* * *

Feng was nervous. For him, who had defeated many monsters and fought in the forest, water, and swamp, such feelings were ridiculous. But even with all the ways he knew how to stay calm, he couldn't keep his excitement at bay.

And it wasn't even because the day of the summer solstice was approaching, which meant that he, who had been born presumably in spring or maybe winter, was already in his first dozen years, so it was time to get an adult name and stop being considered a child.

He could not get the most important thing he wanted, but in this respect, he had settled everything long ago. It took a lot of effort to gain the priest's trust and make him friendly with him, as much as friendship was possible between a child and an old man. He made some valuable gifts, like pots of forest honey and a well-made wolfskin with qi, "to keep your knees warm, grandfather." Over time, the priest realized that this nice, friendly, and kind Feng was a great example for the younger generation and, unlike the youth of today, idle, lazy, and disrespectful of their elders, more than deserved a good-sounding name.

Still, Feng felt regret. No matter how much he tried, no matter how many ways he invented to awaken his memory, he couldn't remember his master's name. Unfortunately, at that unfortunate moment, he had not listened to anyone, and he could only retrieve what he had once remembered.

The most frustrating part was the certainty that if Feng had remembered his master He would have looked at the idea from different angles, found a lot of flaws in it, and thought of a name many times better.

But it was the mysteriousness and inaccessibility that made the master's name so coveted, that made his heart full of demons, that turned the desire to "become like him" into a kind of obsession. Feng recognized this obsession and learned to use its power to train harder and harder. But he still couldn't get rid of the slight feeling of defeat.

The battle between him and his master, of which he was not yet aware, was a battle of equals. Feng had the advantage of his looks. As he grew older, his face became more and more masculine and strong-willed, leaving his master's repulsive face no chance. But his master had more than made up for it by stealing Feng's future name from him.

But right now, at this moment, it wasn't the names or the master he was worried about. And not the training, because he was standing there, doing nothing, just waiting.

"Are you worried, Feng?" Father asked. "You shouldn't be. Everything will be fine, especially now."

Feng glanced at his father, at his siblings standing or sitting on the grass nearby, and nodded.

"Don't worry, Feng!" said Headman Wang, who had obviously decided that an event so important to the honored members of the village could not go without his presence. "The honorable Jishan is the best midwife for the next dozen villages! I, that is to say, brought her by cart!"

The headman had told him about his great merits and invaluable help five times already, and Feng was surprised every time by how much things had changed in recent years. Wang used to puff his cheeks, and his father used to talk to him in an ingratiating tone and avert his eyes. Now, after being able to eat plenty of food, Feng's prolonged covert healing, the awakening of qi, and intense training, his father no longer looked pathetic and puny. His shoulders and back straightened, his movements became smoother and more majestic, and his beard and mustache became so thick and silky that they would be the envy of a capital city official! He had not yet regrown the teeth he had lost, but the blackness of the remaining teeth was gone, and they gleamed white even now in the light of the evening torches. He no longer looked like a withered old man. The most a stranger would give this strong, broad-shouldered man was three dozen years old. And now it was not his father, but the headman who was trying to please, to gain the favor and approval of Shirong and the rest of his family.

The brothers also became handsome and mature. Kang and Gang easily found wives and left home. Both wives, like most of the village, were Feng's disciples and had even awakened their qi.

Ying and Aimin had not married yet, but it wasn't because there were no suitors. There were a lot of people who wanted to marry such a beautiful woman from a wealthy family. But these fools turned their noses up at the stories Feng had told them because what they had learned from the stories was not the importance of training, perseverance, determination, and heroism but the fact that city girls had to show their inaccessibility while a great family heir or even a prince was winning their attention.

Mom was the one who had changed the most. She, too, seemed to have lost a few dozen years, straightened up, and even grew taller. Her face was smoothed and wrinkle-free, her eyes glistened, and her lips became inviting and scarlet. The changes in her figure, which had previously resembled the shape of a sack of straw, were not worth mentioning, and even Aiming was envious, as even Aiming, to whom complaining would only anger the gods!

Her newfound youth and beauty, which she would never have dared to dream of before, had led to a natural result. And now, nine months later, Feng stood in front of the closed door, waiting for news. He didn't really want to attend the birth, but no one else in the family had been given the opportunity. The overbearing and bossy grandmother had thrown them out of the house with hisses and shouts.

