Joy of Life - V1C13
Chapter 13
Radish Strands
When he wrote to RuoRuo, Fan Xian often shook his head and cringed. His arms hadn’t been healthy over the years; they were either swollen or in sharp pain. Sometimes, he couldn’t lift his right hand and had to write with his left. RuoRuo was amazed at how her Big Brother’s handwriting changed with each letter.
Everything began on that night five years ago.
After Old Fei left, young Fan Xian felt lonely and sneaked out through a doghole to visit the strange store, which was often closed. Familiar with the route, Fan Xian reached the back door, retrieved the key from the dense vegetation under the stone steps, and slipped inside.
It was completely dark inside the store, but Fan Xian's arrival lit a small oil lamp. Little Fan Xian sniffed the air and easily spotted the yellow wine Wu Zhu had prepared for him. Smiling sweetly, he picked up the bowl and took a sip.
Wu Zhu did not drink, and Fan Xian had never even seen him eat either; this was something he had gotten used to early on. Understandably, such a scene was quite absurd: a seven-year-old boy indulging in alcohol like a wandering free spirit. Anyone who saw this would definitely do a double-take.
Wu Zhu always allowed Fan Xian to drink without stopping him. He even prepared some appetizers for the young master.
Although yellow wine was not strong, drinking too much could still make someone a little tipsy. Slightly intoxicated, the adorable Fan Xian squinted as he watched the forever expressionless blind man, who seemed not to age, and asked, “Uncle, how come after all these years your appearance hasn’t changed? It’s like you don’t get old.”
Fan Xian continued, “It looks like you can obtain eternal youth after becoming strong enough. But Uncle, didn’t you say you never trained using Neigong?”
“Uncle, how many people in this world are truly strong? How are the levels established?”
“Nine levels in total? Why?” The drunk little thing didn’t realize he was contradicting himself.
“What level are you?”
“Don’t have one?”
“Then, what level is that idiot who does the Sigu Sword style in Dongyi?”
“Don’t have one either?”
“What about the one in the capital?”
“Still no level?”
Fan Xian was a chatterbox. Finally, he chuckled, “Could it be that I, too, will train to no level?”
Wu Zhu, who was blind, was slicing radish into thin strands. His hand moved slowly but steadily. The knife descended quickly, then was pulled back immediately as the blade touched the chopping board. The precision was remarkable. The strands of radish were evenly thick, almost as if shaped by industrial tools. They lay flat on the chopping board, appearing very delicate.
Wu Zhu raised his head and stared blankly for a moment. He moved closer to Fan Xian and placed the kitchen knife in the boy’s hands.
That night, Fan Xian gazed blankly at the radishes on the chopping board, gripping the vegetable knife. After spending time digging up and dismembering corpses, he was about to start his second course of study, which was highly useful but also extremely dangerous.
Sometimes, he found his life truly meaningful. Out of the blue, two bizarre teachers who didn’t seem to mind his thoroughly precocious nature entered his life. The skills that Fei Jie and Wu Zhu had taught him, methods for poison and murder, were quite unusual.
Late at night, a faint tapping could be heard from the back of the store.
“Business is slow today,” said Wu Zhu, leaning forward and speaking coldly.
Although he didn’t initially understand how chopping radishes would benefit his martial arts training, he still knew that Wu Zhu could go toe-to-toe with the Four Grandmasters. So, he started to focus on radish chopping, rhythmically beating on the chopping board.
Fan Xian wiped the sweat from his brow. As he looked at the mountainous pile of radishes he had chopped up, he smiled and moved his right wrist. He had found that, after years of chopping radishes, he had gained a speed comparable to Wu Zhu, and when it came to the fineness of the shredded radish, he was beginning to catch up. But his right wrist was still swollen and aching. The chopping sound still echoed through the store, and he knew that Wu Zhu’s knife control vastly outmatched his own.
Of course, this was not the only training he underwent with Wu Zhu. He spent many hours practicing traditional techniques like horse stance and mountain climbing. Wu Zhu’s demands on him were intense. He stayed so long in the horse stance that he almost couldn’t lift himself off the chamber pot. He chopped vegetables until his wrists ached and ran so far that getting up in the morning became difficult.
But the hardest part was that every three days, Wu Zhu would take him to a remote place outside Danzhou to ‘train’—though it was more accurate to say he beat the young boy senseless with all his unparalleled strength.
It was a bittersweet childhood filled with blood, pain, and tears. Wu Zhu explained that “this was how her Ladyship had trained her servants back in the day,” said Wu Zhu.
Fan Xian felt anxious about his training. It needed to be rigorous, strict, practical, and focused on extensive physical practice. In Fan Xian’s previous life, this approach was always his way of life.
But Fan Xian did not complain. Instead, he agreed to all the tasks assigned to him. On the surface, it seemed like he was only following orders. But his adult intellect told him this was all for his own good.
The powerful Zhenqi within him had grown even fiercer over the years. He could contain it within the Dantian and Xueshan points in his lower body and spine. However, in the rest of his still-developing body, he couldn’t prevent it from overflowing and blocking various meridians. He often noticed it spilling outward, and when that happened, the furniture nearby usually got damaged.
If this continued, one day, the speed of his Zhenqi flow would surpass the growth of his meridians, and he would explode and die.
He still didn’t know if Wu Zhu knew any methods to control such a powerful Zhenqi flow. He could only train his body, which greatly improved his physical capabilities. As he chopped radishes, he practiced his concentration, and over the years, he felt his control over his Zhenqi becoming more stable.
When it came to death, no one in the world had experienced what Fan Xian had; no one feared death or valued life quite as much as he did. Therefore, he endured all of Wu Zhu’s training in silence, knowing it would help him manage the side effects of the power within him.
Later, he realised the deeper meaning behind Wu Zhu’s actions. If Zhenqi was fire and the body was a stove, then training the muscles was like strengthening the stove, while developing the mind and spirit was akin to creating a larger hole in the furnace to better control the fire.
As he endured Wu Zhu’s blows during training, he reminded himself that a strong sword cannot be forged without striking the steel.
But it still hurt like hell.
|
|
|
 |