“The test is clear, you have no spirit roots — nothing more than a mere mortal. Move aside!” A stern voice spoke down at a young boy.
The boy was ragged, like many of others in line before him he wore faintly tattered cloths, a simple shirt and frayed shorts. His hair, a rats nest of darkness that sought to blind his muddied eyes.
Yet despite the sudden failure of aptitude, there was a distinctly lackluster reaction from the young child, the test proctor was surprised. The usual cries of anguish and defeat of the many children he’d tested before made him an odd contrast to the rest.
It anything, it felt like the boy was more annoyed then anything — merely comfirming bad news.
The young child bowed, cupping his hand in fist and turned away casually like he had just bought dumplings. His steps firm, as if had long since come to grips with his mortal coil.
The test proctor could only shake his head, his perfectly combed dark green hair barely moving as he did so. With a sweep of his long robes, he bellowed out another death sentence.
“NEXT!” He commanded, his eyes scanning over the slowly shortening line of children.
This village has nothing but mortal blood. He thought, clicking his tongue. Already tired of the assignement given to him by the Sect. It had taken a whole week of travel to get here, even if he did detour a couple times to nearby friends.
Did they truly expect to find potential Cultivator in these backwoods? Not even a town, a mere village on the outskirts of a Savage Land.
Another small child approached as he grimaced at the still long day ahead of him.
Tsk, and I still have to deal with the nearby bandit trash… if I don’t find a single Heavens-damned spirit root, then this place deserves to be pillaged.
But even as he dismissed the already crying child, another failure, he couldn’t help but glance back to the now distant back of the previous boy. Something about him felt… off. Does he not desire the eternal path?
It seemed that even frogs trapped in wells could close their eyes and sing in bliss.
The proctor shook his head once more adjusting his dark blue robes so they sat perfectly on his shoulders.
“NEXT!”
—
It seems the system does not lie. Fang mused to himself as he walked away from the Spirit test.
To not have spirit roots, even after crossing universes to a world of cultivation — what sort of joke is this?
He had thought for a moment that he had lucked out, though perhaps reincarnation wasn’t the boon he was expecting. He thought himself special, entitled even, to a magnanimous fate, for it must’ve been destiny to have played a hand after all?
He sighed, before muttering under his breath.
At least I still have you—
“—System”
Instantly out of the immaterial, a beautiful scroll of jade paper unfurled, its borders jeweled in gold. It glowed a lustrous warmth, the text laced into the page like embroidered bone. And yet despite its sudden appearance in space, hovering just before Fang, nobody nearby even reacted. Since only his eyes were blessed with its sight.
Fang :
[Cultivation]
- Empty
[Technique]
- Empty
[Bloodline]
- Mortal Human
Fang clicked his tongue, he had the feeling his bloodline meant he wouldn’t have the special sauce for immortality. It was common knowledge both on Earth and here in the Jade Plains, that no spirit roots meant no access to Qi, and no Qi meant no cultivation.
It meant a slow eventual death.
Mortality.
Fang gnawed his teeth in anger. This would not do… He fumed.
I didn’t fucking die, to live at the bottom of the barrel once more.
His eyes stared wildly at his system having yet to find a function outside of its appearance. It had only been a month after all, since he died.
A month spent in utter confusion, the disbelief of being reborn slowing tearing at his now child-like mind.
Forget being reborn, he had quite literally stolen a child’s body. It was harsh to come to grips with, his only solace being he was an orphan. Fang didn’t know how he would’ve dealt with the guilt of parental love.
He sighed as he reached the orphanage steps. A simple thatch roofed home made of weathered wood and mud. The small attached bunk rooms soon to become nearly unbearable as winter crept its way closer.
The village he found himself in, Forest Edge, was truly a backwater. The population small, subsiding off of scant harvests from the nearby forest and whatever the hunters could take-down — which was few and far between since aparently the forest was nigh infested with Qi-beasts and monsters alike.
He’d never seen one, but had heard and see enough from the hunters who returned to know that the forest depths were not a place for a Qi-less mortal such as him.
Let alone the few hunters that did venture into its depths. Most of them were body refiners, though barely outside the limits of being mortal. Nothing worth mentioning the eyes of a Sect disciple.
