Chapter 23: A Decision Part 1

On the polished stump, Luo Ling sat with his back perfectly straight, legs folded neatly, and his hands resting idly on his thighs. The stillness of his form contrasted with the faint evening breeze, which rustled through the nearby trees.

One of the twenty positions in the Art of Meridian Mending focused on the right way to sit, a subtle adjustment that could awaken the spinal cord and engage the muscles along the back. It was all about finding that sweet spot where comfort met alignment, a position that promised to open the flow of energy through the body.

Luo Ling had taken a liking to this position. It relaxed his taut back muscles from various strenuous exercises.

He was lost in the vast golden expanse of his inner world, taking a moment to admire the progress he’d made after the long hours of hard work. The changes glimmered with promise, a testament to every ounce of effort he’d poured in.

[Iron Muscles Steel Veins Body Forging Exercise (Second Level)] – Proficiency: 260/500

[Archery (Houtian III); Penetration (Rank 1); Weakness (Rank 1)]— Proficiency: 1608/5000

[Art of Meridian Mending Vol 1] — Proficiency: 1/1000]

After a few hours of grueling practice and stubborn persistence, he finally managed to imprint the Art of Meridian Mending into the [Records of Toil]. It had taken him twenty painstaking repetitions, but his sheer determination had paid off.

With his goal for the day accomplished and the shadows of the evening starting to creep in, Luo Ling figured it was time he should go back and rest. It had been a long and strenuous day.

Luo Ling stood up, stretching his arms overhead, a contented smile tugging at his lips as a series of satisfying pops echoed through his spine. Then, he collected his bow, arrows, the rolled-up panther hide, and the stone knife he had put aside some time to sharpen again, ready to return to the orphanage.

The sky was dimming, the fading light casting long shadows as another day drew to a close. His secluded training spot, tucked far behind the village, lay at least a few minutes' walk from the last house on that distant corner. One had to know where they were going to successfully navigate through the dense foliage that led to this clearing.

There was no well-maintained road leading to this hidden site, and Luo Ling preferred it that way. The overgrown bushes and uneven terrain kept most people away, granting him the solitude he craved for his training.

Several minutes into his walk, Luo Ling's ears perked up at a sharp whizzing sound slicing through the air. It was a sound he'd become all too familiar with— the unmistakable hum of something sharp, fast, and deadly. Experience gained from countless battles and duels in his past life kicked in immediately, helping him identify its source.

A throwing knife.

His body tensed as he reflexively shifted his weight, preparing to evade. But before his instincts could fully take over, his sharp eyes had already locked onto the incoming projectile.

The knife glinted in the fading light, cutting through the air with deadly precision.

In that split second, his mind raced. Too fast to dodge completely, he had no time for elaborate techniques—only raw reflexes now.

Twisting his torso, Luo Ling shifted just enough to avoid a direct hit, hoping to lessen the impact. The sharp blade cut a line through his left hand’s sleeve and went on headfast into a tree behind him.

The sliced fabric made its slow, fluttering descent as if savoring the moment before finally settling on the dewy grass. By the time it landed, Luo Ling was already crouched behind the thick trunk of a tree, bow drawn tight, muscles coiled like a spring. His fingers curled around the nocked arrow, its tip glinting with intent.

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Eyes narrowed, he scanned the surroundings, his body steady but his mind racing. On whose foot had he stepped on?

The image of that turban-wearing man’s bloodied face flashed in Luo Ling’s mind, but he quickly shook it off. If the guy had such stealth skills that he could get a knife past Luo Ling’s senses, then he wouldn’t have been caught so easily last time.

It could be another hunter. Luo Ling was willing to put his money on the so-called ‘boss’ the turban guy had used the name of to threaten him.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Luo Ling narrowed his eyes and controlled his breath. The knife was angled from his right side, meaning the man who threw it could be left-handed. Logically, nine out of ten times, a left-handed thrower would rush to their right-hand direction after the throw to hide.

Luo Ling relaxed his grip on the bowstring, reached down, and picked up a pebble, slightly larger than a marble. It weighed about right for something he could use to make some noise.

