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“Practicing martial arts?”
Lu Quan’an frowned.
“Why are you practicing martial arts again?”
He was ready to scold Lu Sheng, but the words caught in his throat as he thought of other young masters wasting their time on idle pleasures. Compared to them, Lu Sheng’s actions seemed commendable.
The reprimand hung unspoken in the air. Lu Quan’an sighed.
“If you’re serious about martial arts, go learn properly from your Uncle Zhao. Don’t train on your own—it’s easy to get hurt that way.”
He shook his head and turned to leave. But just as he reached the doorway, he paused.
“If you need any medicinal herbs, go to the pharmacy and ask for them. I’ll also give you a monthly salary of two thousand taels.”
With that, he strode off.
Second Madam Liu Cuiyu stepped forward and gently wiped the sweat from Lu Sheng’s forehead with a towel.
“Your father has always had a soft heart,” she said with a sigh.
“He and the old man from the Xu family were sworn brothers. What happened has weighed heavily on him.”
She glanced at Lu Sheng with concern.
“It’s good that you’re practicing, but others who take up martial arts usually start from a young age. At your age, it’s a bit late…”
She continued to nag gently, but Lu Sheng only half-listened. His mind was elsewhere—on the newly acquired Black Tiger Saber Technique.
“Incredible…”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. Outwardly, he looked like he was paying attention to Liu Cuiyu’s words, but inwardly, he was attuned to every change in his body.
He flexed the muscles in his arms.
“The muscles feel the same, but this familiarity… this instinct—it’s like I’ve practiced saber techniques for years.”
He tested his legs next. His leg muscles moved with a newfound ease, and he could clearly feel strength rising from his feet, flowing up through his waist, and into his arms.
That seamless transmission of power—it was exactly as described in the Black Tiger Saber Technique. This was Tongli—the mastery of unified force.
“According to saber technique theory, most martial artists can only mobilize a portion of their strength.”
“Those who can use 50% of their power are already considered skilled. If someone can reach 80%, they step into what’s known as the Tongli realm.”
Lu Sheng weighed these words carefully. In the remnants of this body’s original memories, he recalled Uncle Zhao and several seasoned martial artists discussing the concept.
The Tongli realm was considered one of the highest achievable levels in Jiulian City. To be able to unify one’s strength—channeling it in perfect synchrony—meant that even an ordinary person could unleash terrifying speed and power far beyond normal limits.
“Uncle Zhao… he’s already in the Tongli realm.”
Lu Sheng exhaled slowly, a faint sigh buried in his chest. The results of the modifier were real—its effects completely unfiltered. That alone gave him some peace of mind.
“But unfortunately, the modifier doesn’t come free. It seems to draw from both my energy and spirit.”
This Black Tiger Saber Technique was no mystical internal method. It was a basic external saber style—yet its modification had nearly drained him dry. He’d fallen gravely ill, bedridden for days.
Lu Sheng was beginning to grasp the nature of this strange ability. It was less a magical tool and more like a sculptor—a modifier that etched skill, memory, experience, and instinct directly into the body. But such a feat required materials—fuel. Energy. Vitality.
“The body is like raw material,” he mused. “The modifier uses what’s already there to rebuild the foundation. It can’t just conjure new muscle or bone strength from nothing.”
In the days that followed, his theory proved accurate. His body slowly began to recover. Alongside that recovery came changes: his arms, legs, chest, and back gradually grew denser with muscle. The constant pain dulled to a deep ache, then faded to numbness. Rough calluses formed on his palms. His appetite surged.
To avoid suspicion, he snuck out every day for extra meals—four at home, plus another set outside, including a midnight snack. Within a week, he was no longer the thin, frail boy he’d been. His frame had filled out, lean and firm.
He returned the saber manual to Uncle Zhao in perfect condition. When Uncle Zhao heard that Lu Sheng had fallen sick after attempting the technique, he simply accepted the manual with a sigh and a shake of the head. He asked no questions.
Lu Sheng guessed what he was thinking: that he’d tried to train blindly, gotten hurt, and given up.
