Chapter 016: The Death of Chen Wu (Please Recommend and Bookmark)

The next morning, as dawn just began to break, Yao Qian awoke. Stretching comfortably, he felt an indescribable sense of ease and relaxation throughout his body. Climbing out of bed, he examined himself and found that all the bruises and hematomas from yesterday had completely vanished. Moreover, there was a thin layer of dark, blood-like scab on his skin—a small amount, but it emitted such a foul, nauseating odor that it was almost unbearable.

He left his room and went to the well in the courtyard, drew a bucket of water, and washed himself thoroughly, finally ridding himself of the black scabs and the stench. Behind him, a cough sounded. Yao Qian turned to see Luohan Yi standing at the doorway of another room.

After breakfast, Yao Qian returned to the yard to practice at the training posts. He first reviewed the Vajra Stance and Overlord Stance he had practiced yesterday. An hour later, he began training the third stance: the Horse Stance. In the afternoon, he moved on to the Iron Ox Stance.

The first three days were spent familiarizing himself with the various stances. On the fourth day, he began slowly moving atop the wooden posts, changing his body’s position as he went. By the fifth day, the focus shifted to developing the effectiveness of Yao Qian’s stance work.

These five days were nothing short of torment. Each evening, after leaving the posts, his entire body was covered in bruises and hematomas. Once, he even injured his face in a fall. Without the special ointment from old Luohan Yi, he might never have recovered.

After five days, Yao Qian stood atop the wooden posts, his body as steady as a vajra, utterly immovable. At a certain moment, he suddenly began to move—his body rising and falling, feet shifting with each stance change, every movement causing his joints to crack audibly.

His speed was not quick, but every step was precise and unwavering, without a hint of hesitation, as if everything were firmly within his control. Resolute and confident, he moved up and down the uneven posts, feeling as though his gaze pierced his own body—inside, his vital energy and blood flowed like a lively stream.

Within that stream, the movement of his blood and energy revealed protruding rocks and obstacles, blocking the flow and slowing its speed. He focused his mind and will to touch those rocks, only to feel a dull ache in his body.

In that instant, he understood: these were the hidden injuries and latent weaknesses accumulated over the years.

As soon as he emerged from this moment of clarity, the vision of the stream and his vital energy vanished, and he returned to reality.

He called out softly, “Blue Star,” and instantly the blood-red panel appeared, hovering just below his gaze.

Yao Qian—
Five Tigers Severing Gate Saber: Level Three
Iron Shirt: Initiate
Binding Technique: Initiate
Potential: 1

“At last, I’ve reached the entry level of Iron Shirt. While this insight is still fresh, I should press on and advance further,” he decided inwardly. He had always understood that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

He used his will to tap the advancement icon, and a torrent of information surged into his mind. At the same time, the “Blue Star” panel changed: Iron Shirt advanced from Initiate to Level One, and his potential dropped to zero.

He immediately felt his stance work become far more agile. Points he had not mastered or understood before now became crystal clear, and previous difficulties melted away.

His speed in stance work abruptly increased by almost fifty percent. His feet moved nimbly from post to post as if he were walking on solid ground.

Old Luohan Yi had intended to come and see whether Yao Qian had memorized and mastered all the stances. As he reached the back courtyard, he saw a dark figure swaying atop the uneven posts, rising and falling, at times as steady as a mountain, at other times as forceful as an overlord lifting a cauldron.

With each shift in stance, Yao Qian’s aura changed subtly, and by the end, even the flesh and blood of his entire body seemed to undergo a profound transformation.

Luohan Yi stared in disbelief. As a seasoned master of external martial arts, he could see clearly that this young man had, in merely five days, brought Iron Shirt to a level of true mastery.

“Could he really be a once-in-a-generation prodigy for external training?” Luohan Yi thought in shock and amazement. If he had not personally guided Yao Qian through every step, knowing full well that the young man had no prior foundation in external arts, he would never have believed it.

But the facts before him were like a stinging slap across his face—impossible to deny.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of relief that he had retired from the martial world. Otherwise, to encounter such a monstrous talent, where months or years of one’s own effort could be matched or even surpassed by another in a matter of days—such helplessness could only lead to despair.

Looking at Yao Qian, Luohan Yi found himself envious of other masters. Since ancient times, true masters have often been lonely, but with someone like this, the martial world would only become more vibrant.

After envy came regret: such a peerless talent in external arts had slipped through his fingers due to a twist of fate. He had failed to make Yao Qian his true disciple.

What a mistake—what a blunder! Luohan Yi almost wished to break his own leg, his heart a tumult of mixed emotions, as if a bottle of five flavors had been spilled.

Yet all this was unknown to Yao Qian, who continued his agile movements atop the wooden posts. After another round, he finally stepped down. By then, the sun was high and the heat at its peak.

He was about to drink some water when suddenly, a frantic knocking sounded from outside the courtyard.

Knock, knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock...

The urgent, loud rapping betrayed the anxiety and impatience of the one outside. Yao Qian instantly guessed the visitor was looking for him.

He went to the front yard and opened the gate.

A young, robust man stood there in blue garments. Yao Qian recognized him as a member of the private guard maintained at public expense by the magistrate—men who often assisted at the yamen when things got busy.

“Little Seven, what brings you here?” he asked, though an ominous premonition welled up in his heart, as if something terrible had happened.

Little Seven’s face was filled with anxiety. Seeing Yao Qian, he grabbed his arm and hurried him outside. As they walked, he blurted out, “Brother Yao, something’s wrong—Little Five’s been beaten to death!”

Yao Qian was shocked, his eyes wide. He had expected trouble, but not a catastrophe like this.

Suppressing his astonishment, he kept his voice calm: “What happened? Weren’t the people you were dealing with supposed to be easily handled?”

He had been with Luohan Yi these past days and had no idea what had transpired outside. But he had spoken with Old Wang before, who had dismissed Chen Shanqi as nothing but a minor ailment.

Old Wang always valued his life dearly and believed in using full force even against the weakest foe. Judging by Little Seven’s appearance, Old Wang must have done just that—mobilizing even the magistrate’s own guards. How could anyone have died in such a situation?

“At first, that’s how it seemed. Led by the county constable, we quickly stormed into the Chen residence. I and the others were subduing the household guards, while the constable and Old Chen went after the Heartbreaker. I don’t know what happened, but suddenly the Heartbreaker went berserk and killed Chen Wu with a single blow,” Little Seven rattled on, though his account was disjointed and unclear. Yao Qian had trouble following, but gathered the general idea.

In short, Chen Shanqi—the Heartbreaker—had suddenly exploded in fury, killing Chen Wu with a single strike.