"Of course he's worried!" Kang muttered. "It's our mom! We're all worried!"

Feng only nodded in response to his brother's words. And with that nod, he only partially lied.

He liked his new family and wished them only the best. He made friends with his brothers and learned to tolerate his sisters. But he never loved them, nor did they love him. He had once been an outsider, an adopted boy from the city, and though, to Shirong and Zanzen's credit, they had not singled him out among their other children, handing out nutritious and tasty slaps to all equally, Feng felt a clear boundary. Later, when they had overcome poverty and the daily grind, the warm feelings grew stronger, but they were not based on love but on mutual respect.

In both lives, he had loved only his real parents - his mother, Lihua, who was so fond of him that she indulged his every whim, and his father, Guang, who looked stern and imperious but was ready to let a real demon into the house for the sake of his son's happiness, as he understood it, and doom the whole family to destruction. Now, as the years passed, Han realized and forgave this betrayal. The parents simply had no chance of resisting the master's demonic sorcery and mind-affecting techniques.

But despite the lack of filial love, now, Shirong's mom was also no longer a stranger. So with his eyesight and qi perception, Feng watched the birth from the street, not letting the situation go to waste.

Things were going well at first. The Qi of the mother lying inside the house shone bright and healthy, merging with another weak and fading source of life in her belly. Beside her, a dim light flickered, clearly belonging to the midwife. As the pulsations of qi that signified exertion began, Feng saw the midwife's qi leaning over her mother, a warm, strong lump separating from the bottom of her mother's belly. But then something happened, and the lump began to fade away.

"Into the house!" Feng said decisively, heading for the door.

"But the honorable Jishan..." Wang began.

"No matter how honorable she is, I will not allow her to kill my mother and her child," Feng retorted.

He felt that the door was bolted, but it didn't matter. A burst of qi from the palm of his hand against the deadbolt, and the door swung open, the remnants of the thick plank of wood crumbling to the floor.

Feng walked resolutely into his parent's room, followed by the relatives and the headman piling in.

"What are you doing here?" screamed the midwife. "This is an important moment, and you're in the way!"

Feng looked around at the surroundings. Despite the sight of a naked woman's body, he was not aroused in the slightest. He remembered the scroll, the same scroll that the rogue master had used to humiliate him in front of Mei. And he realized how quickly this bad situation could become hopeless.

The child was large and strong, but the position in which it was trying to come into the world was inappropriate. There were many ways to solve the problem in the scroll, but the foolish midwife had made it worse, and now Feng could see with his inner vision that the cord around the baby's neck was about to take its life. He was surprised that the midwife had not used any ash, clay, or herbs to clean her hands. The importance of cleanliness was repeated half a dozen times in the scroll!

"Get out!" Jishan continued to shout. "The child might die because of you!"

"He's only going to die because of you," Feng said. "Go away, I'll handle the delivery!"

"You snot! I've been doing this for four dozen years! What do you know?

Feng opened his mouth to reply sharply and, if necessary, to kick the grandma, but he heard his mother's soft voice.

"He's from the city!" she said.

"From the city?" The midwife opened her mouth and looked around.

The friendly nods from his father, brothers, sisters, and the headman crowded in the doorway confirmed that yes, Feng was indeed from the city. So, pushing Jishan aside, Feng stepped up to his mother.

There was nothing to wash his hands, as the scroll prescribed. Even the warm water in the wooden basin was muddy. Well, he had qi, and that was enough.

Feng threw his hands into the air, and a light wave of fire swept through them so fast that it only destroyed the invisible demons and scorched the hairs on the back of his palms.

He squeezed his eyes shut so the sight of his mother would not distract him from the sensation of life and slipped his hand inside, wrapping his chi around the fetus. Feng would have loved to cut the umbilical cord and destroy it like a deadbolt on the front door, but then the future child would suffocate right at the edge of the new life. The scroll explicitly stated so. So Feng used qi to encompass the fetus and begin to turn it into position, moving the umbilical cord out of the way. Mentally, he reluctantly admitted that he had been unfair to the midwife. The fetus was indeed in a very bad position, and it was impossible to pull it out, even with qi, without hurting the mother or killing the child.

