Chapter Two: Becoming a Super First-Rate Expert

As the saying goes, fortune and misfortune are intertwined. Yan Tian unexpectedly obtained the ancestral treasury of divine martial arts, yet this blessing nearly cost him his life. According to the Yan clan’s ancestral design, any descendant who inherited both the Heavenly Eye and Twin Pupils would surely be a prodigy bordering on the supernatural.

It was expected that such a successor would have studied ancient martial arts from childhood, unblocked the Ren and Du meridians, and established a solid foundation in internal energy. No one anticipated that, a thousand years later, as science flourished and martial arts declined, the once-mighty Yan family would dwindle in the flames of history. Within a century, their numbers were decimated, and even their treasured ancestral martial arts faded into oblivion. By Yan Tian’s generation, he alone remained—the last scion.

Yan Tian had never practiced martial arts, nor did he possess even a shred of internal energy. Though he underwent the process of marrow cleansing with the jade stone’s true energy, his dantian stored not a trace of cultivated power. Acting rashly, he was overwhelmed by the vast reservoir of true energy within the jade treasury, coughing up blood as his dantian nearly burst—he spun at the threshold of death.

But from calamity rose fortune. Having narrowly escaped death, the unguarded surge of energy unexpectedly forced open his blocked Ren and Du meridians, linking his primary and extraordinary channels, paving the way for rapid martial advancement in the future. After he fell unconscious, more than half of the surging true energy ebbed back into the jade, with a small portion remaining in his body, following the “Nine Yin Manual’s” method to circulate itself through the small and large heavenly cycles—his body had already begun to cultivate on its own, imperceptibly.

When Yan Tian awoke, it was already midday. Having vomited a mouthful of blood and slept through the night, he felt not the slightest discomfort; on the contrary, his spirit and vigor were stronger than ever. Obsessed with martial arts, Yan Tian paid no heed to his brush with death. Gritting his teeth, he once again sat cross-legged atop the jade, activating the heart method to train.

Once more, torrents of true energy poured in. Yet today was better than yesterday—Yan Tian managed to endure fifteen minutes before spitting blood and fainting again.

This too was a reckless gamble. It was as if one tried to pour a pound of water into a tiny balloon meant for just a few ounces—what else could result but an explosion? Yan Tian’s dantian was like that balloon: already full from the previous night, yet force-fed even more. Fortunately, his Ren and Du meridians had been opened, allowing excess true energy to flow into his body’s channels. But even these meridians, only recently widened through self-cultivation, could barely contain the influx. Thus, after a strenuous quarter hour, he fainted once more.

This time, he slept the entire day. Night had fallen by the time he awoke.

By now, his true energy had taken shape; his dantian and meridians, battered twice, were wider and stronger. Had he left the jade to cultivate elsewhere, his skills would have grown steadily, eventually reaching the level of a first-class master.

Yet Yan Tian showed astonishing obsession and persistence in his pursuit. Each bout of unconsciousness brought unspeakable pain—as the torrents of energy surged through him, battering dantian and meridians, it was as if a thousand ants gnawed at his flesh, his very cells exploding with agony. Ordinary men could never endure such torment.

But Yan Tian was a rare breed—a martial arts fanatic, as the ancients would say. With a chance to become a peerless legend, how could he yield? To change one’s fate, one must first dare to go mad, charging forward regardless of pain or risk. No matter the suffering, he would endure!

Thus, Yan Tian forsook the slow yet painless path of ordinary cultivation, choosing instead to sit atop the jade, bathing in torrents of true energy and ascending rapidly through agony.

So the sun rose and set; he came and went from consciousness, for a full month.

Throughout that month, Yan Tian ate less than a meal a day. Except for bathroom breaks and brief showers, he remained atop the jade, barely leaving even to eat.

Bathing was essential. In those early days of transformation, his body expelled reeking, viscous black impurities daily, forming a thick layer upon his skin. But as days passed, less and less was purged, and after a month no more impurities emerged.

Yan Tian did not realize that the true energy’s cleansing had refined his body; residual toxins were expelled, and his constitution gradually returned to a pre-birth, innate state.

Had it been anyone else, even with two different pupils and the jade, lacking Yan Tian’s near-obsessive perseverance and endurance, they would never have achieved such transformation in a month.

It could be said that Yan Tian was the first in history to reach martial mastery so swiftly.

