Joy of Life - V1C14
Prologue: Nice Guys Finish Last
1- A Child of the Tanmai
2- The Truman Show
3- The Legacy Book
4- Studies and Ghost Stories
5- The Noctural Visitor
6- Master Wu Zhu
7- Master Fei Jie
8- One Year Later...
9- Grandmasters and Divine Temple
10- Overpowering Bàdào Zhenqi
11- The Sea Salt Merchant
12- Farewell for now, Master Fei Jie
13- Mail Order and Newspapers
14- It Hurts Like Hell!
15- Housekeeper Zhou
16- Ay-ya-ya-yaaa
17- The Three Goals
18- The Attempted Poisoning
19- The Assassin
20- Clean Up After Yourself!
Chapter 14
It hurts like hell, dammit!
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 that night five years ago.
After Old Fei departed, young Fan Xian felt lonely and secretly slipped out through a doghole to visit the mysterious store, which was frequently closed. Knowing the way well, Fan Xian arrived at the back door, took the key from the thick bushes beneath the stone steps, and quietly entered.
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; this was something he had gotten used to early on. Understandably, such a scene was quite absurd: a nine-year-old boy indulging in alcohol like a free-spirited wanderer. 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 genuinely strong? How do we determine their levels?"
“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 radishes into thin strands. His hand moved with slow but steady motions. The knife descended swiftly and was pulled back immediately when the blade touched the chopping board. His precision was impressive. The radish strands were uniformly thick, almost like they had been cut by machine tools. They lay flat on the chopping board, looking 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 felt his life was genuinely meaningful. Unexpectedly, two eccentric teachers, unbothered by his remarkable precocity, entered his life. The skills they taught him—methods for poison and murder—were quite extraordinary.
Late in the night, a slight 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 chopping radishes, rhythmically beating on the chopping block.
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.
His right wrist remained swollen and painful. The sound of chopping continued to echo through the store, and he was aware that Wu Zhu’s knife skills far surpassed 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 guards 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.
However, Fan Xian did not complain and accepted all his assigned tasks. At first glance, it appeared he was merely obeying orders, but his mature mind understood that this was ultimately for his own benefit.
Over the years, the intense Zhenqi within him had grown even fiercer. He managed to contain it within the Dantian and Xueshan points in his lower body and spine. However, his still-developing body couldn’t fully control it, causing it to overflow and disrupt the flow along his meridians. He often observed it spilling out, which typically resulted in damage to the nearby furniture.
If this kept up, the speed of his Zhenqi flow could eventually outpace the growth of his meridians, leading to an explosion and death.
He still was unsure whether Wu Zhu knew any techniques to manage such a strong Zhenqi flow. For now, he focused on body training, which significantly boosted his physical strength. While chopping radishes, he concentrated deeply, and over time, he sensed his control over Zhenqi growing more steady.
When it came to death, no one in the world had experienced what Fan Xian had; no one feared death or valued life as much as he did. Therefore, he endured all of Wu Zhu’s training in silence, knowing it would help him manage the power’s side effects 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, dammit!
Everything began that night five years ago.
After Old Fei departed, young Fan Xian felt lonely and secretly slipped out through a doghole to visit the mysterious store, which was frequently closed. Knowing the way well, Fan Xian arrived at the back door, took the key from the thick bushes beneath the stone steps, and quietly entered.
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; this was something he had gotten used to early on. Understandably, such a scene was quite absurd: a nine-year-old boy indulging in alcohol like a free-spirited wanderer. 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 genuinely strong? How do we determine their levels?"
“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 radishes into thin strands. His hand moved with slow but steady motions. The knife descended swiftly and was pulled back immediately when the blade touched the chopping board. His precision was impressive. The radish strands were uniformly thick, almost like they had been cut by machine tools. They lay flat on the chopping board, looking 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 felt his life was genuinely meaningful. Unexpectedly, two eccentric teachers, unbothered by his remarkable precocity, entered his life. The skills they taught him—methods for poison and murder—were quite extraordinary.
Late in the night, a slight 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 chopping radishes, rhythmically beating on the chopping block.
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.
His right wrist remained swollen and painful. The sound of chopping continued to echo through the store, and he was aware that Wu Zhu’s knife skills far surpassed 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 guards 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.
However, Fan Xian did not complain and accepted all his assigned tasks. At first glance, it appeared he was merely obeying orders, but his mature mind understood that this was ultimately for his own benefit.
Over the years, the intense Zhenqi within him had grown even fiercer. He managed to contain it within the Dantian and Xueshan points in his lower body and spine. However, his still-developing body couldn’t fully control it, causing it to overflow and disrupt the flow along his meridians. He often observed it spilling out, which typically resulted in damage to the nearby furniture.
If this kept up, the speed of his Zhenqi flow could eventually outpace the growth of his meridians, leading to an explosion and death.
He still was unsure whether Wu Zhu knew any techniques to manage such a strong Zhenqi flow. For now, he focused on body training, which significantly boosted his physical strength. While chopping radishes, he concentrated deeply, and over time, he sensed his control over Zhenqi growing more steady.
When it came to death, no one in the world had experienced what Fan Xian had; no one feared death or valued life as much as he did. Therefore, he endured all of Wu Zhu’s training in silence, knowing it would help him manage the power’s side effects 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, dammit!
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