Then, he resorted to another method, described in the scroll as the most dangerous and difficult. He put his finger on his mother's belly and, carefully measuring the strength and depth of the qi, ran it from one side to the other, creating a wide incision. The flesh parted easily as if it had been shredded by a dagger's blade. Feng made another incision inside the womb to reach the fetus directly.

Then Feng let the qi flow, stopping the bleeding, stuck his hands into the gaping wound, pulled out the child, no longer restrained by the mother's flesh, and finally cut the umbilical cord. He knew he should slap the baby to make it breathe and scream, but he had much safer ways. Another pulse of qi and a lump of mucus and liquid spurted out of the baby's mouth.

Belatedly, as if he couldn't believe it was over, the child screamed. Feng picked up a piece of clean cloth, wrapped the child in it, and slipped it into the hands of the dazed father. Then he leaned over the mother again and drew the edges of the wounds together one by one, running his palm over the cuts each time as if erasing a pattern in the wet river sand. The wounds closed as if they had never been there.

The father nodded and handed the baby to the mother after receiving a kick on the ankle from Feng. The mother happily clutched it to her chest.

"Congratulations, it's a boy!" Feng belatedly and inappropriately blurted out, only now realizing what had happened.

There was a sudden silence in the house, broken only by the slurping of the baby already suckling on Zanzen's breast.

Everyone stared at Feng as if he was the incarnation of the Twelve Gods.

"I need to get to the city," Jishan's midwife finally broke the silence.

* * *

"The world around us was created by a dozen gods, and each of them produced as many acts of divine creation. Each of the gods created a beast, a bird, a man, a part of the earth, water, and sky, and thus came into existence the twelve first men and a dozen divine beasts, and therefore this number is sacred," muttered the old, half-blind priest. "Twelve times more sacred than the others."

Feng, who was standing among his other peers, tapped his foot impatiently. He turned around again as if the traveling merchant would appear just as the ceremony was about to begin. A foolish thing, of course, for time, was of very little importance in peasant life. They didn't count the hours, they didn't care much about the exact day of birth, and adult names were usually given on the summer solstice, invoking the gods and nature spirits.

No one cared much about a day, more or less, unless it was a holiday or the beginning of sowing. And even then, besides the priest, only the Headman Wang counted the days, for it was he who had to prepare for the arrival of the tax collector. The tax collector was not very precise either. He only demanded that the taxes should be collected by the set date and waited for him in a separate barn. In recent years, the number of taxes collected has increased many times, but time management has not been affected. The peasants continued to count dozens of days and seasons, and even then, the latter were looked at according to the weather.

Han paid the merchant in advance, gave him metal and hides, collected honey, and even dug up some rare roots. He asked only one thing - the merchant arrived early. And he should have listened to the words of the son of a respected family in the village and his important trading partners, who supplied both valuable paper and equally valuable sealed pots of fish, even without any gifts!

Five years ago, Han had appeared here in Feng's body. Five years, as short as a single moment, yet as long as a lifetime. Although he had wasted no time and had accomplished so much, the feeling that he had been too long, he should hurry, grew stronger with each passing day. He could not wait to leave the village, to go beyond the neighborhood, where he had time to study like five fingers and toes of each of the arms and legs of a new body. So he "bribed" the merchant in advance, intending to join him as a traveling companion and get with the wagons to the city to start building his new life there.

"Everything passes and goes away. Everything in the world is cyclical and changes after winter come spring, then summer and fall, and winter again," the priest continued to mutter.

The peasants listened and listened respectfully. The village was not large enough for a real temple, but in the central square, which had recently become very busy, there was a small shrine not dedicated to any particular god. The priest came here, as in other villages, and performed the necessary rites, such as naming or praying for the harvest, accepted gifts from the peasants, and then left.

The ceremony where Feng and his peers had gathered for the naming was about to end, but the merchant still hadn't shown up!

"...After life comes death, and everyone is subject to this cycle of rebirth, even gods, demons, mystical beasts, and spirits. No one can avoid it. Reborn in a new body, we pass through one cycle, the sacred dozen years, and only then do we become adults, ready for independent life and the coming of death..."