This system cannot be a mere stat-sheet… there must be more—
“—Fang! Welcome home, how did the the test go?” A wizened voice called out him, pulling him out of his musings. The head of the Orphanage was an elderly lady, with fingers callused from years of stirring pots of thick soup. Her white hair carefully bundled into two buns above her ears. She stood over a small hearth that could scantly heat the humble home, a large iron pot hung over its flames bubbling the soft scents of whatever herbs and vegetables she could get her hands on.
Fang shook his head ruefully, earning a soft sigh from her wrinkled lips.
“Ai! Worry not my dear, all that cultivator business is too much for simple mortals like us anyways, now come, help your poor old mortal granny prepare dinner for everyone.”
Fang smiled, shelving the issues of his mortality for after dinner, he had work to do after all.
After his reincarnation he’d found himself confused, lost and feeling out of place in his body. Trying to act like he was a twelve years old was an exhausting task — thankfully, his sudden change in personality was taken in stride by Granny Gian, who was grateful to have a pair of mature hands to help around the Orphanage.
Fang busied himself, chopping vegetables with a dull knife, peeling skins from odd looking herbs he’d never seen before and grinding spices reminiscent of peppercorns back on Earth.
For his efforts he was given a small allowance of a single copper. Enough for a single piece of hardened bread, or perhaps a small bowl of rice porridge.
He gratefully received the coin, adding it to his meager savings. Granny Gian didn’t have to pay him, but she did so regardless in an attempt to teach him the importance of working for your meals.
With this final addition, along with the Fang of old savings, he had accrued 50 coppers. Enough for a set of tattered clothes, perhaps a nice meal at the only tavern in the village.
But Fang had other plans for his money.
Dinner was a rancous affair as Granny Gian corralled a small gaggle of children to sit at the small dinner table. Fang being the oldest of the kids was in charge of serving the vegetable soup, making sure to take delicate care in equal portions.
“Elder brother Fang! Did you meet a cultivator today?!” A small child asked with an outstretched bowl. Fang smiled, nodding his head.
“I did, he wore robes made of the finest silks I had ever seen, bluer than the sky.”
The kids ooh’d and ahh’d at his retelling of the spirit test. He exaggerated slightly, making the honestly disappointing day into story of grandeur.
The Cultivator himself didn’t appear like much, but did his eyes pressed an uncomfortable aura on anyone he looked down upon.
After dinner he helped Granny Gian clean the dishes in relative silence. His mind now returning to his future plans.
“Don’t worry about being mortal my dear, we can’t be all blessed by the heavens.” Granny Gian consoled him.
Fang could only ruefully smile, but what if I am blessed by the heavens…
Finishing his chores Fang made to his hidden savings, a small pouch hidden under the floorboards. Retrieving all that he owned he looked outside, seeing the sun begin to set. While Forest Edge village was relatively safe, he would generally never move around near dark, especially while carrying all the money he owned. It was the presence of the Cultivator that gave him confidence, who would be foolish enough to cause trouble before the wrath of an immortal?
“Granny, I will be back in an hour.” He informed her respectfully. The tired woman was reclined in an old rocking chair, her eyes already long since closed.
She gave no reply, already asleep by the hearth.
Fang quietly left the Orphanage, his coin pouch tucked into his shirt, the weight of its bounty feeling like noose around his neck.
As uncomfortable as he was, his destination only operated at night. It seemed there was a tradition no matter where you were in the Jade Plains that a night market would be present in any village, town or city. Though Fang didn’t know if such claims were true since he’d never left the village.
His walk was short, keeping to the main avenue through the village, he saw a host of people, mainly parents out and about in an attempt to console their children with trinkets or snacks after failing the spirit test.
The night market was established in the center of the village, a large square patch of stamped dirt, with a twisting tree in its center. Lanterns sheathed in wooden cages hung from the tree’s branches bathing the many stalls below in light.
Some stalls were clearly nicer than others, having signboards, multiple lanterns or even a guard nearby. While others were simpler, bamboo mats on the floor with a number of items strewn about.
There seemed to be a larger number of stalls than usual, probably due to the presence of the cultivator and spirit test.
It was a pseudo-festival of sorts, happening once a year when a cultivator from the nearby Sect would visit to conduct the test and find fresh blood for their ranks.
Fang approached a small stall with a wide variety of different items, from combs to brushes, scrolls and manuals bound in weathered leather.
The man operating the stall spied Fang approaching, his face sour as if had just smelt shit. The man pushed his short brown hair back, already disintrested with the incoming interaction.
“What do you want kid?” He said bored.
