After seeing off Xiaoqing and changing the "soaking" in the Child-Mother River passage back to "drinking," Ding Songyan, who had nearly broken into a cold sweat, sat down and blew out the oil lamp. In the darkness, he carefully reviewed the evening’s conversation.

His main focus was examining which questions he had wanted to raise but ultimately "forgot" to mention.

The matter of a mysterious person being imprisoned in the Zhen household’s dungeon—I didn’t say it...

The Northern Sea Fish-Spine Scripture that Yan Changqing mentioned—I didn’t ask about it...

Whether there exists a cultivation art that can forcibly project one’s spirit into another person’s sea of consciousness, leaving behind a "seed" to influence their thoughts—I didn’t ask that either... From the fact that I’m not allowed to ask about it, does that mean such arts are rare and few in number, making it easy to identify Yan Changqing’s true identity? And once I know who he really is, if that information leaks out, many of his prepared contingencies would fail?

After consuming one use of the qi, the "seed’s" influence over my thoughts hasn’t noticeably weakened...

Checking against his own concerns, Ding Songyan went through his conversation with Xiaoqing and roughly identified what Yan Changqing did not want him to know or what should not be exposed.

What the enemy fears is precisely what I need to pursue and find ways around!

Ding Songyan let out a breath, tidied the chests, put away the brushes and ink, and lay back down on his bed. Though exhausted in both body and mind, his brain was too active to let him sleep for a long time.

......

Yang Shiduo woke from his dream, the image of yesterday’s blazing lightning still lingering in his mind—the wooden dummy shattered to fragments and the figure walking away with both hands clasped behind his back.

The scene had left an incredibly deep impression, enough to revisit him in his dreams.

He often daydreamed about what it would be like to obtain some supreme art, master it to perfection, and roam the jianghu unchallenged. But those fantasies had always been vague, lacking detail. Now, suddenly, the image in his mind was crystal clear.

It was exactly what Ding Songyan had looked like yesterday!

With this thought, Yang Shiduo rolled out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, then began his body-tempering routine in the cluttered little courtyard, fists cutting through air with the sound of wind.

He had completed aperture refinement over a year ago. His Human Realm cultivation had long since reached perfection. But lacking sufficient silver, he could not obtain the advanced cultivation art for "Iron Wound Fist" from his master. He could only waste his days.

A year ago, Yang Shiduo had been proud and confident. He had completed aperture refinement two months before turning twenty-two. While he could not compare to the gifted, he was on par with the more outstanding Brightnight Sect disciples. And that was remarkable, considering he had no family backing or sect, and he could barely afford his monthly tuition at the martial hall. He also practiced nothing more than the common "Iron Wound Fist."

At that time, Hall Master Liu had actually recognized his talent and effort, and promised that if Yang Shiduo could gather several key materials on his own, he would formally accept him as a disciple, help him with aperture forging, and pass on the refinement methods.

That gathering of materials had stretched on for over a year. Yang Shiduo had watched helplessly as several Brightnight Sect disciples who had been at roughly his level began their aperture forging. By now they had forged three or more, their strength practically leaping upward.

All he could do was maintain his body day after day, build his stamina, visualize and refine his apertures, and practice that not-particularly-complex Iron Wound Fist over and over—deconstructing it, reassembling it, and then deconstructing it again.

Thinking of how Ding Songyan had been an ordinary man just days ago and could now deliver that godlike palm strike, Yang Shiduo would only be lying to himself if he claimed he felt no envy or jealousy.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

After morning training, Yang Shiduo wiped himself down, reheated and ate yesterday’s leftover food, then headed out toward Stone Pool Martial Hall near Dangkang Temple.

His master, Liu Yuxuan, had already warned them yesterday. They were not to spread word of what Ding Songyan had said or the palm strike he had demonstrated. Anyone who did would be disciplined according to the house rules.

Arriving at the bustling market outside Dangkang Temple, Yang Shiduo unconsciously drifted toward where Ding Songyan usually told his stories.

The crowd was packed four or five layers deep. Those in the back could see nothing at all and had to rely purely on their ears.

Using his height and strength, Yang Shiduo pushed forward just slightly, and Ding Songyan’s figure appeared in his vision.

The storyteller would stand at times with various gestures, sit at others while fanning himself. He sometimes spoke in torrents of eloquence, sometimes striking his wooden clapper while telling the installment "The Handsome Gentleman Drinks Water and Conceives a Ghost Child; The Fair Queen Exorcises Evil and Stirs Her Heart" with spectacular flair and suggestive undertones.

But Yang Shiduo stood frozen. The storyteller Ding Songyan before him was utterly different from the extraordinary master Ding Songyan etched in his memory. They seemed like two completely separate people.

For a moment, he even doubted whether yesterday had been real.

It lasted only a few breaths before Yang Shiduo noticed Ding Songyan’s gaze turn toward him.

Their eyes met. The Ding Songyan in his field of vision smiled faintly, meaningfully.

Yang Shiduo shivered, and instinctively stepped back, retreating from the crowd.

He did not dare to lock eyes with Ding Songyan!

The eight-foot-tall, dark-skinned martial artist hurried away from Dangkang Temple and around to the entrance of Stone Pool Martial Hall.

Only then did he seem to recover his composure.

He’s clearly already had his extraordinary fortune and ascended to the heavens in a single step. Why is he still telling stories for entertainment?

If I were him, I would go seek glory and be enfeoffed with land spanning a hundred miles.

Amid the tumble of thoughts, Yang Shiduo stepped into the martial hall.

