* * *

If you do something strange once, the whole village will come to see it. If you do it five times, there will be gawkers, but they will be much fewer. Ten - even the most impatient will get bored. They will find something more fun to do than to get their asses off work, play, or anything else necessary or interesting.

With his daily dives, Feng had long since ceased to be a major attraction but had become a routine, like sunset and sunrise. The rain is falling, Yi is forging, the Sun is shining, Feng is running and diving, the cold mountain wind is blowing, and old Yao is weaving his baskets - all the usual routine, as the gods have done since time immemorial.

Feng tried not to disappoint, setting himself up as a model of routine and consistency for the villagers. So, as soon as the ice broke, he went to the river to catch fresh fish and to test his new harpoon, the tip of which he had made from the same stone as the pickaxe.

The past winter, despite the jaw-dropping boredom, had been very fruitful. Feng had finally opened the third dantian and then worked hard to return to his former level of strength. As it turned out, emptying all the qi and re-collecting it to the point of bloodshot eyes was more fruitful than expected, even if he reminded himself of Mo Wei, nicknamed "Black Cliff," a villain from the crystals who used a qi cultivation method that required him to regularly inflict pain on himself. Only, unlike Mo Wei, Feng didn't enjoy pain one bit!

But now Feng was able to train each dantian in turn, tamping qi into two of them while the third rested and recovered. Feng didn't know if he was getting used to it, or going crazy, or if he had discovered some special training secret, but as time went on, the pain dulled and almost disappeared, turning into an almost pleasant tugging sensation of a job well done.

Han Nao had watched enough crystals and read enough scrolls to know there were twelve levels of cultivation with three degrees of proficiency - low, medium, and high. And moving from level to level required not only overcoming the bottleneck but also experiencing the Heavenly Retribution, a stream of deadly lightning bolts the Heavens sent to those who dared to challenge them.

But no matter how much Feng tried, not only could he not feel this very bottleneck, not only did he not have to break through the invisible barrier, but he could only see thunder and lightning during a thunderstorm. And that meant only one thing - it required a manifold increase in effort. After all, according to his father, the master was stronger than Bao Xiao, and after all, the latter had reached the penultimate stage of Soul Transformation. This meant that the master was at the Ascension stage, as a Grandmaster should be, while Feng was trying to overcome the stage of Qi Condensation, but it was not condensing for some reason!

"Hey, Feng! How long are you going to stand there? It's cold!" shouted a familiar voice.

Feng wrinkled his nose. There was no way he could do without an audience. Mu and Tsu were old enough to be allowed to go to the river so they wouldn't get bored of diving.

There was no point in waiting. Feng's plan was a complete success. The preserved fish hadn't spoiled over the winter, so no one in the Shirong family had died or even gotten sick. But he still wanted something fresh and less disgusting. Of course, he had gone into the forest many times, ravaged nests and animal stores, and had not been sparing of mice, birds, and grubs, but until he had developed enough qi to keep from falling through the snow, regular forest subsistence was out of the question!

Feng leisurely stripped off his clothes, leaving him in his loincloth. He took a few deep breaths, picked up his spear, and dove into the deep water. The cold water burned more than fire, but the cold didn't bother him now because he finally had a chance to strengthen his body again! The heart dantian, although it had no part in strengthening his body or improving his qi vision, helped him to feel his condition much better, and he was able to remove any wounds, ailments, or the lingering effects of disease and malnutrition. Thanks to it, Feng had gained another aspect of sensitivity - an instinctive understanding of the health of man or beast. He could see that his new kin were not doing well, and he was even going to help them, not out of gratitude, though he felt a certain amount of affection for them, but as training.

Feng swam beneath the water, watching for fish. The cold water had a strange crystalline clarity, either because of the winter time or because of his new and improved abilities. He hunted for fish, but he swam like a fish, even better!

He didn't need any big catches. No one, not even his family, needed to know that Feng wasn't just swimming underwater in an unsuccessful search for a non-existent demon but was fishing. Even though he could stay underwater for a long time now, and his average dantian had improved many times over, Feng still ducked out more often just in case, so the spectators wouldn't think he had already drowned.

