Chapter Seventy-Six: A True Man Should Sing a Proud Song
The earth dragon stirred, and the entire frontier shuddered three times in its wake.
When the tremors finally abated, Muddy Village was seized by fear; the villagers gathered before Old Sun’s courtyard, all discussing the strange event that had just occurred.
Though Muddy Village sat on the border of the mountain ranges, Suiyun Mountain had always been calm, with no sign of volcanoes, hidden or otherwise. In a hundred years, never had the earth dragon’s stirrings reached the frontier. It was the Youlong Mountains of the northwest that often trembled.
People often said there was a dragon spirit in the Youlong Mountains; when the dragon spirit awoke and turned, it caused the earth to quake, thus giving rise to the saying: “the earth dragon turns.”
When Zhong Ming saw the villagers gathered at the village entrance, he too made his way to Old Sun’s house.
Arriving before the crowd, he heard Old Sun anxiously say, “Oh dear, which mountain god did we offend this time? I reckon we’ll need Daoist Zhang to perform a ritual to appease the god’s wrath.”
Though Zhong Ming didn’t know the cause of the earthquake, he didn’t want panic to spread.
He stepped forward and said, “Uncle Sun, everyone, don’t be alarmed. The earth dragon turning is a natural occurrence. It’s recorded in the books—every hundred years, the dragon spirit turns, and once it sleeps again, all will be well.”
“Is that really so?”
“If Mr. Zhong says so, it must be true! His knowledge is profound!”
The crowd’s discussion grew lively, but thanks to Zhong Ming’s casual tale, everyone felt much calmer.
Old Sun nodded, thinking it made sense.
Here, people deeply believed that earth dragons moved beneath the ground, preserving the beauty of the mountains and rivers and carrying the fate of mankind.
If Zhong Ming spoke of volcanic eruptions and tectonic shifts, they wouldn’t understand, and might even suspect he was inventing wild tales because the knowledge sounded too strange.
So Zhong Ming simply wove a story that fit their beliefs, soothing their fears.
With Zhong Ming’s assurance, the villagers gradually dispersed.
When most people had gone, Sun Luolian came running out of the courtyard, calling sweetly, “Brother Zhong…”
“Little Lian.”
Seeing Sun Luolian’s smiling face warmed Zhong Ming’s heart; he reached out and gently patted her head.
Sun Luolian instinctively wanted to dodge, but something made her stop, cheeks flushed. She tugged at her sleeve and asked, “Brother Zhong, you seemed hurried this morning—did anything happen?”
“It’s all fine now. With the safety charm you gave me, I can turn misfortune into blessing.”
He lifted the safety charm at his waist, smiling. Sun Luolian smiled even brighter.
Looking at the charm, she began to mumble, “I knew giving you the charm would be more useful than keeping it myself. You’re always busy for the village, meeting many people, facing many things. Having a safety charm is best.”
“You’re right, Little Lian. I must thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Following her lead, Zhong Ming jokingly clasped his hands in thanks, making her cheeks turn even redder.
The charm was just an ordinary one, obtained from Daoist Zhang Daozhen, with a hint of fortune-changing meaning, but no real power to alter fate.
The red pouch holding the charm was sewn by Sun Luolian herself. Zhong Ming kept it with him not for its efficacy, but because he didn’t want to let down her kindness.
As they laughed and chatted, someone ran up behind Zhong Ming.
Young Daoist Zhang Nianchen raised his hand and called, “Layman Zhong, I need to speak with you!”
Turning to see Zhang Nianchen, Zhong Ming wondered: Zhang Daoist had just left, and now his apprentice was sent to find him—could it be related to the earth dragon’s stirrings?
Zhong Ming asked, “Young Daoist, what’s the matter?”
Zhang Nianchen glanced at Sun Luolian, as if hesitant, and spoke in a low voice, “Layman Zhong, it’s hard to explain here. Please come back to our place and I’ll tell you everything.”
The young Daoist wasn’t one for lying; his secretive speech even let the sheltered Sun Luolian sense hidden meaning.
She hesitated, “Brother Zhong, if you have business, go ahead. We can talk later when you’re free.”
“Alright, I’ll go with the young Daoist now.”
Bidding Sun Luolian farewell, Zhong Ming followed Zhang Nianchen back.
On the way, Zhong Ming asked, “Did your master notice something unusual about the earth dragon’s turning?”
Zhang Nianchen shook his head, “My master couldn’t divine the cause either. He only said the earth dragon’s turning has disrupted the frontier’s fate—something big is about to happen.”
Something big?
Since Yu Tu arrived at the frontier with Baiyu Capital, there had been no peace; major events erupted one after another, unsettling everyone.
Yang Yanlang had been in the mountains for nearly a month, yet there was no sign of him. Even patrolling the Suiyun Mountains, the scale of the Fine Scale Cavalry meant they could have surveyed the entire frontier.
If they kept running, they’d cross Suiyun Mountain and reach Prophecy City on the Southern Han border.