Uncle Zhao, in fact, had assumed exactly that. He had expected Lu Sheng to come back for guidance after hitting a wall in his training. But then he heard that the young man had collapsed and taken to bed. When the manual was returned without a word, he took it as confirmation—Lu Sheng must have lost interest in the Black Tiger Saber.
And so, Uncle Zhao didn’t press. He said nothing more about the matter.
Uncle Zhao sighed but said nothing more.
Life returned to its usual rhythm.
The Lu family, outwardly at least, seemed untouched by the fall of the Xu family. The younger generation resumed their pastimes—going on outings, drinking wine, listening to music, riding horses, attending poetry gatherings and flower festivals. Jiulian City wasn’t particularly large, but it offered no shortage of entertainment.
The older generation kept busy too, attending social gatherings, making appearances at city offices, and joining in business discussions. Lu Quan’an, in particular, immersed himself in Chamber of Commerce affairs and the family’s trade.
It was as though everyone had quietly agreed to forget the Xu family tragedy. Life moved on, unchanged on the surface.
But not for everyone.
Two people had changed.
One was Lu Yiyi. She had lost both her fiancé and the man she loved. Day after day, she cried, her body growing thinner and her face more hollow with each passing week.
The other was Lu Sheng.
He no longer lingered in the city’s social circles. Instead, he spent more time outside the city walls—not for leisure, but to train. He would find secluded open spaces, quiet groves, and lonely forest edges where no one would disturb him.
There, he practiced the Black Tiger Saber Technique alone.
………………………….
Heifeng Ridge lay southwest of Jiulian City.
The night wind howled across the barren slopes.
Lu Sheng had picked up a broadsword from a blacksmith shop in the city, then set out toward the wilderness. He wasn’t aiming to reach Heifeng Ridge itself—only to find a stretch of solitude where he could test his saber in peace.
The Black Tiger Saber Technique, which he had acquired through the modifier, was not something he intended to reveal lightly. It was his hidden trump card.
To everyone else, he was still just a pampered young master, soft and powerless.
That misunderstanding was his shield. In a true crisis, it could become the blade that turned the tables.
“But all of this depends on whether the Black Tiger Saber Technique really works the way it feels like it should…”
Lu Sheng still had doubts. He didn’t even know exactly where Heifeng Ridge was—or how far it lay from Jiulian City.
But that didn’t matter.
For now, he simply needed space. A place where he could move, strike, and test the instincts engraved into his flesh.
Jiulian City didn’t have a curfew, and the city gates remained open through the night.
Alone, he draped himself in loose, thick clothing, pulling it low to obscure his face. He changed into plain attire, then lightly altered his features with women’s face powder.
In the darkness, he was no longer a young master of the Lu family—just an unremarkable traveler.
He slipped out of the city under the cover of night and gazed into the distance.
The moonlight revealed a landscape of dark, silent ridges—desolate mountains that lay like sleeping beasts under the stars, vast and unmoving.
A faint tension stirred in his chest.
But he had to test himself. He needed to know the true power of the Black Tiger Saber Technique—and he had to stay hidden from prying eyes.
Standing at the edge of the city gates, he drew a long breath and stepped onto the road leading southwest, toward Heifeng Ridge.
Ding ding ding…
A caravan was returning to the city along the main road. Bells hanging from the wagons and horse harnesses chimed gently, the sound carried far by the wind.
Lu Sheng avoided them, slipping through a smaller side gate instead.
Jiulian City’s gate system was oddly built. Not only were the gates left open at night, but there were many of them. The walls appeared tall and thick, but in truth, they were riddled with gaps—offering little real protection.
From the main road, voices drifted in the wind:
“Arriving at night again today?”
“Of course… The road’s pitch dark. My wheel twisted on a rock—I’m really down on luck tonight.”
Lu Sheng stood on a narrow footpath leading southwest, far from the bustle of the main gate.
Only two torches flickered on the low wall beside the side gate. Their dim, sputtering light barely reached half a meter ahead, casting long shadows into the night.
“It really is ancient times…” Lu Sheng sighed inwardly.