As it turned out, the new spear brought nothing but disappointment. The new spear was no better than a bamboo stick, but the heavy stone tip shifted the balance, so Feng missed the first couple of times. This also made swimming with it uncomfortable or rather unaccustomed. Feng decided to take it as training, but he learned an important lesson: every battle needs its weapon, and every job needs its tool. It was the kind of wisdom worthy of a scroll, but Duojia had neither scrolls nor educated men to appreciate it.

Thanks to his eyesight and qi perception, the fishing trip didn't last long. Feng quickly picked up the lampreys and sucked on the rocks at the bottom, which, although they had lost their fat reserves after the winter, were still very tasty. Then, one by one, he found two large fish, struck them with his spear, and put them in his makeshift cage with the lampreys and a few small crayfish.

The deed was done. He had not only enough food for today but also for the next day. It was time to get out, distract Mu and Tsu with something, get them off the river, and then secretly return for the catch. Feng was amazed at how easy and quick it was to get food. It was not only nourishing but also tasty, using dried forest herbs as seasoning. And how different it was from those dull times before the return of memories from his past life!

If his goal was to eat plenty of food, he could continue to live here in Duojia, climb up the hierarchy, become an apprentice to Yi, become a blacksmith, give up his torturous training, and live a long and carefree life until he was old. Only he would forever remain not even a fish in the pond but a tadpole in the swamp. Let large, strong, even the most powerful, but a tadpole live in the swamp slime! Such an outcome would not cause the master to smile derisively for only one reason: he had no way of knowing about his new existence.

The memory of his mater, as usual, made his eyes glaze over with a red veil, and his qi boiled furiously. Feng even let out a gasp of air and nearly swallowed water, which would be the funniest and stupidest demise in the world, making the spirits of ancestors, master, Mei, gods, and demons laugh their bellies out.

Feng hurriedly calmed his qi and was about to surface for a breath of fresh air. He could get away from the river and do some other training.

He didn't sense anything wrong until the very end until it was too late. Neither his eyesight nor his newfound perception nor his intuition told him anything. He felt only a slight, subtle change in the background chi somewhere near the bottom and saw an almost imperceptible dark spot that resembled a slightly thicker growth of algae. And then something soft and elastic wrapped around his leg and pulled him down to the depths.

To admit it, Feng was frightened. He was so scared that he forgot all about it, and he gasped, letting out the rest of his air and ceasing to hold his chi. His eyes widened in horror as he stared at the wide, flat mouth that opened right in the middle of the seaweed at the bottom of the river. The fact that he couldn't see the owner of the mouth only made him more frightened, making the situation even more frightening.

Feng didn't know how he'd managed not to drop his harpoon, but his fingers must have been cramped with terror. Instinctively, he jabbed at the invisible foe and even hit, but the point slipped on something hard, not hurting the enemy in the slightest.

Feng realized that this was the end. The gods had laughed at him again: he, so arrogant and smug in his false search for the river spirit, had managed to find it after all. For the foolish peasants, who were not so foolish, he would now be just another victim of the water monster, an example for their children, a source of gossip and conversation for the next few months, until another, more interesting or important topic could be found.

And the master... And the master, if he finds out, will use another stolen quote: "A warrior should take in his hands only the sword that he can lift," and then he will hum satisfied, turn around and go his way - happy that the former student has exceeded all possible expectations!

Feng felt his eyes darken. Not only from lack of air but also from the wave of all-consuming anger. He would not give the bastard such pleasure, and if he were to die, he would do so as a hero, with a weapon in his hands, fighting an uneven battle with the monster!

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm down. It was hard to do so, for a tenacious tongue had already pulled his foot into a toothless, wide mouth. His foot slipped on something sticky and fleshy.

Feng focused on the qi. Even though the creature had an incredible ability to disguise itself, was all his efforts, suffering, and training for nothing? Could the possession of three dantians at once, all the pain and suffering he had gone through to discover them, not help him in a time of need? Along with the returning qi flow came a calmness. A sense of ringing frosty clarity came over him, pushing the raging emotions to the back of his mind. The creature grabbed him with its tongue and was about to chew on his leg - but would its camouflage skill resist direct contact?

Perception was still as silent as ever. Even though the body was touching something alive, through the qi, it felt like a part of nature, like stone or sand. Feng turned to the heart dantian and channeled qi first into the leg and then further, straight into the river monster's body.