With Yu Tu lingering for over half a month, Zhong Ming knew that sooner or later, the frontier would face a world-shaking upheaval.
It seemed the earth dragon’s turning was the prelude to that event.
Silent along the way, Zhong Ming pondered how best to respond—ideally, to lead the whole village out of harm’s way.
---
By the time they reached the courtyard where Zhang Daozhen and his apprentice lived, Zhong Ming was still deep in thought. If not for Zhang Nianchen’s call, he might have walked straight into the fence post.
Following Zhang Nianchen inside, he saw Zhang Daozhen sitting upright, facing the door.
Zhang Nianchen closed the door, dimming the room. The shadows made Zhong Ming uneasy.
Seeing the mysterious demeanor of master and apprentice, Zhong Ming’s curiosity was piqued. He asked, “What are you two up to, being so secretive?”
Zhang Nianchen hurried to his master’s side, urging, “Master, show Layman Zhong the item!”
Zhang Daozhen took a bead from his robe and placed it on the table. In the dim room, it glowed faintly, weaker than a luminous pearl.
Picking it up, Zhong Ming wondered, “Isn’t this my Moonlight Pearl? Oh, right, I left in a rush and forgot it.”
This bead had been a parting gift from Old Mountain Goblin Yaya, said to aid greatly in cultivating true qi, gathering moonlight, and benefiting practice.
But since Zhong Ming’s dantian was sealed, it had long been unused.
Beside him, Zhang Nianchen said joyfully, “Master, this really is Layman Zhong’s item. We’ll surely succeed this time!”
The master and apprentice both smiled, leaving Zhong Ming puzzled.
Only after Zhang Nianchen explained did Zhong Ming understand their excitement.
He had received the bead from Yaya, but neither knew its true origin. Yaya said he found it in the mountains before his intelligence awakened—once his cultivation deepened, it was useless to him, so he gave it to Zhong Ming as a keepsake.
Thus, neither Yaya nor Zhong Ming knew what the bead truly was.
Today, Zhang Daozhen solved the mystery: the bead was called Stone Essence, the concentrated spirit of stone.
Stone Essence was rare—a heavenly treasure.
Ancients used stubborn stone as a metaphor for stupidity, implying stone was obstinate and hardly capable of enlightenment.
Stone Essence was the form before stone awakened intelligence, formed only in a blessed land, absorbing sun and moon essence. Fifty years to shed its mortal shell, another fifty to produce Stone Essence.
At first, Stone Essence was only fingernail-sized; every full moon, the stone would exhale essence to absorb moonlight.
For the bead to reach its current size, it must have matured for over a hundred years.
The Old Mountain Goblin, favored by fate, must have stumbled upon a stone exhaling a bead one moonlit night.
A spirit stone, only a century away from awakening, buried by Yaya’s hands.
After hearing the story, Zhong Ming played with the bead, “It’s a fine thing. If you need it, take it—I have no use for it, since my dantian is crippled.”
Zhang Daozhen shook his head, smiling, “Layman Zhong, I acquired it to help you unseal your dantian.”
“Oh? How so?”
Zhong Ming’s interest was piqued; he gripped the Stone Essence tightly.
Zhang Nianchen explained, “Master says it contains abundant moonlight. If combined with medicinal herbs and refined into a pill, it will hold vast spiritual energy.
Whether for Daoist cultivation, immortal pursuit, or martial training, all rely on absorbing the essence of heaven and earth.
The purest of all is the sun and moon’s essence; if moonlight is refined into a pill, its effects are boundless. It can surely cure Layman Zhong’s dantian ailment.”
“That’s wonderful!”
Delighted, Zhong Ming immediately handed the Stone Essence to Zhang Nianchen, urging, “What are you waiting for? Start refining!”
Zhang Nianchen nodded, “My master and I will do our utmost to make the pill for you.”
“Layman Zhong, don’t be impatient. A heavenly treasure like this, I’ve never refined before—it may take some time.
Let it be known: succeed or fail, the Stone Essence will be spent. Are you willing to part with it?”
It was an unnecessary question. Zhong Ming was desperate to cure his dantian, and if not for the old Daoist revealing its purpose, he would have kept the bead as a keepsake.
“I’m willing. Please use it as needed. If you require other herbs or funds, you may take them from me.”
To cure his dantian, Zhong Ming would risk anything.
Having settled matters with the master and apprentice, Zhong Ming hummed as he left the courtyard.
Inside, the two Daoists began to study how to refine the Stone Essence. Zhong Ming, meanwhile, bowed toward the Suiyun Mountains, “Elder Yaya, you’ve truly saved me from dire straits this time.”
Good and evil are always repaid. In her day, Zhong Xiuniang’s great deeds rivaled the scholars of the age, earning Zhong Ming this moment of hope and fortune.
Though Zhong Xiuniang had been gone for years, her kindness had left Zhong Ming with a legacy of goodwill.
---
Leaving the old Daoist’s home, Zhong Ming’s mood improved. Returning home, he picked up his Silent Blade and practiced.