Han didn't listen to the speech; it was repeated without much change at each of the initiation ceremonies, year after year. His impatience was growing. He turned around once more as if the qi itself was spurring him on from within. No one had shown up on the road, but the rest of the villagers, including the headman, were there. He felt the stares, many stares: the peasants smiled and waved, and the girls immediately started making eyes at him. So he smiled and nodded back.

The former Feng would have gladly accepted this new life: respect and fear, honor and ingratiation, and the gazes of young peasant girls who saw in him an enviable groom. The prosperity of his family, his victories in battles with river spirits and wolves, his apprenticeship with the blacksmith, the honor he received from the stories he told, the unquestioned authority he held during his training - his attitude had changed so dramatically as if he were a completely different person. A young peasant girl with practical acumen pushed in the back by their parents, who saw Feng as an ideal candidate for a son-in-law, could not leave him alone. Besides, the groom, who could carry logs and lift fallen trees, a blacksmith's apprentice and in the future a blacksmith himself, a hero who had defeated a water demon and a pack of wolves, really seemed to come out of the stories he told himself, striking the hearts of girls. The bones of the huge catfish and the wolf leader along with the bent and blackened spearhead, now occupied a place of honor under a shed nearby, kept Feng's exploits from being forgotten.

But that same old Feng wouldn't have gotten that kind of treatment. He would have remained one of the peasant masses. He would not have dared to dream of respect, fear, and such languid glances from girls, which were intended, perhaps even sincerely, to show passion and readiness to pull up their hemline in front of him.

The new Feng, having risen in the course of his training, had finally outgrown the village. Yes, he was no longer being slapped. Instead, he was pounding the others with his trusty bamboo stick, but only on merit. The food became plentiful and nourishing, but only when he did not put up with hunger but began to get it himself. Chicken breast, which he had only recently tasted in this life, was indeed the best food. Even Aiming stopped making jokes and teasing him, only looking at him with sparkling eyes and blushing sweetly.

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If he didn't have the power and qi, he wouldn't have coped with the wolves, and he wouldn't have gone to the forest for mushrooms at all, wouldn't have met Aimin there, and in the end, wouldn't have saved her. His brothers and sisters would still make fun of him, and his parents would still give him a beating and scold him for his bad work. Or maybe not even scolded anymore, having become defenseless prey to the wolves who had reached the village, led by a leader who was invulnerable to conventional weapons.

"...an adult name as part of rebirth, a sign that the child has died and an adult has been born in its place, for whom a new life begins."

Yes, when will it come, this new life! Han thought, looking around again and still not finding the merchant. His thoughts were faltering, his body hungry for action, so used to running and working for five years that just standing around doing nothing was now unbearable. He could have started training now, honing his restraint and patience, but the absence of the merchant made his thoughts race like squirrels eating fermented berries.

A new life. The old one was no longer a torture chamber, a joyless and hopeless journey from childhood to old age. He could easily manage his chores and Master Yi's studies, hunt and forage for food, and never stopped honing his skills and strengthening his qi for a day. But again, he had to admit that the village had become too small for his ambitions, for the power lurking within him. It was like a shallow, warm puddle that was good for an egg but ridiculous even for a tadpole.

Spend his whole life here, even if he is the first guy in the village? To be the most important, the next headman, succeeding Uncle Wang? Marry a prettier peasant girl and have a brood of children? Feng shuddered. No, the decision he had made earlier was the only right one. Even if he didn't consider his goal of taking revenge on his master, even if he forgot about the wrongs and beatings, he had to leave.

This longing, which had been tormenting him all day long, came out in the words: It is better to become the smallest fish in the vast ocean than to remain the biggest fish in a shallow pond. But, of course, he was not going to be a "small fish" for long!

Han suddenly felt an itch in his fingers, an urge to pick up a brush and write this quote in flawless hieroglyphics, coming from the depths of his soul, forged by labor, sweat, blood, and tears. What is it? A longing for the past? Or a sign that a new life is near?

"Come closer and purify your thoughts!" The priest solemnly proclaimed, raising his hands in a triumphant manner

Feng suddenly remembered the scene from the crystals, how the disciples who joined the sect shaved their heads and then had their names indelibly painted on their skin. Their new names had yet to be justified. Those who failed were stripped of their names along with their skin with a red-hot branding iron.

* * *

A cold, trembling hand touched his forehead.