As it turned out, the creature was not sick and was perfectly healthy! Such knowledge would have been useless if the qi hadn't shown the limits of this health, from the outline of the long, flattened body, the powerful tail, the broad fins, the fleshy tendrils on either side of the snout, and the bright spark of the twin heart beating deep within! If not for its size and long tongue, the creature would be no different from an ordinary catfish. Han Nao had once been very fond of eating young catfish in black bean sauce with white onions and ginger. And now, as a karmic retribution, this catfish was going to devour young Han!

Without opening his eyes, for his eyesight would be of no use now, Feng directed his qi straight into the spear, feeling the wood and stone of the point begin to crumble under the force of his energy. He swung his spear as hard as he could, aimed it at the creature's mouth, and gave it a sharp blow.

The spear slipped past his leg, leaving a deep cut on his foot, and plunged into the monster's gut, straight to its slowly beating heart. As if satisfied with its work, the spear finally gave up and shattered into small splinters and shards of stone.

Only now, when it was too late, the creature sensed something wrong. Its tongue unclenched, releasing Feng's leg, and suddenly, like a passerby's figure from the thick fog, a huge body appeared against the bottom. Feng made a few powerful paddles, getting farther away. Just in time, the monster's body convulsed, kicking up sand and streams of water.

Feng's body twisted and turned, and he lost his bearings for a moment, not realizing where the top was and where the bottom was. Fortunately, the calm had not yet worn off, so he didn't panic or do anything stupid or lose the last of his air supply. And when he was no longer flailing around in the water like a random splinter, he managed to get his bearings, swim up, and take a greedy gulp of fresh, frosty air.

"Hey, Feng, what's wrong?" Mu shouted. "It was so! Water! It was like a fountain! And..."

Feng did not listen to this torrent of words but immediately dived back into the depths. He swam up to the cloud of sand that had not yet settled and swam closer to the monster's qi, which was now fully manifested. The spear passed through the esophagus and struck the heart or the organ that replaced it. And now, except for the last convulsions, the creature could be called dead.

To avoid unpleasant surprises, Feng channeled qi into his palm, strengthening it and reinforcing it. He thrust his hand under the gill cover and grasped the river master like an ordinary caught fish.

The gills slammed into his hand like a vise in Master Yi's forge, and if it hadn't been for the qi, Feng would have lost his fingers. He pushed his feet into the muddy bottom and pulled the weightless carcass toward the shore.

"Feng! Feng! So what was there?" Mu shouted as soon as his head appeared above the water.

Feng made no reply, concentrating on trying to make his way to the shore. It took him a long time, and when he was done, his feet slipping on the rocks as he tried to move the body of the river monster even one more step, a crowd of peasants had already gathered on the bank, with Tsu standing in front of them, gesticulating wildly with his arms spread wide.

"A real man always keeps his promises," Feng said with a proud expression. "So what were you saying about the river master?"

* * *

Once before, in another life, Han Nao really wanted to become famous. He wanted to become famous for the entire Empire. His father, General Guang, had said that Han had achieved such fame but not in the way he would have liked. He dreamed of being a great warrior and thinker, but the fame of a worthless glutton did not appeal to him.

Feng needed fame too. But it wasn't for ego gratification or to bask in the acclaim of the world. He was going to mine the fame to forge it, like bad ore from a swamp, into a Star Steel blade that would strike his master's spirit while Feng's sword pierced his body.

After killing the River Master, Feng got his fame. And it was annoying. The feast was over, and the whole village was stuffing their bellies with meat that was not very tasty and tinged with mud. He had to tell the story of the monster's murder many times, and he didn't lie or embellish, but he even left out a lot of things, like the dantians and qi. He told the truth: that he had made the spear, had trained and prepared for the fight for a long time, and had survived only by sheer luck.

As it turned out, every great deed has great consequences. The village stopped thinking Feng was a fool and began to greet him respectfully. The new nickname "General Feng" was no longer used as a taunt but with respect. At home, his prestige, already high after a successful winter, where thanks to the fish Shirong had procured, he had a nice jingling bundle of beautiful copper coins, had increased many times over. People began to ask his opinion and advice, and when he wanted to practice or go into the forest, they let him go without any objections. Aimin was the only one who behaved as usual, always sulking and turning up her nose. But Feng knew it was only out of jealousy.

