Descent from the Mountain

Whenever Huo Xuan fell into a deep sleep, Liu Zhenru would quietly watch him with a complex gaze. She thought to herself, When I practiced the Dragon-Riding Steps back then, it took me three years before my qi and blood could flow unimpeded by the syllables. Yet this boy managed it in just over ten days—what a freak.

She mused further, Even my prodigiously talented senior brother was far inferior to him.

At the thought of her senior brother, a trace of sorrow flickered in her eyes. She murmured, Senior brother, where are you? If you're still alive, why haven't you come to see me?

While Huo Xuan was training hard in the mountains, in a villa in Jiangzhou City where Xu Bo resided, Lin Yue's cousin Lin Jian was leisurely sipping red wine. Smirking at the sullen Xu Bo, he said, "I have to say, Young Master Xu, you're really down on your luck—you can't even handle some penniless brat."

Xu Bo, who had been slapped by Huo Xuan and forced to hand over 200 million, was still seething with pain and hatred. Hearing Lin Jian's mockery, he snapped, "Go to hell! Do you really think he's just some nobody with nothing?"

Lin Jian scoffed. "Lin Yue mentioned that kid was some disciple of Hua Buyi and even knows the mayor of Jiangzhou. Hah, do you really believe that? Forget about who Hua Buyi even is—why would the mayor of Jiangzhou associate with such a small fry?"

Xu Bo studied Lin Jian, then suddenly had an idea. "Lin Jian, this is your Lin family's affair. Why are you dragging me into it?"

Lin Jian curled his lip. "If I made a move, I could crush that kid in seconds."

Xu Bo sneered inwardly but said, "I think you're just blowing smoke. If you could take him down, why wait for me to act first?"

Lin Jian sprang to his feet. "Xu Bo, how about we make a bet, then?"

Xu Bo's heart skipped a beat—he had no intention of getting directly involved. "I won't bet with you. If you want to do it, go ahead. It's got nothing to do with me."

Lin Jian burst into laughter. "I never thought the mighty Young Master Xu of Jiangzhou would be scared stiff of some poor kid—how pathetic. Fine, I'll deal with him myself. Wait for my news."

With that, he drained his glass of wine and swaggered out of Xu Bo's villa. Xu Bo watched him leave, then smirked coldly and muttered to himself, Using this fool to deal with Huo Xuan might just yield some unexpected results.

Time passed unnoticed in the mountains, and before long, three months had gone by. Through his training in the Dragon-Riding Steps, Huo Xuan had finally mastered the basics of moving qi and blood. Moreover, Liu Zhenru had also taught him a hidden weapon technique called Needle Twist.

The silver needles, fine as ox hair, could be shot at extreme speed with just a light twist between two fingers, capable of piercing through sheet metal—a sinister and deadly technique. Moreover, the attack was highly concealed; one only needed to hide their hand in their sleeve to twist the needle and kill.

Of course, Huo Xuan had only learned the training method so far, still worlds away from the level of twisting needles to kill.

The reason Liu Zhenru taught him the Needle-Twisting technique was that Huo Xuan would inevitably learn the Great Luo Divine Needle in the future. Both were needle techniques—one for killing, the other for healing—and they could complement each other.

Three months passed, and Hua Buyi returned to the Yuxu Temple. Both he and Lu Yunxiang were astonished when they saw Huo Xuan. Lu Yunxiang sighed, "Fairy Zhenru, you actually taught him the Dragon-Riding Steps, the secret technique of Zen Master Yunlong that was never passed on to outsiders."

Liu Zhenru replied indifferently, "If I teach him, I teach him the best. The Dragon-Riding Steps are the most suitable method in the world for refining blood through listening."

Lu Yunxiang nodded repeatedly. "Good, good. Since you've been so generous, Fairy Zhenru, I won't hold back either. I'm curious now—what kind of monster the three of us, along with Master Hua, will end up nurturing."

Hua Buyi smiled. "Huo Xuan has already begun to direct his qi and blood. Master Lu, do you intend to teach him the True Womb Fist?"

Lu Yunxiang laughed heartily. "Aside from the True Womb Fist, what other fist technique could keep up with the progress of the Dragon-Riding Steps? Once mastered, the True Womb Fist allows deeper perception of qi and blood. Moreover, once the fist posture is formed, it gradually condenses into the True Womb Fist Furnace, integrating the strengths of all schools to forge its own path."

Hua Buyi asked, "Master Lu, what rank has the fist intent refined by your True Womb Fist Furnace reached now?"

Lu Yunxiang sighed regretfully. "Only the third rank. If it ever reaches the first rank, it will enter the realm of divine abilities, much like your Divine Farmer's Finger from the Divine Farmer Sect."

Hua Buyi praised, "The third rank is already extraordinary. I wouldn't last ten moves under your hands."

On the very first day of Lu Yunxiang's instruction, Huo Xuan was dumbfounded. He never expected the posture of the True Womb Fist to be so difficult—even with his clairvoyance ability fully focused on learning it, he still couldn't grasp it.

It was like an amateur trying to replicate a master's painting. Though the strokes might seem simple at a glance, actually recreating them was impossible for an ordinary person.

Huo Xuan was in the same predicament. The technique felt deceptively straightforward, yet replicating it proved immensely challenging.