"I name you Xing Duo!" the priest proclaimed.

"Xing" was a beautiful, powerful name consisting of a single character that, depending on the context and the way it was written, could symbolize development, growth, and renewal. It contained an allusion to both the past life and the future, in which the bearer of the name was constantly striving to improve himself or herself, to increase power and wisdom.

Even though it was the name he had chosen for himself, a sense of finality and irrevocability squeezed his heart. It was over. Even if Feng recognized or remembered his master's name, it wouldn't matter in the slightest. After all, calling himself by that name would only turn him into a pathetic copycat trying to appropriate someone else's glory. And it could never become his name in the eyes of the gods, the spirits, or the Emperor.

Han, now Xing, rose, folding his hands in front of him. The headman was already writing his new adult name on the scroll that would be sent to the city to report on the affairs of his village. Xing sensed the apprehension in the headman's qi and caught a glimpse of his displeased look. He couldn't believe the newly minted Xing wouldn't stay in the village, full of treacherous schemes to take Duojia's place.

If Xing wanted to, he could do it easily. He had the necessary power in his hands. He had the authority of the villagers, and after he defeated the monsters, he had the glory of a hero. The villagers wouldn't even have to get used to anything. They had long since listened to Feng and obeyed his orders at every training session. They would just have to get used to the new name of their old teacher and new head.

In order to take the position, Headman Wang would have to be coaxed into it. There were a dozen dozen troubles Xing could easily stir up in the neighborhood to report to the authorities, telling them how badly the current village head was doing. It didn't even need to be done through a merchant, promising the latter a share in the profits or some additional trading privileges. A mere letter to the town clerk's office would suffice because, unlike the usual anonymous squabbles, this letter would be written by an educated man, which any official could easily understand by the calligraphic handwriting.

And then literally a few small cycles or even months - and there is no headman. And who is best suited for the role of a new one?

Feng, now Xing, would have been happily elected by the peasants at any time. But a twelve-year-old candidate for the head of the village would not be understood by the officials. So, it was likely either Father Shirong or one of the brothers would be the nominal head. But of course, Xing himself would give the orders, secretly at first, and then, after a few years, openly, becoming the official head by then.

The plot is simple, but reliable in its simplicity. Failsafe, but utterly pointless. Why? What would it accomplish? Because then the little tadpole will not swim upstream of the swift river, becoming first a fry, a fish, and then a carp. It would remain floating in its musty swamp, grow up, and get fat, becoming the biggest, strongest, and fattest frog yet. This was something that could attract old Feng, but not Han Nao or Xing Duo.

"What a beautiful name, Xing," sounded nearby, "so strong and courageous."

His hand felt a warm, soft elasticity pressed against it. He had known whose chi it was for a long time but turned his head only out of habit. Pei Zhi, one of the girls who had made eyes at him during the ceremony, had taken the initiative in her graceful feminine hands. She was the most determined of all the others, which caused whispers from the other candidates and a clear willingness to give the "upstart" a good beating.

"I've got a couch in my house that's swaying," Pei Zhi said. "I need a man's strong hands to fix it."

"So it's Master Yi you need," Han replied with the simplest face possible. "He's the strongest in the village!"

Aimin didn't just have her sights set on the blacksmith. She had completely gotten her way. Their relationship was now at a stage where she was proudly rejecting his persistent advances, gradually 'giving in' each time so that he could see that he was on the right track. In the Strategies of the Indestructible Dragon, this tactic was called "breaking down the wall in one's fortress" and was one of many dozens of ways to inflict a crushing defeat on an enemy by trapping him. And the fact that her sister had gotten that far on her own, whether by wit or bare intuition, was no small amount of respect.

She glared at Pei Zhi and then at Xing with a searing gaze to stop any possible invasion of her territory. Her sister's posture and demeanor reminded them so much of Mother Zenzen that they all laughed.

Xing turned, slipping out of Pei-Zhi's grip. He looked around and saw his peers rejoicing as they received their names and his elders echoing them as they sent their offspring into adulthood. Everyone was already lugging chunks and bamboo poles to assemble tables and benches and begin the feast in their traditional peasant style. Xing could understand them: before he began his stories, such festivals were the only break in the monotonous work from dawn to dusk, a chance to eat, to drink sour fruit wine or nasty rice beer, to talk and exchange gossip.