Fang ignored the rudeness, after all why would a merchant entertain someone who was clearly broke.
“Hello, I’m looking for any body refining manuals.” Fang asked.
The man sighed, as if he’d heard the same question a million times already.
“You and the rest of the damn village. No, I do not have any body refining manuals — and even if I did — Kid, let me give you some advice: Stay mortal.” He said waving his hand dismissively.
Fang furrowed his brows. An anger bubbling inside of him before he released it with a sigh, cupping his hands together and giving a curt bow to the rude merchant.
“Thank you for your advice senior.”
The old man raised a single surprised brow at the sudden respect and clicked his tongue.
“Ah, sorry kid, don’t bother with this old man. I hear that a couple of travelling peddlers have set up on the northern side of the square, try your luck with them.”
Fang smiled, thanking the man once more before leaving.
The peddlers in question were all dressed in worn robes, most of them wearing masks and hats that covered their mouths and heads alike. Before many of them lay a myriad of random looking trinkets and items with no pattern from one to the next.
There were bones, small knives, a few pieces of jewelry here and there with a scant amount of scrolls and books.
Fang approached the merchant with the least amount of customers, a woman he assumed by figure, since he could see nothing but a pair of sharp eyes under her large brimmed hat.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Greetings.” Fang said introducing himself, to receive only a nod in return.
He gazed over the items, his eyes locking onto the few manuals and scrolls present.
“Are any of these body refining manuals?”
The woman nodded, before speaking with a voice so quiet and soft it was a near whisper.
“Five copper taels.”
Five fucking taels? That’s 500 hundred copper. Enough for a small family to subside off for a month. Fang sighed, disgruntled with his poverty. Might as well try my luck.
“Do you have anything for half a tael?”
The woman tilted her head, looking Fang up and down with a discern gaze. She opened a basket beside her, rummaging through its depths before pulling out a clearly tattered manual. The manual looked like it had been chewed on by a dog before being thrown off a cliff.
“Incomplete body refining manual, 50 copper.” The woman whispered once more.
“Can I look at it?”
She nodded, throwing over the manual without a care in the world.
Fang caught the manual feeling the worn binding in his hands. He flipped it open, reading the faint, faded ink on its first page.
‘Mortal Forging Sutra
Strength is only found through pain, pain is gained through suffering, suffering comes from chasing the unobtainable.
The body is flesh, and the flesh is weak, only through suffering can it become strong.’
Fang furrowed his brows at the rather grim description. The manual had three stages, though only the first two were present. Each stage had four further levels within: Initiation, Small Success, Great Sucess, Peak Mastery.
The first stage told him push his limits to the edge, holding stances and conditioning his body until even existing was painful. Peak mastery of the first stage granted him the strength of three Ox.
The second stage turned its gaze inwards, he needed to starve himself, then endure a harsh environment while meditating in a specific pattern, expanding his lungs till even breathing hurt. Peak mastery of the stage would grant him the hearing of a fox, eyes of a crow, and the reactions of a snake.
What sort of masochistic manual is this? No wonder she is willing to part with it for 50 copper, I honestly don’t even want to know the third stage.
Even more so, having never seen a Cultivator in action, nor the Hunters stalking the forests, a part of Fang still found it hard to believe that such… power was accessible through mere training. Fang grimaced. His gamble would not only cost his entire savings, but also be one of pain.
“I’ll take it.”
—
He shouldn’t have taken it.
It had been ten days, and the soft pounding of his raw bloodied fist on bark resounded in the air.
With each strike Fang grimaced, trying desperately to ignore the needle piercing pain that came with each strike.
Two hundred and ninety eight…
Two hundred and ninety nine…
Fuck!
With his three hundredth strike he collapsed backwards, his hands throbbing in wafting waves of pain.
His breath heaved in his lungs, his legs like lead weights from the run and horse stance only an hour ago.
Fang cursed himself, fully having come to regret his gamble. But, just as he was about to scream in indignation a bright light appeared above him.
The system scroll of jade and gold unfurled its lustrous surface with a mythical grace.
Fang :
[Cultivation]
- Mortal Forging Sutra I (Initiation)
[Technique]
- Empty
[Bloodline]
- Mortal Human
The additions were minor, but his face widened into a disturbing smile. A wave of energy coursed through him, a revitalizing strength flooded his muscles as they painfully contorted, weaving into denser bands of flesh. His bones hardened, a disturbing itchiness crawling over his skin.