A heartbeat later, he flung the pebble behind him, the little stone whizzing through the air. Luo Ling kept his ears tuned in, straining to catch the sound of it hitting something. He wasn’t disappointed as soon he picked up two distinctive rustles.

Indeed, he had been right. His assailant was hiding somewhere to their right.

Knowing where his enemy was, all Luo Ling had to do now was to lure them out to visibility.

The transmigrator took a sharp inhale before breaking into a mad dash at a tree behind the one he was hiding in. A 2nd-rate martial warrior’s vigorous blood and vitality surged, transforming him into a black blur that melted into the darkness of the evening.

Two knives zipped through the air, one slicing past him with a whisper of missed opportunity, while the other grazed his scalp, severing a few strands of hair.

Luo Ling couldn’t help but smirk. There they were, a figure hunched low among the thick bushes at the base of a sturdy tree, trying to blend in.

Target acquired. All that was left was to pin them against the tree with an arrow. The bowstring hummed in anticipation as Luo Ling steadied his breath, lining up the shot. It was just him, the arrow, and the bush where he saw the person hiding.

Luo Ling no longer hid. He blatantly revealed himself as he crept closer. At this angle, if that person wanted to attack, they couldn’t do it without revealing themselves. It was a blatant challenge.

A slight tremor in the leaves of the bush didn’t escape Ling’s keen gaze. With a swift flick of his fingers, the arrow flew into the thicket. The transmigrator followed closely behind.

“Ahhh!” It was a man’s cry.

When Luo Ling reached his destination, he found a burly figure sprawled on the uneven ground, clutching his knee. The arrow had found its mark, embedded halfway into the joint, and the man was writhing in pain.

Without hesitation, Luo Ling kicked the man’s hands away from his injured knee. In one fluid motion, he nocked and released two arrows in quick succession, each one aimed precisely at the man’s wrist joints. The metal-tipped arrows buried themselves deep, dragging down and then pinning the man's hands in a spread-eagle position against the ground, rendering him completely immobile.

The final arrow nocked and aimed at the nose of the man.

“This is your only warning,” Luo Ling growled. “I remember your face now. If anyone tries this stunt with me again, I’ll track you down and kill you. Got it?”

Luo Ling was in no mood to crack jokes like he had done with the turban man. He was more livid at himself than the man who attacked him.

Someone followed him all the way to his secret training spot, stalked him long enough to accurately gauge his strengths and weaknesses, and then took advantage of it to lay an ambush. All this happened and yet he was none the wiser.

It was a shame. A humiliation to his pride as a warrior.

“Who gives warnings like this?” The man with a balding head gritted through clenched jaws. “And what makes you think you’ll survive the next encounter? Brat, the things you have with you have already attracted a few eyes. Unlike me, they are strong with real skills.”

Luo Ling smirked at the man’s futile attempt to intimidate him. If he were any average nine-year-old with just a hint of maturity, the situation might have sent him into a full-blown panic. But Luo Ling was far from ordinary, and fear wasn’t something he’d entertain so easily.

“Stop spouting nonsense. With how precisely you threw those knives, you should be around the seventh stage of External Martial arts. Even if I can’t beat a ninth stage, I can easily escape them.” Luo Ling’s glare intensified. “And then I’ll track you down and kill you.”

“You are being unreasonable! Why would you want to kill me if others try something? I’ve got no control over what they do!” the man all but screamed, tears streaking down his tanned cheeks. In that moment, the fear had completely taken over—he no longer cared if the one threatening him was a child. All that mattered was survival.

“Then you better think of a way to keep them off my back.” Luo Ling grasped the tail end of the two arrows pinning the man's hands and gave them a sharp, unforgiving pull. “And I’ll take all those knives.”

After wiping away the bloodied tips against the reeling man’s shirt, he put them back into the quiver. As for the one going through his knees, Luo Ling decided against pulling it out.

Then he panned the area to collect all three knives before disappearing into the darkness.

He could already foresee a sleepless night.