He didn't disapprove of such a pastime, but unlike the old Feng who hadn't yet received Han's memories, it just didn't evoke any positive feelings in him. Another sign that the decision was correct and there was nothing for him to do in the village.

"No, Fen... No, Xing, you're the strongest," Pei Zhi whispered into his ear.

Her defiant behavior violated every possible propriety, risking the stigma of being labeled a "harlot." But Pei Zhi, well aware of the consequences, seemed to think the prize was too tempting if she succeeded.

"No," Xing replied, brushing her off with his hand.

He held back the power, but Pei Zhi cried out anyway as she was dragged along the ground as if by the jolt of a shifting wagon.

"Friends! Fellow villagers! Students! Listen to me!" He said, letting the qi into his voice to attract those around him.

When everyone stopped talking and turned around, Feng - no, it was already Xing! - took a deep breath, he realized he felt reluctance and even some regret.

It'll soon get to the point where I'll start regretting parting with my master and longing for his training! he thought merrily.

"You all know that I am not a native of Shirong and Zanzen's family. They took me in, warmed me, fed me, and guided me into adulthood," he proclaimed. "Therefore, I will always honor them as my parents. Now I am an adult, I am Duo - in honor of Duojia, our village that the gods protect, and I will proudly bear and glorify its name."

Everyone in the village understood that it was Feng who had fed and warmed the family, who had pulled them out of poverty with the help of his "city stuff." But to boast and belittle the foster parents would be foolish and pointless. There was nothing to avenge, and words of gratitude were worthless, so why not leave behind a good impression? Even if he was leaving this part of his life in the distant past and would never hear of Duojia again.

If he had known the name of the hole where the master had crawled out of, then yes, he wouldn't have held back, giving the inhabitants his entire stock of deliciously sweet slaps for not having killed the bastard in his cradle.

Shirong smiled broadly at him and held Zanzen tightly to him as she cradled the baby on her chest. Ying and Aimin, who were standing next to her, looked like her sisters and not much younger.

"And I will spread my new name and praise Duojia throughout the Empire," Xing added, "because I'm leaving the village. Right now."

There was a deep, friendly sigh, and everyone started talking at once, pushing and interrupting each other, trying to ask questions, persuade, ask, and advise.

Clouds crept over the faces of family members who had long known of the departure but still couldn't believe it.

The blacksmith, who had known of Feng's plans for several years, nodded and raised a clenched fist in approval.

Potter Kun and Basketmaker Yao, who considered Feng to be somewhat of a disciple as well, bestowed toothless smiles.

The headman didn't even think of hiding his relief. Now that Xing had announced his decision publicly, he couldn't give up without embarrassing himself. The same feeling appeared on the faces of some of the villagers, especially the young boys, who would no longer be able to listen to the exciting stories but no one to force them to practice and hit with a bamboo stick. The unmarried maidens, as well as a couple of widows, on the other hand, had gone sour like old milk. In addition to wealth and strength, Xing, who had matured very early, attracted them not only as a favorable match but also as a man. It was probably due to his early qi training, which, if the scrolls he had read were to be believed, in noble families only began after being given an adult name. This was the kind of unsuccessful and hopeless attempt General Guang had once made.

"Wait, Fe.. Xing, what about the feast?"

"Xing, you're an adult now! Let's celebrate!"

"Xi-ing, don't go! I can't without you!"

"Stay, please!"

Xing smiled again and slowly shook his head, shutting out the noise. He did not doubt the attention would soon turn to the food, which, though it could not compare to the delicacies in Nao's house, was plentiful and hearty. Shirong had taken care of it, and it would have been unseemly for him to be frugal during the naming of his youngest son, even if he was no longer the youngest.

Even though the peasant women had become much prettier thanks to his training, they were still nowhere near as beautiful as Mei. There was no chance of meeting someone like her in the village. So, in order to match and surpass his master, he had to leave the village.

"Yes, I'm an adult now," Xing nodded, "and I'll decide for myself what to do."

He picked up the basket he had made beforehand. Old Yao must have realized it all at that moment, but he did not say anything. He only fussed and poured out words as if trying to tell and show all the remaining secrets of his skill.

