's appearance was so ordinary it was hard to tell.
"Are you sure?"
"If you so much as cut my hem, I'll carry you on my back all the way out of Sichuan."
Of course, Mujin didn't truly believe he could win.
But the Eccentric's smug expression was provoking.
Mujin gripped the sword with both hands. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could nick the old man's clothes.
"Here I come."
He raised the blade high and brought it down with all his strength, angling it slightly to improve his chances.
The Eccentric, a mischievous grin on his face, lifted the branch squarely to block.
But a branch couldn't possibly withstand steel. Mujin pressed harder, certain he would cleave through.
Yet the blade didn't leave so much as a scratch. It was as if steel had met steel.
"Huh?"
"Clench your teeth."
With that warning, an explosive force surged through the sword and branch alike.
Memories rushed into Mujin's mind—of that summer years ago when torrential rain burst the banks of the Min River beside Chengdu, sweeping away countless homes.
The sensation pouring from the Eccentric's weapon was the same.
The difference was this: back then, he had watched the flood from a hillside. Now, he stood directly in its path.
The Eccentric's vast inner strength surged down the branch, through the sword, into Mujin's arms and shoulders.
Desperately, Mujin tried to muster his threadlike qi to resist—but it was hopeless.
His head spun, his insides roiled, and finally he vomited up the day's meal.
"Uuurrgh!"
The Eccentric howled with laughter.
"Now you see why the amount of inner qi matters?"
Mujin kept retching, eyes wet, and gasped:
"This is ridiculous! Doesn't that mean the one with the most inner strength always wins?"
The sheer gap in power he'd just experienced was overwhelming. It seemed quantity of qi truly ruled the martial world.
And the Eccentric had already told him his accumulation speed was only average.
Mujin felt despair before he had even begun to learn real techniques.
Even if he worked hard now, if others had started younger and gathered qi faster, what chance did he have?
The Eccentric scoffed and twirled the branch.
"If martial arts were that simple, anyone gulping enough elixirs would be the world's number one. Come, I won't use qi this time. Strike again."
"Yes, sir!"
Mujin swung faster, stronger, without hesitation—having felt their gulf in power firsthand.
The Eccentric blocked, but not head-on this time. With a subtle tilt, he let the blade glance off.
Mujin's sword slid away on contact, its force diverted.
He tried to push qi into the blade, but the touch had already ended. Before he could recover, the branch tapped his glabella, his throat, and his chest in quick succession—so fast it felt simultaneous.
"I could have killed you three times. Understand?"
The Eccentric wore a smug grin. Mujin just stared, stunned.
"…How did you do that?"
"When one with little inner strength fights one with much, there are two rules: don't meet head-on, and if you must, shorten the contact to an instant. Having more qi is an advantage, but qi isn't everything."
The Eccentric tossed the branch aside and sat on a stump.
"Your qi accumulation may be slow, and you're no special constitution that summons torrents of energy. But you have strengths. Your sense is keen. Your control—fast, precise. And you instinctively know how qi should be used. When I poured my energy through the blade, you tried to push yours in to resist, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"To react like that, without thought, is something only a second-rate fighter or better could do. You should be proud."
"Wait—you mean I'm already second-rate?"
The Eccentric's face twisted, as if to say: What nonsense are you spouting?
"Speak sense. What good is refined qi control? Your swordsmanship is beneath third-rate. The amount of qi you've gathered is beneath third-rate. Your tactical sense—also beneath third-rate."
"Ughh…"
Tang Mujin pulled a bitter face, and the Eccentric clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"Don't be too disappointed. That's simply where your ability stands now. You'll improve with time. It hasn't even been ten days since you took your first step. To have come this far already is remarkable."
"So you mean…I'm a genius?"
"This brat—I can't even praise you properly…"
Their banter ended in a short string of curses. Both of them chuckled and went about preparing their meal.
It was a simple fare: a bit of dried meat, roasted grain flour, and a few berries picked along the road.