He looked up. In front of him, all three directions were swallowed in blackness. Only Jiulian City behind him still flickered with firelight.
“No flashlights. No streetlamps. The wilderness in ancient times really was a playground for wild beasts…”
He hesitated briefly.
But the instincts instilled by the Black Tiger Saber Technique surged within him—bringing with them calm, strength, and confidence.
He tightened his grip on the broadsword and stepped into the darkness.
The Black Tiger Saber Technique was built for this kind of darkness.
Like its namesake, the Black Tiger was a predator of the night—a silent hunter that thrived in shadows. The technique emphasized listening to the wind, sensing movement, and reading one’s surroundings. It wasn’t hindered by the dark—it relied on it.
Lu Sheng tightened his belt, gripped the broadsword in his hand, and quickened his pace along the narrow trail that led toward Heifeng Ridge.
After walking a few hundred meters, he reached into the cloth bag at his waist and pulled out a piece of flint. Then he unfastened the small torch strapped to his back.
He set the flint against the torch head and struck it hard with a second stone.
Snap!
Sparks flew. At first, just a flicker—then the dry fibers at the torch’s head caught, and flame blossomed across the tip.
Light spilled out across the trail at last.
Lu Sheng glanced back. The lights of Jiulian City were already distant and faint—little more than a soft glow behind him.
He turned forward and walked slowly, torch in hand.
“According to the hunter, there are often wild wolves on this road at night… Guess it all depends on my luck.”
He wasn’t planning to go all the way to Heifeng Ridge. Knowing this world now held ghosts, demons, and beasts, he wasn’t reckless enough to stray too far from the safety of the city.
But the alleys and courtyards of Jiulian City hadn’t given him enough space to properly test his strength. He had no choice but to venture out here.
Not long after, he spotted something on the ground.
Faint traces in the dirt—just like the old hunter had warned about.
A few dry, white, clay-like clumps. Egg-shaped and faintly scattered.
Wild wolf droppings.
Lu Sheng picked up a fist-sized stone and crouched down. With a solid strike, he crushed one of the hardened lumps.
It broke apart with a crunch. Inside were jagged fragments—bits that looked like fingernails or bones.
The wolf had eaten something… or someone.
“It’s right here… This pile of droppings must be a few days old. According to the old hunter, he saw the old wolf in this area just yesterday. It should still be nearby.”
Lu Sheng held the torch in one hand and slowly drew the broadsword from his waist with the other.
The broadsword in his hand wasn’t a refined weapon of a noble house—it was thick, heavy, and practical. Its handle was as long as its blade, a crude design forged more for strength than elegance. Without the blade, the hilt alone could pass for a farmer’s staff. It looked like a smaller, stripped-down version of a Halberd.
Holding it one-handed was a bit awkward—too much weight, not enough balance. So he wedged the torch into a narrow crack in a nearby stone.
All around him were jagged rocks, twisted and windworn. There were no trees, nothing flammable—no risk of fire.
With the torch secured, Lu Sheng reached into the cloth pouch at his waist and carefully took out a small paper bundle. Inside was a piece of fresh pork he’d cut earlier that afternoon.
He unfolded the oiled paper and laid the meat down on the cold ground. Blood still clung to its surface, and the rich, fishy smell quickly spread into the night air.
Broadsword in hand, Lu Sheng backed up and slipped behind a large rock, crouching low.
The wind was sharp and cold.
Leaning against a pale stone taller than himself, he stared toward the meat, every nerve taut with anticipation.
Time dragged.
Woooo…
A low sound drifted through the breeze—almost like the wind itself, but laced with something animal, something alive.
Whoosh!
Out of nowhere, a black shadow shot in from the side. In the flickering torchlight, two eerie green eyes flashed.
The shadow darted in, snatched the meat in its jaws, and turned to flee in one smooth motion.
Lu Sheng’s eyes lit up—this was it. He tensed to move.
But then—
His back went rigid.
A sharp chill slammed into his spine.
Something was behind him.
His eyes widened. In an instant, he twisted and slashed behind him with the broadsword in a wide, horizontal arc.
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