The flat, long container rested comfortably on his back, and the wide straps of meadow weeping bark would not have chafed the shoulders of even an ordinary man. It held food supplies, linen, and clothing, a large bundle of money his parents had supplied him with before he left, and memorabilia that was important to him. Most of the luggage was an unimpressive leather jacket and leather pants made from the hide of the wolf leader, which had taken so much work not only in skinning but also in sewing. Feng hoped the clothes would last for at least a few years, and they could always be tightened with straps if they were too loose.

There was still a lot left here because if he had taken a little more, he would have needed a whole cart. Even if the merchant had arrived on time, Xing wouldn't have taken any additional items. If he had a spatial ring like a proper hero, then he wouldn't have to hold back!

"I know you can make anything you want," Yi said, scratching the back of his head. "But still, take this as a parting gift!"

Xing took the outstretched bundle in his hands, unwound the belt, and took out a long, slightly curved blade from the leather sheath. With qi, he could indeed create a better knife, but it was still a good iron forged many times, a fine and laborious piece of work.

"Thank you for your teaching, Master," Xing bowed to him, clasping his knife belt. "I appreciate your gift."

He was once again convinced that he had made the right decision. If he had announced his departure in advance, the village would have started gossiping, begging, and pleading. The girls would be scurrying about like chickens, some on their own, some pushed by their parents. He suddenly felt funny and light. He could do it! He did it! He did it by himself! Even though the girls who had turned their noses up at Han before were aristocrats, and the only girls who sighed at Xing and made eyes at him were peasant girls from the village "at the edge of the sky, in the corner of the ocean," he had still made a huge step forward.

A huge step for Han Nao or adopted Feng, but alas, only the first of a dozen dozen dozen steps Xingu Duo would have to take to even match up to the weakest hero from the crystal, let alone a master.

"I wanted to forge you a weapon," Yi added, his lowered hand touching Aimin's arm as if by accident. "But you refused."

"No, Master, you were right," Xing replied, "For a guy my age, a real weapon would cause more problems than it would solve. Besides..."

"Besides, you have qi," the blacksmith grinned into his beard, repeating Feng's favorite saying, "and that's enough."

Xing laughed merrily. Qi is in all living things, just as the rogue master had once said. Now Xing, who had shed oceans of sweat and sometimes blood, recognized that he was right, as he had seen it in practice many times. But the very existence of qi meant nothing without painstaking daily labor like that of a peasant who tended, fertilized, watered, and protected a weak tree sapling from pests. Otherwise, it would forever remain a pathetic, puny sprout, withered, never becoming a spreading tree, giving shade, shelter, and tasty, juicy fruits. Qi was not a path for peasants. Xing knew that no matter how much effort he put into it if he put away the bamboo stick, everything would fade and wither away back to its original, age-old ways.

However, Xing had done what he had to do, and he had never intended to turn the village into the mighty Thousand Peaks Sect. The most important thing was that teaching others contributed to his development, which was not only far from complete but had barely even begun.

"You take care of yourself, though," Aimin added, hesitating as if she had stumbled over a sharp bone in the fish she had eaten, "Xing."

"Of course, I'm somehow used to myself in one piece," Xing grinned back.

He walked up to the headman to bow to him and say goodbye.

"My name doesn't carry much weight in the Empire, but you might find it useful."

Wang held out a scroll to Xing, and Xing unrolled it. It was a travel document written in crooked, sloppy hieroglyphics, with a real red seal at the bottom, making it look like a real document. The name "Xing Duo" had only recently been inscribed, and the ink had not even had time to dry.

Xing opened the lid of the basket and pulled out a thick stack of small sheets of rice paper stitched at the edge with the red cord he had once bought from a merchant for an unpleasantly large amount of coins. He had to think hard about the inscription on the first page: it was inappropriate to sign his name as Han Nao, and the new name was known in advance, but anything could happen: the priest could change his mind after hearing the whispers of the gods after a pitcher of rice wine, get confused by old age, or be reborn. Therefore, at the very top, a short name consisting of a single character, "Feng," was written in strokes as swift and sharp as the strokes of a blade. He didn't write down his regalia and merits to give himself weight like the authors of the treatises he knew. First of all, to whom should he boast? The peasants? They know everything. Secondly, stories about merits next to a child's name would look silly. Therefore, most of the cover was a modest inscription: Simple workouts for everyone and every day.