As they were finishing, the Eccentric suddenly stopped chewing and turned his gaze into the trees. He seemed to have sensed something unusual.
Having seen this happen a few times before, Mujin calmly asked,
"A wild beast? A wolf? Stray dogs?"
"No. Two legs. A person."
"Dangerous?"
"They're not headed exactly this way, and their pace is slow. Doesn't seem threatening."
Soon a lone man appeared. He looked to be around Mujin's age.
His face was unremarkable, his frame slight. He stood half a head shorter than Mujin, and his clothes were so worn they were patched and frayed all over.
The only thing in decent condition was the straw sandals on his feet, meticulously woven from bundles of straw.
At his waist dangled a length of rope, knotted three times.
The Eccentric muttered,
"Three-Knot?"
"What's that?" Mujin asked.
"See that rope? It marks a rank in the Beggar's Sect. Three knots—that's a Three-Knot."
"Beggar's Sect?"
"Right."
The Beggar's Sect was a martial clan formed from the ranks of beggars.
Since beggars existed across the Central Plains, there were of course Beggar's Sect members in Chengdu as well. But Mujin had rarely encountered them—his home stood right beside the Chengdu branch of the Qingcheng Sect, and Beggar's Sect folk avoided wandering freely through another faction's territory.
Elsewhere, however, townspeople suffered constant nuisance from them.
A Beggar's Sect man would come up brazenly the moment eyes met, begging without shame.
Ordinary beggars could be driven off, but the trouble was that some of these beggars had learned martial arts.
People often ended up all but robbed—forced to hand over food or coins.
"Is Three-Knot high rank?" Mujin asked.
"There are exceptions, but usually it means branch leader level."
"Branch leader!"
The only branch leader Mujin knew was Qingcheng's Huang Lingzi, a master among masters.
But unlike Huang Lingzi, who was a good ten years older than the Eccentric, this beggar seemed no older than Mujin himself.
"Are you saying that beggar is a supreme master?"
"No. A Beggar's Sect branch leader doesn't have the same martial stature as one from a great sect. Still, a martial man is a martial man. And to hold the title of Three-Knot at his age—that's certainly high status."
Mujin's view of the beggar shifted.
A moment ago he'd been nothing but a ragged vagabond. Now, Mujin saw him as a genuine martial artist—and a gifted one at that.
"Hiding his true ability…he feels unusual."
The beggar shuffled closer. Mujin watched every move with tense eyes, while the Eccentric leaned back, regarding him with casual interest.
When the distance closed to about three zhang, the Eccentric called out:
"Hey there, Beggar Sect brother. What brings you this far? There's no village nearby. Surely you didn't come seeking alms?"
The beggar stopped and bowed.
"I am Hong Jusan, branch leader of Jueul Village's Beggar's Sect."
"Jueul Village? That's at least two hours from here."
At the Eccentric's remark, Hong Jusan's expression twisted.
"Two hours? I'm ashamed to say it took me a full day and a half to come this far."
"How in the world did you manage that?"
Hong Jusan lowered his head, ears flushing red with embarrassment.
"I've never once left Jueul Village in all my life. I lost my way in the forest. It's such a remote place, there isn't even a proper road to other villages…"
"I see. But if you've never left, what brings you here now?"
"I must fetch a physician. But I don't know where the nearest town is. If you could at least point me toward a place with a doctor, I'd be grateful."
With that, Hong Jusan dropped to his knees and bowed low.
For a martial man—or even an ordinary person—to kneel to strangers was rare. He must have been desperate.
The Eccentric tapped his shoulder.
"Stand up. We'll go with you."
"Eh? But there's only Jueul Village in that direction. I need a physician from another town."
The Eccentric smirked and pointed at Mujin.
"This boy and I—we're both physicians. No need to worry. Lead the way."
Hong Jusan blinked at Mujin, then broke into a bright smile, as though all his burdens had lifted at once.