Chapter Forty-Two: The Strange Man

This was destined to be an era forever etched into the annals of history.

Martial arts flourished like sparks igniting the entire Li Dynasty, spreading uncontrollably, dazzling and splendid, propelling the age forward. In this era, power was the only currency; martial prowess was revered above all. Those with formidable strength were admired by thousands, accompanied by companions as beautiful as celestial maidens, while those lacking power...

Thus, the social hierarchy and legal system that had governed the Li Dynasty for four or five centuries suffered immense upheaval. The established order began to unravel, and aristocratic rule wavered. People acknowledged only strength—a slave born in the lowest ranks could, with unmatched martial power, attract countless followers willing to risk all, proclaiming themselves kings and ancestors.

As for the laws and decrees issued by the Li Dynasty, they became mere formalities, little more than child's play.

These martial artists soared over rooftops, moved with uncanny skill, wielding power unimaginable to ordinary ancient apes, attaining a status both noble and exalted.

Though the Li Dynasty’s armor remained sharp, it proved ineffectual against these martial artists who moved with such agility; any attempt to confront them often cost dearly—hurting the enemy by a thousand, but damaging oneself by eight hundred.

Especially for the true supreme masters of martial arts, entering and leaving the royal palace was as simple as strolling through their own backyard. If they so wished, they could topple the Li Dynasty’s ruler in an instant.

The rulers of Li, wary of provoking such people, simply turned a blind eye.

Over time, the martial world prospered further while the dynasty waned, and people’s enthusiasm for learning martial arts soared. Though martial training disregarded one’s background, past, or future, it demanded talent; those without it, no matter how diligently they trained, were doomed to achieve little, and might even suffer hidden injuries from their efforts.

Most crucially, martial arts could not be learned blindly; one needed specialized manuals.

Now, nearly ninety percent of all martial arts manuals were monopolized by the Eight Great Sects, whose entry requirements were exceedingly stringent. Even if one passed their tests, the subsequent tuition was exorbitant. In total, out of a hundred people, perhaps only one would ever make it through.

Therefore, the number of people who truly mastered martial arts in a century was exceedingly small. The vast majority remained unable to withstand the edge of the Li Dynasty’s armor. Thus, while the dynasty’s rule was affected, it remained generally stable.

Yet despite all this, countless people still yearned to embark on the path of martial arts.

Just as now, a crowd gathered before Fang Zhuowei’s stall, arguing noisily.

They lacked talent and could not gain entry to the major sects; their bodies were aged, their status humble—mostly commoners and slaves—hoping to use martial arts to carve out a brighter future.

“Old man, give us a straight answer—how much grain do you want for this manual?”

“Yes, old man, we’re all truly eager to buy.”

The voices rose.

Most who spoke were commoners; a few slaves stood aside, merely watching. Lacking even basic freedom, let alone private property, they considered themselves fortunate not to starve—watching was all they could do.

After all, every martial manual was a precious treasure, always hidden away lest others discover it. Someone like Fang Zhuowei, openly displaying a manual in the bustling marketplace, was unheard of.

As for authenticity, they had no doubts. These sacred objects descended from the heavens, forged from materials unknown to the world, crafted with a precision beyond comprehension—so much so that even the Li Dynasty’s most seasoned artisans could not imitate them in the slightest.

“My martial arts manuals are for teaching, not for sale,” Fang Zhuowei said, surveying the crowd with a gentle smile.

His hair, three thousand strands white, cascaded over his shoulders, shimmering softly in the sunlight, lending him an aura of immortal grace.

“Old man, if you’re teaching, how much grain do you want?” someone ventured.

“Fate alone opens the way; without it, a thousand measures of grain will not suffice,” Fang Zhuowei replied slowly. “If you are fated with this book, I ask nothing, and will freely impart the path to ascend. But if fate is absent, even if you gave me your entire granary, I would not teach you.”

Seated cross-legged on the ground, Fang Zhuowei spoke quietly.

“Can it truly be so? Old man, see if I possess this so-called fate…” A young man, half-doubting, sat before him as soon as Fang Zhuowei finished speaking.

“Make way, make way.”

“If you value your life, move quickly.”

“Get out of the way.”

Just then, a cacophony rose, mingled with curses.

The noise disrupted Fang Zhuowei and the youth.

Following the commotion, a large group of figures, each dressed differently, moved swiftly across the open space.

Compared to ordinary ancient apes, these people’s attire was far more luxurious—especially the leaders, whose clothing was not mere leaves or flowers, but woven from resilient plant fibers.

Such garments were extremely costly; in the vast Li Dynasty, only the royal family could afford them.

Their arrival was aggressive, their demeanors arrogant and unyielding. A few who failed to step aside in time were knocked over, tumbling far across the ground.

“Move quickly if you value your life—these are big figures from the Wuji Sect, one of the Eight Great Sects,” someone whispered, kindly warning the crowd.

The martial world was tangled in myriad sects, but regardless, the Eight Great Sects remained dominant—ancient and powerful, with deep foundations, their legacies spanning centuries.

Those knocked down wanted to curse, but upon hearing this, scurried to the back of the crowd.

“This old man is odd, openly selling martial arts manuals?” a voice in the crowd mused, drawn by Fang Zhuowei’s actions.

It was a woman.

Her figure was alluring and slender, her skin smooth as jade, fair as snow. Her poised appearance was tinged with an indescribable seductive charm, her dark hair falling free, tied only with a pink, unknown cord.

Without doubt, she was a peerless beauty, her eyes crystal-clear as gemstones, seemingly capable of captivating souls.

The woman frowned slightly, her gaze toward Fang Zhuowei full of confusion.

“If you fancy it, junior sister, I’ll seize it for you,” said a tall, handsome man beside her, stepping forward with a loud voice.

He stood upright, expression proud and unruly. As he spoke, he glanced at the woman, making no effort to conceal the raw admiration in his eyes.