Chapter Four: Training After the Rain (Please Leave a Comment!)

He spread his palm open, and a streak of silvery light glimmered in his hand.

It looked dazzling, almost blinding. Yet the radiance faltered, and in the blink of an eye, the brilliance that had filled most of the courtyard was snuffed out, vanishing without a trace.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

He shook his head, sighing softly. Yet his face remained calm and unruffled, as though he had long since grown used to this.

Spirit Engine.

That was Chen Yu’s name for the silvery-white particles of light that emerged from the sea of consciousness within his body.

He suspected it might be a little extra that had come along with him from his old life—a so-called golden finger, as people often called it. But lacking any sort of explanation, he was still groping in the dark, far from truly mastering it.

The function of the Spirit Engine was also vague. It seemed at first glance to resemble those clichéd strengthening powers, but after conducting several experiments, Chen Yu understood well the difference between the two.

A vast difference, one that might even be called fundamental.

The strengthening was only a surface effect; the Spirit Engine’s true purpose lay deeper still. Unfortunately, he had only a rough grasp of it so far, just enough to hazard a guess.

It was that very guess that had inspired the name Spirit Engine.

If things were as he suspected, this ability was indeed fascinating—never mind its strength for now. The key was… it was fun!

As things stood, limited by his own abilities, using the Spirit Engine required Chen Yu to hold his breath and focus intently, expending immense mental effort to pry open that sea of consciousness. In addition, he needed direct contact with the target, just as he’d done with the worm earlier.

The limitations were considerable, but fortunately, this world was not some monster-slaying, level-grinding story. There was no need to pit the ability against deadly enemies.

Chen Yu was in no hurry. He took things as they came, untroubled.

…

Early spring weather changed in the blink of an eye. Not long ago, the sun had been high in the sky, warm and bright. But after a couple of fresh breezes, a handful of white clouds drifted together, clustering above.

They jostled and pressed, one against another. Soon, a muffled, dry thunder rumbled from the gaps between the clouds.

Its echoes rolled across the mountains and forests.

“Well, isn’t that something.”

Lifting his gaze to the sky, Chen Yu extended his hand, feeling the coolness in the wind and the fine, hair-like drizzle it carried. Having just put away the worm canister and preparing to cut bamboo at the back of the mountain, he now lowered his head, glancing toward the mountain path outside the courtyard.

All he saw were blue stones and tufts of grass, now bathed in rain.

So much for fishing today.

The rain was gentle, but those were the very sort of inconspicuous showers that most easily brought trouble.

Especially up here in the mountains, where the path was long and treacherous. The slightest slickness beneath one’s feet multiplied the risk of disaster.

Tempting as wild fishing might be, Chen Yu wasn’t about to risk tumbling down the mountain, his bones scattered and lost, just for a stroll to the pool below.

“Forget it. Maybe next time.”

He glanced again at the two bamboo tubes hanging from the pillar. Who knew when these little fellows would finally serve their purpose?

Perhaps they too were eager to be put to use.

The worms: …

Setting aside his hatchet and basket, Chen Yu simply lay back in his chair, continuing to flip through the scriptures.

He would wait for the rain to pass.

By evening, the sun had dipped behind distant ridges. The dusky light mingled with the faint glow of sunset, casting a soft radiance far away.

The rain had stopped, but Chen Yu did not head out to cut bamboo. Instead, he stretched his limbs, then stood in the courtyard, practicing his stance work in the brisk, rain-cleared air.

The mountain path was still slick. He thought it best to wait until tomorrow, when things had dried out.

What troubled him most was the fickle weather. Just yesterday, and even this morning, the skies had been clear as crystal. He’d thought the coming days would be just as bright. But here it was, a fine drizzle falling, and there was nothing to be done.

In the courtyard, Chen Yu drew a breath; after a few short shouts, his body sprang into motion. Feet braced in the Three Talents Stance, he moved from point to point, sometimes leaping, sometimes crouching, like a spirited steed bounding ceaselessly. His fists became palms, slicing through the air like blades, sleeves snapping with sharp, thunderous cracks.

The sounds were crisp, but nothing compared to the thudding of his feet, or the deep, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest—his breathing heavy and rough, like bellows working, noisy yet bearing an odd cadence when listened to closely.

The art Chen Yu practiced was called Cloud Crane Technique, also known as White Crane Soars Over the Mountain. Like the Long Wind Sutra resting on his chair, it was one of only five remaining martial texts in the temple.

In his memory, the old priest had once told his predecessor that this art was created by the second-generation founder of Cloud Crane Temple, inspired by the white cranes that soared above the sea of clouds, wings spanning mountains and oceans.

With its balance of movement and stillness, clarity of mind, and purity of thought, mastery of this technique could strengthen the body, cultivate health, and prolong life.

It sounded quite valuable, but Chen Yu knew the truth: this was a second-rate art. Down in the martial world, only laborers, thieves, or brash warriors would fight over it. Those with true heritage would hardly give it a second glance.

“But even a genuine technique like this is more than enough.”

In his previous life, he’d only ever heard of such things, never witnessed them. To Chen Yu, it was all fresh and novel—the quality of the art itself mattered little.

What’s more, the temple’s martial texts were complete. Not only did they include stance work to temper the body, but also breathing exercises to refine the spirit, as well as methods for fists, weaponry, tactics, and even step techniques.

Stance, combat, weapons, footwork…

Through this one second-rate manual, Chen Yu glimpsed that the world’s martial arts were not simple or easy to master—not like in the dramas, where a few flourishes or ten days of meditation made a master.

“Martial arts are truly hard to learn.”

There was plenty to train, yet whether due to his own constitution or something else, Chen Yu’s progress in Cloud Crane Technique was mediocre at best.

Though he understood the movements, some simply refused to come out right, requiring extra effort and repeated practice to force them into shape.

So this was what people called being of average talent.

Still, he found joy in his training, clearly unconcerned by such things.

After a bout of practice, his skin flushed red; he caught his breath, wiping sweat from his face and neck. His skills hadn’t improved much, but the benefits were clear enough. At least his body felt more vital these days, no longer weakened as it had been at first.

His predecessor had trained too, but being young and restless, his mind was always wandering to the bustling world below, dreaming of roaming the land with sword in hand, righting wrongs, perhaps with one or two beauties as companions—a meeting of souls more precious than all the world.

So the training was neglected.

By the time Chen Yu arrived, the spark of life was nearly gone. He’d barely managed to halt his body’s decline, keeping his life hanging by a thread.

Such misfortune, added to his already modest talent, made progress twice as hard and half as fruitful.

By comparison, the Daoist arts—focusing on comprehension, fate, and spirit—were more suited to him.

But the Daoist scriptures cultivated one’s nature and heart; they didn’t grant flight over roofs or strength to rival dragons.

Chen Yu loved reading—an interest from both his lives—so much so that a day without a book left him restless and uneasy.

As for martial arts, he had no intention of giving them up. Strengthening the body was always worthwhile. After all, how many among the millions below had ever held a complete martial manual in their hands?

Contentment is true happiness!