For over two months, he had remained bare-chested—fortunately, the Yan ancestral house was on the city’s outskirts, with no neighbors in sight. The house was so old and the family so clearly bankrupt that not even thieves bothered with it. Thus, he could remain half-naked without fear of being called an exhibitionist.

After two months, Yan Tian had absorbed a tenth of the jade’s true energy. The “Nine Yin Manual” was mastered; using its power to drive the “Xuanming Palm” was now second nature.

Yan Tian’s current strength was close to that of an ancient martial master who’d trained for fifty or sixty years—though he himself had no inkling just how terrifying he’d become.

He stood up from the jade, stretching long, his bones crackling like firecrackers. His narrow eyes gleamed with a subtle, penetrating light.

By late October, the weather grew cold; morning frost dusted the garden’s leaves. Yet, bare-chested, Yan Tian felt not the slightest chill.

Inside, he gazed into a mirror, wholly satisfied with what he saw: five feet nine, a well-proportioned frame, and beneath those seemingly modest muscles lurked explosive power. Marveling at his transformation, Yan Tian thought to himself—he was right: the Nine Yin true energy was indeed formidable.

He tried channeling the “Nine Yin Manual” into the “Xuanming Palm,” pressing his hand lightly onto a solid rosewood table. Silently, his palm sank into the tabletop as if it were dough.

Astonished and thrilled, he withdrew his hand to find a deep palm print embedded in the wood—so clear that even his palm’s lines were etched inside. The edges were unscathed, not a splinter raised, as though a master sculptor had carved it there.

Staring dumbly at his hand, Yan Tian suddenly burst into wild laughter: “Ha ha ha! At last, I have mastered the Xuanming Palm!” His laughter thundered, shaking loose dust from the ceiling.

After a moment of self-satisfaction, confusion crept in.

In this modern world, where technology had long eclipsed martial arts, what use was divine skill?

To uphold justice? To be a superhero like Spider-Man or Superman? Ridiculous—this was a society of laws; all should be settled by the courts. To use violence was already a crime.

To join the military? In an age of peace and development, with no war in years, and with modern battles fought by machines, what use was martial prowess? At best, it might make him a strong soldier—but could martial arts face down tanks, jets, or aircraft carriers?

To get rich? Unless he planned to rob banks—though even those used digital currency now—the opportunities to profit from martial skills were slim. At this point, Yan Tian hardly knew what his life’s purpose was. Even as the world’s number one master, who would share in this lonely triumph?

The more he thought, the more martial arts seemed a tasteless burden. After the excitement faded, disappointment settled in.

Perhaps, apart from health and longevity, all his pain and effort had won him was a skill with no real use.

After a brief spell of confusion, Yan Tian simply bathed and gathered himself again.

He was, by nature, an optimist; trouble never lingered in his heart. His doubts stemmed only from not knowing how to use his skills.

But on reflection, this was his ancestral gift. As the Yan family’s last hope, he ought at least to inherit and pass it on. Even in peaceful times, where there is light, there is shadow; one never knows what dangers may come. Perhaps one day, these skills might save his life.

Once decided, Yan Tian dressed, wolfed down a packet of instant noodles, and set out for the city.

He was off to play the hero. After reading so many web novels, he’d always envied those chivalrous rescues.

Where there are people, there is a world; where there is a world, there are beauties; where there are beauties, there are villains; where there are villains, there are heroes. Beautiful women in peril are always saved by dashing heroes, who, after a few swift punches, drive away their assailants and win the maiden’s grateful heart—or so the stories go.

Now that he finally possessed martial prowess, he thought, why not try his luck in the city? Perhaps he’d stumble upon such a scene and rescue a beauty. Even if she didn’t fall madly in love, he might at least get a girlfriend.

As he walked, Yan Tian activated the “Nine Yin Manual,” employing the “Lingbo Microstep” lightness skill.

He had learned three major arts: the “Nine Yin Manual,” the “Xuanming Palm,” and the “Lingbo Microstep.”

The “Xuanming Palm” was for killing; the “Lingbo Microstep” was famed as the world’s lightest and swiftest movement technique.

Once activated, Yan Tian felt as light as a swallow. The suburban roads were nearly empty, so he needn’t fear startling anyone. At full speed, the landscape blurred past him, wind howling like thunder. By his estimation, he was running at over sixty kilometers an hour. If he could absorb all the true energy in the jade, who knew how fast he could go?