But there were negative sides to his accomplishment. Now, wherever he went, whatever he tried to do, he was followed by a flock of children, always looking at him with eyes full of admiration. And if he liked it for a couple of days, he found it irritating.

"Hello, hero!" Yi waved at him, putting down his hammer and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "It's been a long time. I didn't expect you to honor my humble smithy with your attention."

Feng smiled and slung the heavy basket he had made from bamboo trunks, vines, and willow bark. He had watched Yao's work many times and tried to do the same, but his shoddy handicrafts were still no match for the old man's smooth, even beautiful wickerwork.

"Hello, Master Yi!" Feng smiled. "I would have come earlier, but alas, worries. They are like the shadow of time blocking the sun of life."

"Well said!" Yi marveled. "Did you come up with that yourself?"

Feng, who liked this quote very much himself, smiled broadly. It was not for nothing that he saw a kindred spirit in the blacksmith!

"No, it was said by Martial Monk Zhu after the enemies had accosted him at the Moon Lake Inn, and he had defeated them all."

"Alas, I am not acquainted with him, but I would very much like to meet him. Apparently, he's not only very strong but also very wise! Why was he attacked? What enemies?"

With his heightened sensitivity, enhanced by his heart dantian, Feng felt a strong, greedy flash of interest coming from the blacksmith. His intuition was screaming at the top of his voice, telling him that he shouldn't just tell him.

"Oh, Master Yi, I'm sorry, I have to hurry. I'm taking this home!"

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He threw back the lid of the basket, revealing shiny black chunks of the substance he had been mining all winter in the mountains with his stone pickaxe. His actions had, as usual, many purposes. He was practicing his strike, learning how to apply force with precision and strength, training his muscles, developing his then still weak lower dantian, and, of course, honing his sensitivity to feel the warm energy of the hot stone embedded in the rock.

"Phoenix shit!" The blacksmith shrieked with utter delight and without restraint. "What do you need it for? Where did you get it?"

"They say this stone burns better than wood. I'll take it to my mom to cook. Besides, it's cold at home, and I like the heat."

Yi let go of the hammer, which fell to the ground with a loud clang and ran his fingers through his thick sweaty hair.

"Stoking the hearth? Are you out of your mind?"

Feng smiled widely.

"What's the big deal? I got it myself, and when I need it, I'll get more! Of course, there is not much of it in the mountains, but if you know how to look for it, then you will have enough for a long time!"

The expression on the blacksmith's face changes, becoming like a villain from the crystal who sits down at the table with the protagonist to lure him into a trap with a false heartwarming story.

"Say, Feng, how about you give this stone to me? And not just this one, but whatever else you can get? Don't worry about Mom and the house. I've got peat that's good for heat, too! And I've got plenty of it!"

Feng inwardly snorted. Peat was indeed plentiful in the area - it was enough to go to the swamp, cut bricks from it, and avoid drowning or being preyed upon by beasts. But it burned only slightly worse than good firewood when dried and was much easier to obtain.

"I don't know, hot stone is better than peat," Feng scratched his chin doubtfully.

"But using it for a house is pointless!" Yi didn't back down. "It must belong in the forge! And I'm willing to pay! With money!"

"Hey, Feng!" Little Chun wailed. "So, what was the matter with the monk?"

Feng glanced at the youngsters who had noticed him gathering at the forge, and in a voice whose falseness made his jaw ache, he replied:

"Oh, I'm so busy, I'm so busy! There's so much to do. Dad and Mom make me work, and I don't have time for chatter! I'm not some blacksmith's apprentice to stand in one place, help, and at the same time tell not only about Monk Zhu but also about many other heroes and villains! Obviously, I would still have to go to the mountains to mine hot stone, but the rest of the time...."

Feng stammered, catching his breath.

"Listen," said the blacksmith in an equally fake tone, "I've got an idea!"

Feng glanced at him furtively, trying with his whole appearance to show how uninterested he was in possible suggestions.

"An idea, Master Yi?"