Next door, Liang Yu had long returned, likely exhausted; by afternoon, he was snoring away, his snores rising like a symphony.
---
Feeling good today, Zhong Ming didn’t find Liang Yu’s snores annoying; they even added some flavor.
His Silent Blade swept vigorously, the dragon sparrow ring on the hilt chiming melodiously.
For days, his blade technique felt stagnant, but now new insight dawned. He first practiced the Thirteen Thunderclap Blades, finishing the set and still eager to train, feeling energy coursing through him.
He switched to the Three Gale Formations; the Rolling Sand lacked inner force, yet the ringed blade’s momentum stirred wild sand in the courtyard.
One round of Rolling Sand left him unsatisfied, so he moved to the second technique: Chaotic Water Moon.
Zhong Ming, adept at forceful blade work, now rotated the blade’s edge, forsaking the broad, sweeping cuts for strange, subtle thrusts. The movements grew nimble, the blade’s strokes hidden and cunning, as if piercing the moon in water, but aiming for the flower on the shore.
Water moon, mirror man.
Two realms: one sees the enemy as the moon in water, using light, elusive blade work to confuse and mislead; the other as the man in the mirror—the blade wielder—whose agile steps and shifting tactics leave the opponent guessing.
Zhong Ming had pondered Chaotic Water Moon for days without grasping its essence, but today, with his spirits high, he suddenly comprehended its true meaning.
The second form of the Three Gale Formations: Chaotic Water Moon, he executed flawlessly.
Lacking inner force, he couldn’t fully unleash the form’s power, but once his dantian was healed, his strength would advance greatly.
Indeed, martial arts demand innate talent; had Zhong Ming not been naturally gifted, he might have needed two or three years of steady practice to understand the blade’s intent.
It was almost by accident. Chaotic Water Moon emphasized blade variation.
When the ancestor of the Xu family created this form, he intended it as groundwork for returning to simplicity in later realms.
Rolling Sand emphasizes the union of inner force and blade technique—forceful, dominating. Chaotic Water Moon emphasizes blade variation, with inner force secondary, merely assisting. They are meant to be practiced in reverse order.
Practiced in reverse, many can progress naturally—first learn the moves, then master the force.
But following the manual, those who master force must then abandon it to focus on technique, a much harder transition.
Everyone is used to walking; who would crawl instead?
With his dantian sealed, Zhong Ming was paradoxically aided—without realizing it, he entered the highest realm of practicing Chaotic Water Moon and, in a month, grasped its intent.
Finishing the set, Zhong Ming felt utterly refreshed and couldn’t help but sing.
“Wind sweeps dust and sand, clouds turn to rain and fall.
Countless heroes rise from all sides; righteous spirit endures from ancient to modern times.
Blades and swords rush, emotions entangle the hero’s body.
Tears of passion fall upon the world, blood writes the past.
Where are the invincible victors? Who never departs?
Where is the endless song? Where is the feast that never ends?”
Zhong Ming had a fine voice. This song, heard often in childhood in his previous life, he sang with dramatic rises and falls, unlike the tunes of this era, giving listeners a sense of novelty.
The song was good, the voice fine, and the majestic tone matched the realm Zhong Ming now inhabited.
Each verse, a sigh; each word, a world of martial strife.
That world of blades and shadows was fully revealed in his song “Unrivaled Under Heaven.” After singing, he wanted to let out a long howl, his heart painting a grand vision of martial adventures.
This impulse made him yearn to leap onto his horse and ride north, man and blade venturing into the world.
In the courtyard, the old horse lifted its hooves and neighed, inspired by its master’s heroic spirit.
It seemed the horse’s neigh, the blade’s ring, and the youth’s song together wrote the story of martial heroes in this courtyard.
When the song ended, Zhong Ming happily sheathed his blade.
At some point, Liang Yu had settled atop the low wall, rubbing his sleepy eyes and applauding, “Bravo! Ming, that strange song of yours is truly wonderful—sing another!”
Beside Liang Yu was the colorful-feathered rooster, Iron General, bobbing its head and crowing along.
Outside the fence, three people had gathered unnoticed: a tall, stout man in elegant attire, eyes closed, listening intently. Even after the song stopped, he frowned in contemplation, seemingly lost in the world of blades and shadows the song had evoked.
By his side was a four- or five-year-old girl, scattering dried fruit on the ground without realizing, clapping enthusiastically and declaring, “What a marvelous tune, what a remarkable talent! Such a new realm of music! Is the song’s world what they call ‘the martial realm’ in this land?”
Beside them, a woman in black had already reached into her purse, intending to tip the singer.
But she paused, quickly withdrawing her hand, clicking her tongue and muttering: “This song is too captivating—I’ve fallen under this scholar’s spell.”
Clearly, she hadn’t fallen as deep; though she found the strange song delightful, she wasn’t from the Palace of Music, so she cared little for tunes.
The black-clad woman drew her sword, pointing it at Zhong Ming in the courtyard: “No matter how well he sings, today he must die beneath my blade!”