After some distance, he leapt. With powerful inner strength, gravity seemed to lose its hold; he soared ten meters into the air!

Yan Tian was elated—I can fly!

Everyone has dreamed of flying, of growing wings and soaring among the clouds. Without that dream, humankind would never have invented airplanes.

Yet even in a plane, one flies by borrowed power. Who could truly defy gravity on their own?

Yan Tian could—he had realized the purest childhood dream of countless people.

Landing lightly, he laughed aloud, leaping again and again like a great bird, each time vaulting twenty or thirty meters. Though he could not truly fly, such superhuman leaps sent him into raptures—never before had he left the ground by more than a meter.

Only upon reaching the city did he suppress his joy and walk normally.

Now, all confusion over martial arts was swept away. No longer did he see it as a useless burden. If nothing else, the joy of flight alone was reward enough for a lifetime.

“When I get home, I must absorb all the true energy—see how high and far I can leap then! Perhaps I’ll even manage the legendary sword flight!” Yan Tian resolved.

He wandered the city for several hours, from afternoon until evening, searching for a chance to play the hero. Yet opportunity was not for everyone. He roamed the city’s largest entertainment district—the “red-light district,” famous for beautiful women—for over an hour, but found not a single damsel in distress. Was public security really this good nowadays?

Deeply disappointed, Yan Tian returned home and began studying his second martial art, “The Solitary Yang Finger.”

According to the jade’s instructions, for every tenth of its true energy absorbed, a new skill could be learned. Now that he’d mastered the Xuanming Palm, it was time for the next.

What drew him to the Solitary Yang Finger was its supreme potential—at its peak, its invisible, silent finger wind was the perfect tool for assassination.

And in terms of difficulty, it was among the easiest to master.

Easy to learn, immense in power—of course, Yan Tian chose the Solitary Yang Finger.

He practiced it all night, absorbing more true energy as he went. By dawn, he could send a gust of finger wind three meters through the air. Though the noise was still loud—almost like an exhaust fan—the power was immense. One finger could leave a six-centimeter-deep hole in a stone wall, rivaling a sniper rifle. Striking a person would be fatal, enough to fell even an elephant.

Delighted, Yan Tian comforted himself. The jade’s record claimed that, at full mastery, the finger wind could reach fifty zhang—about 150 meters. Compared to a gun, it still fell short, but its silence and invisibility surpassed any silenced pistol—a perfect weapon for assassination.

He even joked to himself—if married life proved tough and he couldn’t afford baby formula, he could become a hitman. With such a skill, what target could escape him? Earning a fortune would be effortless.

After a night of practice, Yan Tian bathed and prepared to head to school.

Though he cared little for academics, he had promised to sit the final exams—so he supposed he should at least pretend to study. Besides, his outlook had changed: as a peerless master, he ought to excel in everything. He used to dislike studying, but now he could not bear the thought of letting his reputation down with a poor score.

His textbooks and materials were all at school; he’d left them behind. Now, he was going to retrieve them for self-study. Senior year had no new classes—just review—so he could manage on his own.

He arrived at the school gate just as classes were starting. Students in winter coats and carrying breakfast crowded in. It was the turn of autumn to winter and rather cold; even the athletic boys wore jackets. Yet Yan Tian, in a short-sleeved T-shirt, strolled up to the gate, hands empty, utterly oblivious to how conspicuous he was.

Standing out so much, he drew many curious glances. Just as he was about to enter, a low engine rumble sounded behind him.

Yan Tian had a fondness for cars, and now, with his heightened senses, he could tell by sound alone that a brand-new BMW Mini convertible had pulled up behind him.

Such cars were popular with young women. Though not outrageously expensive—about half a million yuan—the average family couldn’t afford one.

Curious, Yan Tian wanted to see the owner. But before he could turn, a lively girl’s voice called out behind him: “Yan Tian!”

He was surprised. He’d always kept a low profile at school, had only a handful of friends, and certainly no female friends came to mind.

Puzzled, he turned—and was startled again.

A tall girl—at least five foot seven—leaned casually against a yellow BMW Mini, smiling at him, her head cocked.

Seeing his surprised gaze, the girl smirked, calling out loudly, “Silly Yan Tian!”