"A fine and marvelous idea!" confirmed the man. "I see you have grown strong and sturdy. How about you stop wasting your talent on peasant work and go to work in the smithy like a real man! You'll learn a useful trade. You'll become strong, and the girls will be all over you! How about it, huh?"

"Oh, Master Yi, you know, I'm so busy, so busy, and my parents might not allow me to go to for...."

"Feng!" The blacksmith cut him off, becoming serious at once. "Don't be impudent. I don't throw such offers around. The hot stone is good, but I've lived without it, and I'll live without it. And if I want stories, I'll go to the hut of the lame Sun and listen to what he tells his wife after a jug of bog berry tincture. I'm used to working alone, and I rarely throw such offers around."

Feng felt that since it was about serious matters, there was no need to fool around anymore.

"Master Yi, this is a great honor for me," Feng said, bowing his head respectfully."

"All right! Well, if that's the case, swing the bellows first. When you're a little older, you'll be able to work with a hammer!"

Feng had watched the blacksmith's work many times, so he knew what to do. So he jumped up to the large, strange thing made of wood and leather, grasped the shiny, polished handle, and pressed down with all his might.

A stream of air whistled out of the nozzle. The coals in the furnace flared and glowed scarlet. Yi grabbed the oblong piece of metal lying on the anvil with long tongs and thrust it into the fire.

"Hey, Feng, listen, Feng!" Chun wailed again. "So, what about the monk?"

"Right, tell us about the monk!" Some of the kids chimed in.

Feng swung the mech again a few times, then paused after seeing the blacksmith's sign.

"Come on, come on, tell them!" Yi encouraged me.

Feng smiled slyly and began the story:

"One day at sunset, when the last rays of the sun were reflecting in the calm surface of the mountain lake, a tired traveler appeared near the inn on the shore. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and statuesque, but he had a large belly that hinted at a great love of food. Simple loose robes of coarse cloth and a heavy iron-rimmed staff showed that the traveler had chosen a spiritual path. And the name of this remarkable man was ...."

* * *

Feng had once feared that his elevated status in Duojia would be an obstacle to his ultimate plan to destroy his master, not so much his body as his spirit, his personality. That he would become a local celebrity, satisfied with his honorable position, thinking that if he was happy here, why bother?

That didn't happen. The effect was exactly the opposite. When Feng felt the first serious successes, he received confirmation that the plan was working, which meant he was on the right track. Feng felt the desire to redouble his efforts, for the desired goal now seemed so close, so attainable!

His master could forge swords, so Feng became a blacksmith's apprentice. The master could cook - Feng also took part in the cooking, even if the result was a barely edible but still satisfying mass of fish. There wasn't much left to do - advance along each of these paths and reach perfection! Feng had even become, albeit only in a small way, a healer. After discovering the heart dantian, he not only corrected lingering problems in his own body but also covertly practiced on his relatives, trying to influence his father and mother to improve their terrible health. Qi training and battles with and without weapons were also something Feng did regularly, even if the weapons were peasant tools like flail and sickle. But since he was now working at the forge, he would soon be able to forge his real weapons!

Alas, there was only one skill left that Feng not only hadn't practiced, but he didn't even know how to approach it. Talismans. The master definitely knew how to make talismans, which he used to torment him and Mei. Such a talisman would greatly help Feng's training, so it was foolish to put off mastering this art. Alas, there were a whole bunch of obstacles that made him unsure of how to approach this problem.

He had an idea for ink. The forest was full of black eyes, an inedible berry famous for leaving a dark purple mark on clothes that was very permanent and could not be washed off. Soot and charcoal were also plentiful in the village, so Feng could make ink sticks by selecting the right ingredients. Creating a brush wasn't a problem either. Feng guessed that a good brush would probably require more than wrapping a bundle of wool around a stick, but there was still the option of making a stylus out of reeds or bamboo as a last resort.

The main problem was paper. No one in Duojia had any, except perhaps the headman, who was the only one who had to report to the imperial officials and order from a merchant. And it was probably the merchant who sold the paper to him, charging him a hefty sum of money.

The fact that Feng had no idea how to go about creating a talisman didn't bother him. He didn't know how to do many things, and if he didn't try, he would never learn.