He was a bit ashamed of his creation - his master had not taught him any secret techniques, and the scrolls he had read were mostly about mundane things rather than qi. So he had only outlined the basics of awakening and cultivating internal energy and filled the rest with his ramblings, interspersed with Han Nao's sayings from his past life, and otherwise consisting of the insights and discoveries of a brat in a remote village taking his first steps on the road to greatness. He would have sold the book to a merchant, but it was now worth almost nothing. After all, the paper was originally clean and could be used for something useful!

However, neither Feng nor Xing had any regrets at the time. The joy of writing could not be bought at any price. So he left the manuscript with a light heart - in a village where only two people could read, no one would see his handiwork, and even if they did, they wouldn't tell anyone. Later, in the future, when he became a powerful warrior, he would write a real book full of powerful secret techniques and special methods of cultivating qi. The quotations will take their rightful place in silk scrolls instead of sitting next to children's nonsense on yellowish rough leaves!

The headman respectfully accepted this semblance of a book in his hands and timidly asked:

"Uh, so, uh, this is, like, for every day?"

"Of course! Like we used to do," Xing nodded.

"Well, no one can read!" objected the headman.

"You, honorable Wang, can do it," Xing didn't understand the problem. "And then someone else will learn."

"Alright, I'll try to teach them," Wang nodded petulantly.

Xing didn't understand why he was so excited and why would he want to teach someone. But it seemed the farewell had been delayed, and the headman was anxious for Xing to leave.

"If they don't want to learn," Xing laughed. "Tell them I'll be back with a new, longer bamboo stick."

"I will," the headman smiled shyly in response.

After hiding the travel card and putting the basket back on his shoulders, Xing Xing bowed to his parents and the headman, waved to his fellow villagers, and walked away, stopping the maidens who tried to approach with a glance. Not a single one of them, feeling the pressure of the qi, dared to tear her clothes, to shout that she was expecting a child from him or that she was ready to marry him. Many of them opened their mouths, but as soon as Xing turned their heads, they were silent, like a flock of birds frozen by a snake's gaze.

"Qi is a great power," Xing muttered under his breath to his imaginary master. "And I will reveal secrets that you, you bastard, have never dreamed of!"

In the meantime, he would proceed with extreme caution. He should not forget that he was still a fry if not a tadpole. And there, outside his native pond, dangerous toothy fish could be waiting for him, capable of eating not only a carp but even a whole shark.

"A carp who became a dragon by jumping over the dragon gate," Xing grinned crookedly as he exited through the gate at the beginning of the village. "If you, master, have become a dragon, then I will not stop and go further, climb another waterfall, no, a dozen waterfalls, and become the Divine Ancestor of all dragons!"

He swam out of the swamp and became a fry from an egg, but it was a long way to a carp, much less a dragon! The strange regret of parting was mixed with the elation of realizing what he had managed to do. He was also a little annoyed at the merchant who had not shown up.

Behind, there was still shouting and noise. Someone was singing a song, and someone was laughing loudly. The peasants did not grieve over his departure but began the solstice feast, where they pleased the spirits of nature with their dressed-up appearance and songs, as well as eating everything on the tables and drinking the contents of many jars.

He looked back at the peasants and the familiar village with a final glance and was about to move on when a strange feeling of dissatisfaction and unfinished business made him stop half-stepping. He concentrated on the sensation, accelerating the flow of qi in his upper dantian, and when he realized what was wrong, he laughed.

Xing looked again at the inscription above the village gate, so familiar that he had long since stopped noticing it. He took one long leap to the top and landed on the edge of the top rung, easily keeping his balance. There was ink and a brush in the basket, but they were not suitable for an inscription of this size. So Xing put his palm to the board and let the qi out, erasing the unfortunate inscription and, at the same time, strengthening and repairing the wood, which had become rotten and cracked over the years. When the wood was smooth, Xing repeated the old inscription with his qi. The only change was that instead of "frog," it was now "river."

Jumping down, he turned around to admire his work. An inscription in calligraphic hieroglyphics shone on a smooth, polished surface that would have honored the floors or wall panels of a Nao palace:

"May the gods of luck and fertility protect Duojia."

* * *

Chapter 16, in which the hero is introduced to the charm of wandering