"Good morning, Senior Brother Yang."

"Senior Brother Yang, I keep getting this move wrong. Can you look at it for me later?"

"Senior Brother Yang, I want to spar with you."

...

Yang Shiduo nodded in acknowledgment to each.

For the past year, he had been teaching on his master’s behalf. The benefit was exemption from tuition, allowing him to save silver toward the key materials he needed.

For this, he was deeply grateful to his master. After all, this was a martial hall, not a sect.

Heading toward the training ground and passing the side courtyard, the thought of Ding Songyan suddenly made him restless and irritable. A violent energy surged within him.

Why not me?

How is this fair?

Yang Shiduo suppressed these feelings and felt ashamed of the dark thoughts that had surfaced so suddenly when he neared the training ground.

It seems Ding Songyan’s overnight ascension has shaken me more than I realized... he thought.

......

Having finished today’s storytelling, Ding Songyan waved goodbye to Xiaoqing and her maidservant and headed toward North Water Street, planning to grab something to eat along the way.

He had been looking forward to Xiaoqing bringing questions from her family elders or sect superiors today, following last night’s hints. But nothing of the sort had come.

Suppressing his disappointment, Ding Songyan turned into a street that was not particularly wide.

There was a lot of cheap food here.

As Ding Songyan walked and browsed, he suddenly noticed a commotion up ahead, some kind of altercation.

"Huh, Mother..." Ding Songyan’s gaze swept across the scene and spotted Liu Yuzao at the edge of the crowd, wearing a black veiled hat and a paired apron.

The minor chaos caused by the scuffle had sent a passerby bumping into Liu Yuzao, knocking the steamed bun from her hand to the ground.

Liu Yuzao bent down, picked up the bun, brushed it off, and continued raising it to her mouth beneath the veil.

"Mother!" Ding Songyan hurried over.

Hearing him, Liu Yuzao ate even faster. Though she took small bites, she swiftly stuffed the entire dirty bun into her mouth.

"If you get a stomachache from that, the physician’s fee will cost more than the bun," Ding Songyan said helplessly as he reached her.

He had been planning to invite his mother to eat with him.

During his time in this household, the person he talked to most was his sister Qingyan, followed by his brother Bull. Perhaps because they were peers, and he had not yet developed deep feelings, interacting with them was relatively easy and relaxed.

But compared to his father Ding Shengyi, his mother Liu Yuzao had always been quiet and reserved. Apart from the day Ding Songyan’s incident occurred and when it was resolved, she had shown little emotion. Even when disciplining Bull, she simply kept a cold face while her hands struck hard. Ding Songyan spoke with her even less.

"It’s fine," Liu Yuzao replied softly.

Ding Songyan glanced at the patrol squad arriving on the scene, then asked his mother curiously, "Mother, where are you headed?"

She wasn’t carrying her hairdressing tools, and she wasn’t in the state of someone returning from morning sutra-copying.

Liu Yuzao pointed toward the county office.

"The poorhouse."

"The poorhouse?" Ding Songyan was somewhat blank.

Understanding his condition, Liu Yuzao explained simply, "The government shelters elderly people there who have no family—widowers, widows, orphans, the childless—as well as the sick and disabled who have nowhere else to turn."

"You’re going to volunteer?" Ding Songyan roughly understood.

Liu Yuzao looked at him. Her cold voice carried a trace of feeling.

"After what happened to you that day, I made a silent vow when I went to copy sutras. At least one day every ten, I would do something good. Not to ask for great wealth or high status for you, for Qingyan, or... for the three of you. Only that you be free from calamity and harm."

Ding Songyan opened his mouth, his emotions complicated, unsure how to respond.

After seeing Liu Yuzao off, he ate a somewhat cheap meal: a large bowl of braised rice with multiple ingredients.

Past midday, Ding Songyan arrived at the Zhen estate at a leisurely pace. Following the established procedure, he was blindfolded, led through the winding passages, and finally sat down before Yan Changqing.

In the blink of an eye, the cool energy descended into his mind once more.

Using the hazy "seed," Ding Songyan split his consciousness in two. One half narrated earnestly. The other met Yan Changqing, in his Huayang Daoist cap and cyan robe, in the sea of consciousness.

The gaunt Yan Changqing looked at Ding Songyan and chuckled.

"Have you reached a decision, young friend?"

"I have." Ding Songyan cupped his hands. "I am willing to lend you my aid, Senior."

Yan Changqing laughed.

"The wise know when to yield! Young friend, you will surely accomplish great things."

He paused, then added, "Then I shall first teach you that secret art, as a show of sincerity."

Do I... need to formally become his disciple? Ding Songyan would not mind patricide in the future, but the thought still made him uncomfortable. Best to avoid it if possible.

Sensing his hesitation, Yan Changqing smiled faintly.

"No need to acknowledge me as your master just yet. If I asked you to call me ’Master’ right now, you would surely do so with reluctance and resentment. Once I’m free and have given you that great chance to change your life, it won’t be too late to formalize the relationship then."

"Thank you, Senior." Ding Songyan cupped his hands. This time, he was a little sincere.

Yan Changqing paced two steps with his hands behind his back and spoke in a deep voice.

"Every cultivation art in this world either descends from Celestial Thearchs and gods, or derives from divine beasts and strange creatures. All emphasize alien apertures and the metamorphosis of man into something other.

"This is common knowledge, neither wrong nor lacking. Yet it is incomplete. It forgets what is fundamental.

"The secret art I will teach you comes from a supreme method. And that method’s very first line is: Man is supreme!"