Fang let out a deep breath of ecstasy as the sensation faded. A euphoria had overcome him, the pain becoming a catalyst of pleasure. From above, the image of a small child with bloodied hands smiling at the sky, convulsing like a fish on land would’ve caused any nearby passerby to hurry away.
The manual didn’t mention anything like this?
It was supposed to be a slow grueling process of tempering, taking months to reach initiation even for an adult.
Fang grinned, his gamble had payed off. The system had finally revealed its potential.
The moment he had completed a perfect repetition of an entire refining session, 10km run, 10 minute horse stance, and 300 bare knuckle strikes the system had propelled his body immediately into the initiation stage.
What would’ve taken him months of suffering was completed in only ten torturous days.
Did the system only help with reaching initiation? Or does it accelerate all of my training?
He’d have to test it further once he got his hands on more manuals or techniques, though currently he was broke.
He stood up again, feeling the raw strength in his hands. His muscles felt taut, his bones firm like iron. He approached the training tree once more, his eyes lingering on the small crater-like impression that formed over the previous ten days of pain. The dark almost black wood stained with a faint layer of old blood.
With a deep breath he loaded his arm back before launching his fist forwards. A deep resounding thud shook the tree, a cascade of small heart-shaped leaves washing over him from the impact.
He punched just slightly above the previous crater, his fist digging nearly an inch deep into the bark with a single strike, eclipsing his previous days of effort in one movement.
He couldn’t help but smile, the searing pain in his knuckles a distant thought. The system had done more than accelerate his training, it blessed him with the instinctual knowledge of the manual.
If this is just initiation, then I yearn to discover what the peak feels like.
Qi or no Qi, Fang was determined to claw his way up the social pecking order.
But who knew gaining power could be so… delicious?
—
“Move those logs over there! OI OI! Careful with those things for heavens sake!” A man’s voice boomed overhead.
A group of men were busy hauling large freshly cut logs to a cart that sunk into the dirt with each haul.
“Come on kid, put your back into it!” A man shouted at Fang in jeering encouragement.
Fang grimaced as he carefully balanced the weight of the log on his shoulder, each step he took slightly wobbly.
The sight of a child barely half the size of the other men carrying a log two times his height was absurd. Fang had picked-up a job helping transport wood for the incoming winter. The pay was meager, a per log basis netting him three copper coins each.
He’d been at it for the last week ever since he’d reached initiation with the Mortal Forging Sutra which he had kept practicing but at a lower intensity.
The foreman of the lumber mill had looked at him incredulously when Fang had approached him for a job. Already having dismissed the obvious joke before Fang had asked to be tested.
Imagine his surpirse when he watched the small kid lift a log that would’ve made his younger workers struggle. It wasn’t without effort however, the strain clear on Fang’s face yet he still slowly walked around the lumber yard.
He appreciated the kids gumption, and had hired him at a lower rate to match his slower speed.
Fang continued his slow march to the cart, his heart hammering in his chest with each step. With a grunt he slid the log onto the cart before pushing it into place.
Fang stumbled to a nearby stump before unceremoniously slumping over himself.
He took deep breaths, trying to ease the strain in his back and legs. That was his tenth log, an massive increase from the five logs he managed on his first day. He’d slowly improved, his body becoming used to the balance and weight of the logs.
Today would be his last day on the job. Winter was soon to come, and the logs need to be cut and stored in a dry place for use throughout the snow biting months.
Fang made more money than he’d ever had, including his small allowance from Granny Gian he had around a copper tael and a half. A sizable amount for a boy his age.
Though it was all about to disappear.
“Good work today kid, wanna come drink away the sweat with the rest of us?” The foreman, Cai invited as he held out a small water skin.
Fang graciously accepted the water, the cold liquid flowing down his throat cooling his burning lungs to great affect.
Fang cupped his hands.
“Thank you for the drink Senior, but I must decline the other drink. Granny Gian would have my head if she found out I was drinking.”
Foreman Cai laughed, patting Fang on the shoulder.
“Well the offer stands, you did good work today, let us know if Gian needs any wood this winter and we’ll see what we can spare.”
Fang thanked the man, before heading back to the orphanage with tired steps.
The village had been quite busy as of late, as the last peddlers and merchants passed through as they made their way to warmer towns. People were busy reinforcing their roofs, filling gaps with mud and stacking wood for the winter.