"Master Yi, is it true that there is iron ore in the swamps?" He asked, leaning on the bellows.

"That's true, Feng," replied the blacksmith.

Now, after a full day's work, he looked like the first guy in the village: half-naked, muscular, and smoky. Aimin's older sister, who had changed a lot over the past year from looking like a scrawny village child of unknown sex to looking rounder in all the right places and blossoming. As usual, when she saw Feng, she gave him a displeased look, but he pretended not to notice.

"Do we have one around here?"

"Why would you need that, kid?" Yi asked, still pounding his hammer. "Swamp ore is crap, and it takes a lot of effort to make something good."

"If the swamp ore enters the crucible of the forge and receives a thousand hammer blows, it will turn into Star Steel! And then there is no barrier to it!"

Feng wasn't bothered by the fact that he was blatantly quoting his master. First, the bastard had stolen a thousand of Han's quotes, so now he was just getting even. And secondly, if Feng had decided to take everything from his teacher: his name, his deeds, his personality, then the quotes, no matter how bad they were, would be worthless.

"Well said!" Yi exclaimed in delight as he put down his hammer. "It's a pity I can only read a little, but I can't write. I could have written it on the forge!"

Feng was saddened that the blacksmith liked his master's quote so much, but only a little - after all, it had become Feng's quote!

"I can write," he admitted. "I can write very well."

"If it's as good as making up phrases," the blacksmith laughed, "then I'll never be able to pay you back! Where'd you learn it? If there's one thing Shirong knows how to do, it's make babies!"

"I'm from the city!" Feng explained without much hope of being believed.

"Flames and demons, I keep forgetting about it!" Yi exclaimed. "So, are you going to write it?"

"Do you have paper and a brush?" Feng asked hopefully.

Of course, He couldn't even dream of good silk, but he could always ask for a couple of sheets as a reward for his work. And then...

"Of course there is. How could there not be?" replied the blacksmith.

"Really?" Feng rejoiced.

"I also have a dozen maids, a horse, and a palace!" Yi laughed. "Think about it, where did I get the paper? Why do you think the merchant is charging so much money for it? It's only made in the city, and everyone needs it - judges, officials, merchants, and some villages too."

Feng was surprised. In his previous life, he was so used to the abundance of books and scrolls that the concepts of "paper" and "value" were almost opposites. He knew how to make paper - he had not only had to rewrite the scroll about its creation but even redraw the illustrations. It was made almost from garbage: bark, rags, and, most importantly, rice straw. It was the same thatch that Duojia used for roofing, bedding, mats, and mostly for twisting into tight bundles and burning as the worst but most readily available fuel.

The process of making proper paper required eight dozen steps and many components. But for something very simple, a simple grind of straw, water, and a frame of stretched cloth would be enough!

"Don't be so upset!" The blacksmith misunderstood his thoughtfulness. "There's no need for any paper! I'll carve a piece of wood, you write, and then we'll nail it above the forge! Will you do it?"

"I will!" assured Feng. "Master Yi, I have to run home right away!"

"All right, go!" The blacksmith waved his hand dismissively.

Feng rushed as fast as he could, catching a glimpse of Aimin's satisfied smile and the predatory glint in her eyes.

The smithy was in the back of the village, but Feng was home in no time. He burst into the hut, nearly knocking down his father and brothers, who had returned home.

"I know how we can make a lot of money!" he squealed with joy.

* * *

" ...and only when the tip of his blade pressed against the brigand's neck let out a thin trickle of blood, the brigand reluctantly pulled off the monkey mask, revealing a beautiful female face to the astonished Bao Xiao!"

The audience groaned in unison. The children did not hesitate to shriek loudly; the peasants showed more restraint, only clapping their hands on their thighs.

"So what is your name, beautiful brigandess," Bao Xiao asked. "I am not a brigand," replied the one. "My name is Mei Lin, and I want to avenge the death of my parents!" "In that case, I will help you!" Bao Xiao exclaimed fervently. "After all, our goals are the same!" "I don't need help," Mei Ling objected. "But I won't refuse a trustworthy companion! Especially if his blade is as impetuous as yours!" This was how Bao Xiao met Mei Lin, the love of his life!"

