Chapter 11, in which the hero learns the dangers of nature and finds a like-minded friend

* * *

As he headed to his new workplace, Feng ran as fast as he could, jumping up and down as he ran. As it turned out, his training had the side effect of making his body use more energy, so he was more hungry. And since he was able to do the tasks very quickly because of his agility, his parents would immediately think of a new, no less difficult activity. Of course, there were some good things, too - Feng had become faster and more sturdy, and he had long ago noticed that the distances he used to walk when he was lying on the ground in a sack were now easy. Without proper nutrition, he didn't become much stronger, but his stamina had increased many times over.

The unexpected and very pleasant side of it was that the peasants forgot all about the unfortunate incident with the shit, and the "son of the general" was remembered less and less often. Now he had a new nickname, "Fast Feng," sometimes "Fool Feng" - but the second nickname was not only pronounced without malice, but it had not really stuck on.

Feng had many reasons to think he was a fool. As his stamina grew, he tried again and again to gather qi, doing it the only way he knew how - through a deafening scream. Each time, he drew a demonic image of his master in his head and shouted at him, tearing his throat out right into his imaginary face:

"I will become YOU!"

As much as he hated the master, as much as he despised and wanted nothing to do with him, the main and most important goal, Feng's inner demon devouring from within was to refute his words. It was necessary to prove not to anyone but to himself that the master was a fool, unable to appreciate the gem that was Han and using the real treasure to prop up the door with it. Well then, of course, Feng would become much stronger than the master to meet him face to face, to fight an epic battle that would later not only create the crystal but also begin to be legendary. And Mei, if she's still alive, will see it, suffer and regret her mistake, and lament that she chose the master over Han. But it will be too late!

The phrase that Feng had invented to concentrate his hatred was not only very successful but also did not arouse any suspicion among the peasants, for it contained nothing about aristocrats and generals, nor palaces and masters. Of course, someone who shouted such a thing would be considered a fool but a harmless fool, not some sower of dangerous confusion. Actually, the phrase was only part of a quote, a new wisdom invented by Han-Feng and worthy of being written in the best scroll: I will become like you, I will become you, I will become better than you. Except for shouts, it required something short, something that could be shouted in a single exhalation.

As his stamina gradually increased, Feng carved out time to start raiding the forest, where he struggled to find additional food, from grubs and worms to eggs from birds' nests. There was no time for anything more serious, so it was necessary to prove his usefulness as a provider, which was many times higher than the benefit of another laborer. Of course, if the tax collector got wind of this, it would be a tight squeeze. But one of the advantages of the small village was that, despite internal squabbles and petty squabbles, they had each other's backs when it came to outsiders, who were also considered to be all officials.

So he ran and screamed, scaring away birds and small animals, until the fall. And then, during another fierce shout, he felt that warm throbbing sensation that reminded him so much of wet pants. However, his pants were wet at that moment because he was standing in the middle of the river, solving several important tasks at the same time. He was practicing his balance on the slippery wet rocks in a dabu stance, trying to catch fish with a homemade spear and occasionally shouting furiously. Despite his fears, the cries of anger and despair did not frighten the fish, so the training did not interfere with fishing.

This time, he caught fish without hiding from anyone. Of course, the usual work was not canceled, but as soon as he brought the first big fish from the river, as soon as Zanzen baked it and added the giblets to the usual empty rice soup, his parents immediately recognized that there was something useful in Feng's foolish activities. It meant that he didn't need to be chased off the river. Feng did not disappoint and brought a few more fish, even though he was primarily concerned with feeding his own body.

Even without awakening qi, Feng had a steady hand and a steady eye, something no one else in the village could boast of. Apparently, in addition to his innate talent, his past life skills, such as his diligent calligraphy studies and his many battles with his rogue master, had taught him not only how to dodge blows but also how to accurately strike the elusive target. And now that he had finally felt his first faint trickle of inner energy.....

Feng took aside the spear. It was a long stick carved with a sharp stone, split and burnt for strength, and Feng made backward serrations on its points to keep the fish carcass from slipping back into the water. He plunged inside himself, gathering almost insensible streams of qi into a small ball. At first, he tried to channel them in the usual way - into his lower dantian, but a sudden thought almost made him lose concentration. Strength and stamina were certainly important. They were necessary for the main plan. But what was needed most right now was the mind and memory that would allow access to the priceless knowledge hidden in the head!

So Feng quickly, to prevent doubts and hesitation from changing his mind, directed the qi to his head. The energy flowed through the meridians reluctantly, as if resisting, begging him to change his mind, to let it go, to let it return to its usual place. But Feng remained adamant. He had to clench his teeth in pain, but after endless endeavors and heroic efforts, he still managed. Overcoming the resistance as if breaking through an invisible wall, the qi gathered in the center of his forehead and finally settled, swirling in a slow whirl.

"Over there!" squealed one of the children, so partial to any kind of spectacle, even if it was just the village fool, let alone such an exciting process as fishing.

"Feng, look, it's coming!"

Feng was not distracted by the most important thing in his life. He separated a small, thin stream of energy from the fluid vortex in his head and directed it to his eyes, which were firmly closed. When he felt the familiar cutting and burning pain, he opened his eyelids.