The village was filled with the scent of smoking meats, as people prepared rations for the harshness of the frost. Game would become sparse, herbs and vegetables all but gone. The world would be blanketed in knee deep snow in only a month from now.
It was incredible how routine and intense the shifting of seasons was in this world. Fang wondered if it had something to do with the presence of Qi, though couldn’t verify these claims as it was akin to asking if the sun always rose from the east.
Granny Gian was already working on dinner when he returned, many of the children helping bundle herbs to hang or checking the rice bags for rodent bites.
“Ah Fang, welcome home my dear, help your poor granny with dinner would you?”
Fang smiled.
“Of course.”
He had become fond of his new home, the memories of who he once was on Earth replaced by the peaceful monotony of caring for the Orphange.
If not for the looming presence of superhuman beings, Qi beasts and monsters just beyond the forest depths, he could’ve been quite content.
A simple life…
Perhaps after he’d secure his own safety in this harsh world he’d settle down. But not now, not while the unknown terrors lurked through the night.
After helping and informing Granny Gian of the offer for firewood Fang quickly set off once more. His destination the same as a over a week ago. The sun was already low when he left, much lower than it was even just a week ago this time.
His breath rose into the air as he watched people out and about with furs and goods in tow.
The night market was practically desolate in comparison to before, with only a few local stalls present setup around the twisting tree. The Cultivator had long since left, and with him the protection of his presence. He saw a couple people seated close together enjoying steaming noodles, and the old man from before, still sitting behind his stall with a bored look on his face.
Fang waved to him and received a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement in return. He then looked around the square before smiling when he spotted the rogue peddler from before still preset. She sat cross legged, almost completely still despite the cold temperatures.
“Greetings once again.” Fang said cupping his fist.
The woman peaked at him from under her hat, before replying in her soft whisper of a voice.
“Hello child, what can I do you?”
Fang smiled.
“I’m looking for techniques.” He said scanning over the mismatched items she was selling.
“To fight or to run?” She asked.
Fang thought a moment.
“Can I see both? I only have a copper tael to spend.”
The woman chuckled.
“A word of advice child, never reveal how much you have, especially to someone who has what you want.” She said softly.
“Thank you for the advice senior, I’ll keep that in mind.”
The woman grabbed a couple books from the mat as well as a couple from a nearby basket.
“Most of these are a tael, but the offensive arts are a little more.”
Fang nodded before reading through the selection of techniques.
Splitting Stone Palm, Iron knuckle Strike, Ox Stance, Copper Shield, Crickets Leaping Steps, and Earth-Shattering Steps.
After careful consideration he decided on the last technique. All of the techniques with exception of the Earth-Shattering Steps lacked a certain degree of versatility. And while being a movement focused technique, Earth-Shattering Steps implied that it could be used offensively if mastered.
And it sounds the coolest.
‘Earth-Shattering Steps
A strong step to crush the earth, a single movement to cross the heavens.
Unwavering in direction, no foe will stand in your way. Anything foolish enough will be shattered under foot.’
Crossing the heavens in a single movement? Who the fuck wrote this thing? Isn’t this literally Mortal grade?
Regardless of the claims it made in its description the technique itself remained more grounded. Aiming to focus all of the practitioners strength into a single stride, when mastered to peak will shatter the very earth under foot as they exploded outwards with blurring speed.
It similarly had three stages, with the peak stage saying that it would be possible to direct the force under foot enough to shatter a tree from a distance with a single stomp.
The only downside he could see from his cursory glance was its inability to easily change directions during his strides…
And another insane training regiment. Holding a weighted pistol squat on only my toes, explosive leaps over my head-height with double my body weight, and 10km of duck walking?
It was no wonder that despite the prevalence of Mortal techniques and cultivation manuals that anyone could use, spirit root or not, people rarely tried to cultivate their bodies. Who the hell would endure such hellish suffering only to be swatted away by a single hand gesture of a Cultivator? People had things to do, families to feed after all.
Fang grimaced at the long days ahead of him, his only solace being the systems hopeful assistance.
“I’ll take it.”
—
The wind blew over the trees, thick coats of snow flurrying off leaves in plumes of glittering flakes. The village was serenely quiet under the suffocating blanket of white. Chimneys churned with coiling bands of smoke into the grey sky above.
