Chapter Twenty-One: Big Fool Is Injured

“This was caused by myself?” Lin Xiaobao rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then extended his spiritual sense to cover several miles around, confirming that aside from himself, there was no one else here.

“So powerful? How could it be possible?” No matter how he tried, Lin Xiaobao couldn’t accept the fact before him. Back in Howling Moon City, he had witnessed battles between ninth-level martial artists, but their destructive power paled in comparison to what he had just accomplished.

“Why not? Did you think the techniques I handed you were cheap goods from the street stalls?” As if reading Lin Xiaobao’s mind, Old Mo scoffed, “Already stunned?”

For once, Lin Xiaobao didn’t retort after being dealt such a blow. Instead, he nodded gently. He truly was astounded, but deep within, excitement surged even stronger.

Since arriving in this world and learning that its people could cultivate, Lin Xiaobao had long hoped for a day like this. Though he’d previously cultivated an astonishingly mystical spiritual sense, the vivid spectacle before him stirred his blood far more than anything else.

It seemed he’d need to train farther from home in the future. Glancing back at his humble hut, Lin Xiaobao mused: if one day he lost control and demolished his dwelling, he’d have nowhere left to live.

Immersed in the exhilaration of sword techniques, Lin Xiaobao neglected even to practice his mind wave techniques. Each day, he simply performed his sword moves over and over. He discovered that practicing the sword exhausted him much faster than any other form of training. When spent, he’d return to his hut and soak in medicinal liquid, cross-referencing his progress with the shadowy figure in his mind.

Time slipped by; another half month had passed. The ground before his hut, first plowed when he began practicing sword techniques, now sprouted countless inches of wild grass. Yet Lin Xiaobao still felt his comprehension of the sword was far from sufficient.

Late at night, a frantic knocking jolted him from his meditative state. His spiritual sense stirred, and the scene outside the hut appeared instantly in his mind. Lin Xiaobao was surprised: “How could it be her?”

He hadn’t exchanged a single word with this girl, didn’t even know her name—so why was she seeking him out in the dead of night? Could it be she was drawn by his handsome bearing? Amidst his vain musings, Lin Xiaobao donned his clothes, taking care to smooth his hair by the water jar’s reflection.

Yet deep inside, he hesitated. Should he open the door or not? If he did, and she tried to push him down, should he give in, or play coy?

Caught in indecision, Lin Xiaobao opened the door. The girl did not, as he’d imagined, leap at him, but instead spoke urgently, “Wang Dashan is hurt!”

“What happened?” Hearing Wang Dashan was injured, Lin Xiaobao immediately dismissed his previous thoughts, worry appearing on his face. “Where is he hurt? Is it serious?”

The girl knocking was none other than Meng Ying, the only newcomer to have reached the sixth martial level upon entry, and who had aided Lin Xiaobao during that clash between new and senior disciples.

Instructor Hong is in seclusion, and today the senior disciples stormed over. We resisted, but were outmatched, and Wang Dashan was beaten badly!” Meng Ying quickly explained the situation.

Half a year? In these six months of cultivation, Lin Xiaobao had nearly lost track of time. Meng Ying’s reminder brought him back—his half-year term was up. “Where is Wang Dashan now? How badly is he injured?”

Even if the senior disciples took everything from the newcomers, Lin Xiaobao wouldn’t care in the least. But hurting Wang Dashan was a different matter. His only friend in this world, Lin Xiaobao valued him greatly. He was already rushing out the door as he spoke.

Seeing Lin Xiaobao’s anxiety, Meng Ying immediately used her movement technique, adding, “Wang Dashan took three blows to the chest and collapsed on the spot. He still hasn’t woken up.” Her voice dropped near the end.

“Where is he now?” Lin Xiaobao’s face darkened.

“In Hongwu Hall. All the new disciples are there, except for you.” No sooner had Meng Ying finished speaking than Lin Xiaobao had already left her far behind. How could that be?

Though she knew Lin Xiaobao was famed for his unmatched speed, his strength was limited—or so she thought. In these six months, she herself had advanced from sixth to eighth martial level, yet now Lin Xiaobao was widening the gap. Her competitive spirit ignited, Meng Ying pushed herself to the limit to catch up, but to her dismay, not only could she not close the distance, she could only watch helplessly as Lin Xiaobao’s figure faded into the night.

Hongwu Hall was ablaze with lights and filled with noisy voices, despite the late hour. As soon as he entered, Lin Xiaobao’s spiritual sense swept over the entire hall; the scene unfolded in his mind. He instantly located Wang Dashan lying on the floor to the left front, and rushed to him.

“Brother Xiaobao, run! They’re after your storage pouch!” In his unconscious state, Wang Dashan’s fists were clenched tightly, his expression tense. Who knew what he was dreaming, or what sort of nightmare he was trapped in?

“You don’t need to remind him—he’ll run anyway!” Seeing that even now Wang Dashan hadn’t forgotten Lin Xiaobao, Hu Dequan recalled how Wang Dashan had rushed to defend Lin Xiaobao, risking his life against an eighth-level senior disciple. Hu Dequan simply couldn’t understand what kind of spell Lin Xiaobao had cast over Wang Dashan.

After half a year in the Wind and Snow Pavilion, Hu Dequan had advanced from fifth to eighth martial level, maturing greatly. The old grudges with Lin Xiaobao had long been forgotten, though he still looked down on him.

“How is Dashan now?” Lin Xiaobao rushed over, grabbed Wang Dashan’s wrist, and saw the bloodstained chest. Suddenly, his brows knit tightly together.

The pulse was strong, nothing like someone seriously wounded. Yet the stronger it felt, the more Lin Xiaobao frowned. “Old Mo, please help me check him!”

To Lin Xiaobao, Wang Dashan’s condition was simply a result of his own lack of skill—he couldn’t find the cause. But the glaring red on Dashan’s chest made him anxious.

“Check what? He’s got the body of a mighty god! His recovery is beyond anything you can imagine,” Old Mo said indifferently. “Even if you left him here unattended, within three days he’d be up and lively again.”

“Really?” Lin Xiaobao no longer doubted the old man’s strength, but since this concerned his only friend in the world, he sought further reassurance.

“In three days, you’ll see for yourself.” Old Mo seemed a bit irritated by Lin Xiaobao’s distrust, and fell silent after speaking.