Lu Yunxiang wasn't the least bit impatient. Instead, he reassured Huo Xuan, "Take your time. I didn't master the True Womb Fist posture until I was fifty-five."

Far from being comforting, this statement startled Huo Xuan into breaking out in a cold sweat. This old man must be joking—if it took him until fifty-five to master this, how could I possibly learn it?

Though he thought so, he still practiced with utmost seriousness, even dreaming about how to execute that fist posture.

For ten straight days, Huo Xuan made no progress whatsoever, yet he plunged into a state of obsessive madness—spacing out all day, striking various fist postures, some so bizarre they bordered on laughable.

Lu Yunxiang watched coldly from the sidelines, curious to see just how much of a genius Hua Buyi's disciple truly was. After all, his seemingly plain fist posture contained the essence of hundreds of martial arts. Even a seasoned master with decades of training might not grasp it, let alone Huo Xuan. A single posture embodied Lu Yunxiang's lifetime of martial insights.

A month later, Huo Xuan suddenly returned to normal—he had discovered that, under his clairvoyance, the True Womb Fist could be broken down piece by piece. This decomposition was an intuitive revelation.

Thus, the postures of Bajiquan, Bagua Palm, Taijiquan, Shaolin Freehand, and others emerged one by one. Then, overlapping certain postures gave rise to countless new variations.

Huo Xuan spent every day intently observing Lu Yunxiang's stance, watching for two whole months. By the third month, he suddenly stopped looking and began practicing alone.

To Lu Yunxiang's astonishment, Huo Xuan wasn't mimicking the True Womb Fist posture but instead assumed a Taijiquan stance. Every few minutes, he shifted to another classic posture, each executed with textbook precision.

Lu Yunxiang's expression shifted to one of disbelief as he muttered, "He's actually deconstructing my True Womb Fist?"

The True Womb Fist was like a hearty stew, blending countless ingredients and seasonings. Huo Xuan, however, was a prodigy with an impeccable palate—after just a few tastes, he could identify every vegetable and spice in the pot.

This extraordinary ability left even a grandmaster like Lu Yunxiang utterly dumbfounded.

What followed was inevitable. Huo Xuan spent each day dismantling and reassembling various stances, mastering the True Womb Fist in just over twenty days—albeit with some lingering rawness.

When Hua Buyi returned to the mountain for the second time, Lu Yunxiang said only one thing: "Your disciple is too monstrous. No one can teach him—he can only teach himself."

Hearing this, Hua Buyi threw his head back and laughed, heartily pleased.

The final teacher was the master of Yuxu Temple, known as the "King of Taiji"—proof of his unparalleled mastery in Taijiquan. Unlike the previous two mentors, the temple master did something unexpected: he had Huo Xuan practice the Hunyuan Stance without any direct instruction.

Day after day, Huo Xuan stood motionless in the stance, and before he realized it, over a month had passed. Then, one day, he suddenly felt an itch in his throat—an overwhelming urge to roar into the sky. But before the sound could escape, the temple master moved like lightning, striking Huo Xuan's forehead with a single palm.

Instantly, Huo Xuan felt a surge of energy trapped inside him, stifling and unbearable, as if he might explode if he didn't run or shout. Yet every time he tried to move or release that energy, the temple master would strike him—a fist to his ribs, a palm to his back—sealing the energy within.

The torment was maddening. But gradually, Huo Xuan discovered he could guide that trapped energy, forcing it to circulate through his body until his blood and qi churned like raging floodwaters.

Clenching his teeth, Huo Xuan endured for a full day and night—yet instead of exhaustion, he grew more alert. Eventually, his blood and qi flowed like liquid mercury, each step carrying the weight and momentum of a rolling iron sphere.

The temple master observed him closely. When he saw Huo Xuan manifest this leaden, quicksilver force, he nodded in approval. "Good. This level of skill usually takes twenty years." Then, his voice sharpened: "Watch closely. I will now teach you the Nine Forms of the Taiji Mother Fist."

The temple master's stance deepened, his arms swinging like massive war hammers, each strike shaking the air with a force that seemed to weigh ten thousand jin—this was the Hammer Form.

One after another, he demonstrated the Whip, Sword, Blade, Axe, Spear, Staff, Vajra, and Silk-Reeling forms.

With his clairvoyance, Huo Xuan saw everything—not just the movements, but the flow of qi, the shifting of joints, the precise distribution of force. By the time the temple master finished, Huo Xuan had already grasped the essence.

Drawing upon the energy coiled inside him, he executed the nine forms in a single breath—his strikes thunderous in their yang ferocity, his transitions silent as still wind in their yin softness. The temple master watched, then sighed. "I envy you. Perhaps this old man should take a final disciple after all."

Three more months passed before Hua Buyi finally led Huo Xuan down the mountain—proof that his training was complete.

At the base of the mountain, when Zhang Wu saw Huo Xuan again after nine months, he nearly didn't recognize him. His beard was wild, his hair a tangled mess, his clothes reduced to rags barely covering his body—he looked like a savage who'd lived in the wilderness for years.

But when Zhang Wu looked closer, he saw the truth: Huo Xuan's aura was like a blazing furnace, his spirit unshakable, his entire being transformed.

"Brother," Zhang Wu grinned, "did you master it? Come—let's test your skills."

Without waiting for an answer, he lashed out with a punch faster than lightning.