In the nearby forest, barely a hundred strides from the village border Fang was training. A large log was balanced across his shoulders, as he strained to maintain coordination. Holding a pistol squat on only his toes. His body was covered in a thin cloak of snow that had accumulated from his stillness.
His legs quaked unceasingly, not from the cold but from the strain. His veins bulged along his calf and thigh, his core long since sore under the weight of the constantly shifting log.
Despite feeling like his knees were going to explode at any moment his breath held smooth, a rythmic pattern that brought in the chilling cold air before being released as a small cloud of vapour from his lungs.
Steam rose from his body in small wispy strands, the heat of his efforts slowly melting the ever piling snow on his form.
With a grunt he let the log roll off of his hearing it crush softly into the snow. Fang fell forwards, landing on his hands as he took deep breaths, his knees throbbing. With slow delicate movements he extended his legs, trying to ease off the built up tension.
The movement technique had was harder than he was expecting, even with his newfound strength from his Mortal Forging Sutra.
But it was all worth it, two weeks of effort had culminated to this very moment, as he’s finally completed a full session of training without pause.
His system scroll appeared out of thin air, unfurling its page with a delicate grace.
Fang :
[Cultivation]
- Mortal Forging Sutra I (Small Success)
[Technique]
- Earth-Shattering Steps I (Initiation)
[Bloodline]
- Mortal Human
His legs bulged slightly, an internal wave of power coursing through his muscles. His calves twitched uncontrollably as his tendons wound over themselves, adapting his body to the Earth-Shattering Steps.
Fang exhaled slowly, enjoying the fading euphoria.
The reason it had taken him nearly two times as long as Mortal Forging Sutra was because he had balanced his time training both equally.
When he reached small success in his cultivation he didn’t experience the body crushing seizing metamorphism he had before, but a soothing sudden increase in power. As if his muscles had suddenly doubled in density. His efforts in training had begun to show on his body as well, despite his small form his muscles were taut under his skin like banded steel.
The system was accelerating his progress, skipping months of work by a factor of ten. As long as he practiced perfectly he’d reap the rewards.
Fang stood carefully, stretching out his legs, his joints popping in a gnarled crescendo of relief.
Finally…
He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with a refreshingly taste of the air.
In an instant, he snapped downwards into a sprinting start, his bare feet digging into the ground below with a primal stability. Every muscle in his leg flexed before activating in perfect unity.
The ground beneath exploded! Fang shot forwards reaching eye watering speeds in the blink of an eye.
Hell yeah! Fang thought to himself, relishing the rush of speed, it felt amazing — superhuman.
His joy was short lived however as he struggled to land, his body tipped forwards, unused to air maneuvering. He slammed into a tree, the impact punching the wind out of his lungs before falling into the snow below with a heavy crunch.
He groaned, unmoving.
The tree shook, and an avalanche of snow flooded from the leaves above burying him.
…
I think I need to learn some flips… and maybe get a drink.
—
Fang groaned as he walked up to the only tavern in town. The day had turned dark, the air now painful to breath. He hugged his new dark-fur cloak tightly around himself, satisfied with his recent purchase.
The moment he pushed through the doors he was hit with a wave of warmth and life. The tavern was abuzz with activity, tables were filled with hunters drinking rice wine joking with labourers. A large woman was busy preparing drinks shouting over the commotion with a big smile on her face.
“Kang if you guys break another one of my tables I’ll make sure you never drink again!” She joked.
A large table cheered at her warning, the largest of the bunch a man dressed in heavy furs with a bald scarred head chortled.
“I wouldn’t dare! To be barred from Yan’s special wine would be the day I die!” He vowed to even more cheers.
Fang couldn’t help but smile at the atmosphere. But before he could even take a single step a familiar voice called out to him.
“Is that our little bull Fang?”
Fang turned his head to see foreman Cai waving a drink in his direction. He smiled, heading towards the table of labourers, most of their faces flush red in a drunken stupor.
Fang cupped his hands. “Greets foreman Cai, mind if I join you for a drink?”
Cai grinned, sloshing his drink around. “Lady Yan! One Yan special for our little bull here!”
Fang brow raised at the nickname. “Little bull?” He asked as he took a stool at the round table.
The labourers laughed, one of the drunken men he had worked with before answering in slurred words.
“Yes! Little bull, small yet strong like bull, hardheaded and determined — ugh, I’m gonna heave brothers.” The man grimaced holding his mouth closed.
“If you dare heave in here I will make you lick it up!” Lady Yan shouted over from behind the bar.