This time, the adults couldn't stand it either. They jumped up from the ground and shouted along with the children, expressing admiration and sincere, almost childlike delight.

Even though he could reconstruct the sequence of events up to the very last moment, Feng did not understand why everything had turned out the way it did. As soon as he mentioned the hero from the crystal once and then briefly recounted his story to the blacksmith and the children the whole of Duojia knew about it softly and imperceptibly as if under the influence of an enchantment or a particularly sophisticated mental technique. Feng had tried to exercise the village fool's right to freakishness, except that now he was no longer Shitfeng, nor was he a mad foster boy who thought he was an aristocrat or the son of a general. For the village, he became a respected apprentice blacksmith, standing almost at the top of the village hierarchy, a daring daredevil who had defeated an evil river spirit and fed its meat to the whole village. And somehow, it happened one day this weakness, like a small hole in the dam, widened, turning into a gaping hole. When half the village began to gather near the forge and the other half to jostle behind the first, trying to get closer to the storyteller, Yi couldn't stand it and chased them all away, including Feng. He was eager to find out who had planted the alchemical poison on the head of the Shi Clan to frame Hua Lun.

Feng had been busy at the forge, learning how to convert qi into Water, cooling the workpieces faster, keeping the fire in the furnace, and affecting the Metal in the workpieces while forging, but now it was all a waste of time. He could not find any sense in training his throat and tongue muscles, no matter how hard he tried.

The realization came later, piercing like a lightning strike. Yes, he was wasting time on stories, but who was to say that this particular one - staying relatively still in one place - wasn't one of the important parts of training?

The peasants accustomed to Feng's eccentricities only poked their fingers and laughed a little when he stood first in the dabu stance, then flowed into the tian guan stance, and then merged with nature, stretching his arms to the sky in the shenglin stance.

One of the main misfortunes of the village, besides crop failures, poverty, and taxes, was boredom. It was because of the lack of any entertainment that peasants could spend months or even years discussing meaningless events, which, as they gradually grew in detail, became so distorted that the root cause was soon lost. It was because of this that such insignificant things as a neighbor boy stepping in shit or drowning clothes while washing became known to one and all. And now Feng had given the village what it so desperately needed.

Unexpectedly for him, retelling his favorite stories was much more difficult, but at the same time much more productive than he had ever imagined. Being in the midst of a pile of people, in the midst of dozens of weak sources of qi, he was learning to pick out each individual light from a large blur. Concentrating on the counter, on the flow of energy through the meridians, and on keeping a coherent narrative at the same time was also very difficult - but this way he could train his concentration and switch his mind between different tasks.

By chance, an implicit but very useful effect of using the heart dantian was discovered: Feng began to feel a slight irregularity, an obstruction of the qi current during the exercises, which allowed him to make slight corrections until the stance became perfect. Feng also had more patients - he was able to examine a lot of illnesses and ailments of his fellow villagers and try to influence their health. The peasants attributed attacks of pain or sudden fainting to fatigue after a hard spring day or sitting on the cold ground, not to Feng's tricks.

And the fact that "General Feng" is shouting, sitting on an invisible horse, standing on one leg or even on his head - so what? First, dive into a cold river, kill an evil demon, and then say something!

However, it soon became clear that Feng was not alone: the children, some older boys and girls, and even a couple of adults, either out of boredom or admiration, tried to follow him. And they were doing it all wrong!

* * *

Learning at least the basics of blacksmithing was great. And if you add the hammer work that Master Yi was cautiously allowing, it would be perfect! Great training, no crowds of gawkers, a chance to focus on practical qi work - what more could one want?

Perhaps more training, this time in the mine. The stone pickaxe had long ago chipped and then broken, followed by another one, a companion to the first, and then Master Yi made Feng an iron one from the ore he had gathered from the swamp. Maybe he valued his assistant so much, maybe he was grateful for the regular supply of hot stone, or maybe he liked the stories he told. The inscription "In the fierce crucible of a thousand hammer blows, swamp ore becomes Star Steel" now adorned the entrance to the smithy, and it also made Yi feel good.

The word "mine" wasn't an exaggeration either - the small notch in the rock from which Feng had started mining had turned into quite a decent cave, the walls of which he surveyed with qi and reinforced in the right places with bamboo stanchions.