The man quickly stood before running out of the tavern with a chorus of laughter following him.
A server brought a wooden tankard of rice wine over, before quickly moving on to serve another table.
Cai pushed the drink over to Fang.
“So little bull, thought Granny Gian would have your head yet here ya are?”
Fang smiled.
“I’ve made some gains in my body refining and thought I’d celebrate a little.”
The men around him nodded in agreement, such things were worth celebrating they thought.
“To our little bull!” Cai shouted aloud raising his drink.
A cheer resounded. Fang smiled, taking a sip of the rice wine, his brows rising in surprise. Sweeter than I thought it’d be.
The night continued, with the men getting drunker and drunker. Every know and then a woman would storm in the tavern fuming as she dragged a drunken excuse for a husband into the cold street. Each time a chorus of cheers would follow.
“Gah, another winter has come. I wonder if this one will be as cold as the last?” A nearby hunter mused.
“We’ll be fiiiiiine—” Another hunter replied. “—not even that Cultivator wanted withstand the cold, what does that say about us!”
The men cheered.
“Gah, bloody cultivators, thinking their so much better than us with their fancy silks and techniques! Consider me happy that he didn’t find anyone here worthy — true mortals we all are!”
He didn’t find a single person with spirit roots? Are they rarer than I assumed?
Fang could only speculate, slowly finishing his drink. He took in a deep breath taking in the atmosphere one last time, his face felt slightly flushed, the drunken warmth turning his cheeks red. As he stood to leave he was suddenly grabbed by foreman Cai.
“Whoa whoa WHOA little bull, where do you think you’re going?! One drink? Only?!”
Fang laughed. “Apologies senior but I’m still young and can’t handle my liquor.”
“Ridicuuuuulous! You’re too strong to be saying that.” Foreman Cai said before burping aloud. He pointed a finger into the air taking a large gulp of his drink.
“To leave you must beat us in a test of strength!”
Fang sighed. They wanted to compete in a test of strength with a twelve year old?
“Okay, but only one match.”
The few remaining men cheered, even a few of the hunters had taken interest. Entertainment was hard to come by in these parts after all.
Space was made and Fang found himself in an arm wrestling match with a young man, he’d seen him at the lumber mill before, the son of Foreman Cai if he remembered correctly.
To the surprise of the whole tavern Fang was holding strong, even more so he was winning! The young man groaned, his eyes widened in incredulity as he lost to a biy five years his junior.
He wasn’t weak by any means, having practiced his fathers Copper Muscle body refining manual to small success.
The young boy before him however had cleanly defeated him, and was barely breaking a sweat.
“HAHAHA! Cai looks like you’ll need to train your son even harder this winter if he’s loosing to the little bull!” The bald headed hunter jeered, slapping his thigh in laughter.
Cai was surprised himself, he had known the boy was strong but not this strong. He must’ve truly had gains in his refining.
“Gah! Kang you try the boy! He’s stronger than he looks.”
Kang chortled before standing. His hulking form towering over the rest of the labourers, as he unceremoniously sat down across from Fang.
Fang could only sigh. I said one match…
His hand was dwarfed in Kang’s. He’s strong. Through grip alone he could tell that he was going to lose, the hunters were the strongest in the village, all of them were body refiners and had been battling beasts for a living. They stood on a different level from the foreman’s son.
Kang grinned. “You have a strong grip there little bull!”
And without warning he yanked Fang’s arm towards the table. Fang grimaced, his teeth grinding as his entire body flexed against the strength of the hulking hunter.
For a moment it seemed like he could hold on, the sheer fact that he could resist Kangs strength caused the tavern to explode in cheers.
“DONT YOU DARE LOSE LITTLE BULL!”
“COME ON! SHOW US YOUR HORNS!”
Unfortunately the difference in strength was too much, Kang grunted and doubled down, a vein on his bald head pulsating. Before he slammed Fang’s arm into the table shattering the wood.
The tavern cheered, it was a match well fought.
“Impressive kid! You must’ve seriously trained hard to become this strong—“ Kang complimented before being unceremoniously slapped in the back of the head.
“Kang! In heavens name what did I say about breaking my tables!” Lady Yan shouted at him.
The tavern cheered once more, jeering as the hulking man apologized profusely to the woman half his size.
One of the hunters turned to Fang, giving him strong pat on the back.
“Good show good show! Say kid… you looking for a job?”