Feng dreamed of finding iron ore in the mountains and forging a real weapon, as well as quietly selling a couple of knives to a visiting merchant because the idea of creating paper, although the family was welcomed favorably required time.

Feng had already tried to establish a relationship with the merchant during his last visit but to no avail. Unlike the rest of the villagers, he had not taken Feng seriously so far.

With real weapons, you can try to hunt dangerous beasts on the far side of the forest or go deep into the mountains, facing unknown dangers.

"Master Yi, do you know how to forge spears?" Feng asked.

"I can do that," he replied, stopping suddenly. "And swords too. Axes and sabers, maces, and guan dao, but I'll tell you what, kid, leave this idea."

"What?"

"You think I can't see? You think you've become strong and famous, accomplished a feat, and now you're going to forge your weapons and leave? The first guards will ask you where you got your weapon, take it away, and hang you for vagrancy and robbery!

"What robbery?"

"Or they'll say you slaughtered two sheep over there or killed old Aunt Pigão or robbed a traveler. They'll blame you, and you'll just stand there with your mouth hanging open. Especially at the end, when the noose squeezes your throat!"

Feng involuntarily touched his throat. He wanted to object, but a question flew from his lips:

"Is Aunt Pigao dead? Who is she anyway? I thought I knew everyone in our village."

"Any kind of woman! Anybody! Don't play dumb with me! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Of course, after his feat and strange behavior, everyone in the village suspected that something was wrong with Feng, but he did not speak aloud about his qi to anyone. The true reason for his strength and stamina had never occurred to anyone. Yes, Feng could not only increase the airflow from the bellows and make the fire hotter, but he could also forge a billet with his bare hands and strengthen it with his qi. But why? He could develop qi as it was, his muscles could be trained with a hammer and pickaxe, and he didn't need any extra attention on top of the already existing one.

"I'm not going to run away," he muttered.

For now, at least! he added to himself. There were a lot of preparations to be made, money to be saved, a twelfth birthday to wait for, and an adult name to be given.

"Wait until you are an adult and have a name," said the blacksmith, as if he had read his mind. "You'll take a paper from the headman and go wherever you want - you'll be in your own right."

"And weapon?"

"Why do you keep thinking about that weapon!" Yi laughed. "You're always so serious. I sometimes forget that you're just a kid."

Feng remained silent. He also forgot about it all the time, so he had to remind himself from time to time.

"They say you like food very much," Yi continued, a little offhandedly, "and you're so aristocratic about it that you're unbelievable. But they say the food you like tastes too aristocratic for our simple mouths. We peasants think their food is a disgusting filth."

"I even know who told you about it!" Feng replied with a frown. "Someone who does nothing but shake her tits and flap her tongue!"

"Don't be angry," laughed the blacksmith. "You have a good sister growing up, but she'll soon grow into a real beauty. And I know that it's better to eat slop than to starve to death/ I've had all sorts of things in my life. I want to give you some good advice."

Feng's ears perked up.

"It's not the season yet, but come summer, pick up a couple of baskets of Bai Mou Gu mushrooms. They're very valuable. The merchant will gladly buy as many as you have, and he won't think you stole them from anyone. Don't make that face. Do you think no one saw you hanging around him? By the way, I love them too, so if you want to treat me, I wouldn't say no. Everyone loves them. Your relatives love them too!"

Aha, as soon as you bring baskets of mushrooms home, they'll devour them all at once without thanking you! Han thought with a laugh. Life was always giving him new things to think about, even when everything seemed clear and well-planned.

So much to do and so many new things to be managed and invented. But what did these dark peasants know about the true art of aristocratic intrigue? Han spent twelve years shirking his studies, masterfully complaining to Mother Lihua and shielding himself from General Guang's wrath. So he can do well here. How can the present hardship be compared to the past?

"I don't have any suitable baskets yet. And I've only met Bai Mow Gu a couple of times in the forest. But I'll go to Grandpa Yao, learn how to make baskets before summer, and gather enough mushrooms for the merchant and you," he said. "After all, these are only temporary hardships!"

* * *

Chapter 14, in which the hero realizes that words entail worries, and mushrooms can be delicious as well as dangerous