The world bloomed, turned into a myriad of colors and shades, where everything seemed to move at its usual speed, but at the same time very slowly and smoothly - so smoothly that he could even see the wingbeats of flying midges. He could easily see through the bubbling water not only the fish the children were pointing at but also a second fish, a little smaller than the first.

"Ha!" he shouted, striking twice, then he lifted his pointy stick into the air with a pair of silvery fish beating on it.

Even when he was cutting the fish with a sharp splinter, Feng did not let go of his qi vision. It wasn't because he needed to or even because of all those silly teachings about qilin gazes and other nonsense from his master. Using qi vision, despite the sharp headache and pain in his eyes, he felt strong again. He felt that he was closer to his goal, having taken a small but very significant and important step. And the pain... It was a perfect reminder of the significance of such an accomplishment - the wounds of a tired warrior returning from battle, a proud victor, or the eternal companion of a hero who can do anything in the world.

Unfortunately, the sensation soon subsided, the world returning to its usual pace and colors. The tornado in his head subsided and disintegrated - but what remained was the memory of the moment of triumph and pride and the feeling that now he could do it all again.

Cutting fish, with Feng practicing his knife skills (even if the knife was a miserable piece of wood), reminded him of going into the forest with his rogue master. But this time, the memories didn't hurt. On the contrary, they brought satisfaction. He was closer to his goal, even if only slightly. He had almost become like him, a scoundrel that Feng would surely surpass someday!

"That's it!" he shouted. "Who's good? I am!"

"A true fish general!" Shouted Snotty Bokin.

There was laughter and loud shouts, but this time, admiring rather than insulting. And now, the mention of "General" did not cause the slightest offense.

"The real fish general will show up," murmured the little Xuo, "and drag you away instead of the fish!"

"Shut up, you little brat!" Bokin slapped him. "You'll spell it!"

Everyone instantly fell silent and whispered. Some even made signs to ward off evil spirits, while others mumbled invocations to the gods of the forest and the spirits of the river. Feng only frowned and went back into the river under the anxious silence. He struck his spear once more but missed as he was troubled by the heavy thoughts of the river demon. Did it really exist, or was it a silly prejudice of the stupid peasants? Could he be used to his advantage? For example, to announce to the whole village that he is not afraid of the master of the river, then will dive right into his lair and win. And while the whole neighborhood laughs at his stupidity and recklessness, he could dive, developing his body and especially the ability to hold his breath. Perhaps even catch fish at the bottom of the river, but do not tell anyone about it, and eat it all by himself! And what to do if the owner of the river really exists, and besides, he is not averse to eating a seven-year-old child?

"And in general! Nobody's a general here. We're just fishing," Bokin added judiciously.

"Yes! That's right!" The others nodded, and Feng nodded as well.

The last remnants of qi inside moved and disappeared, leaving him with an unpleasant feeling of weakness and emptiness.

But that didn't matter anymore. Feng felt qi, which meant that he was on the right path!

* * *

Qi. So soft and warm, yet hard and prickly at the same time. It felt alive, but it was also painful. Feng was right - summoning it a second time was much easier, but it was too small to do anything heroic. He could do no more than what was available to a normal person who didn't follow his path. Feng could easily strengthen his eyesight, but strengthening his body was difficult. For such matters, qi should have been centered in the abdomen - and to do so in the future, Feng intended to do so as well. But someday later, when he was strong enough to allow himself to circulate qi to two points of dantian at once. Sometimes, he even regretted starting his awakening with his head because his attempts to evoke old memories were only successful for a short time - a very vivid and clear image appeared before his eyes, after which his qi simply ran out, and Feng lay on the ground for a long time, exhausted and empty. And he would even give up on this idea, recognizing the circulation in his head as a bad idea, and transfer the qi to the lower dantian to instantly become the strongest guy in the village. But this would only be a good solution in the short term, and in the long term, it could become an obstacle that severely hindered the fulfillment of the main plan. So he used qi for vision during the day, and at night, just before he went to sleep, his body, exhausted from lack of qi, fell asleep instantly, ignoring all the inconveniences such as barbed straw and hard logs under his head.

It became clear very quickly that the depletion of qi was extremely painful and unpleasant, but it was very beneficial. The body, as if trying to compensate for the deficiency, creates every time a little bit, a tiny bit, but more and more qi. Which can be used in many ways! For example...

"Oh, my ears are already buzzing!"

"How funny you all are walking upside down!"

"Don't walk, but stand!"

"Just fall down already!"

"You fall down!"

"Let's fall down and drop Feng!"

"What are you?!"

Feng inwardly sighed, not allowing himself to lose concentration. Because there was a golden time in every peasant's life when he was too young to be forced to work hard but big enough to get out of the house, Feng was often accompanied by snot-nosed kids. They couldn't watch quietly and silently. They couldn't miss the sight of the village fool standing on his head. Of course, it could be explained that this was not just some kind of foolishness but a tian guan stance, a 'heavenly crown' designed to develop perception, but Feng was not going to do that. Firstly, it would not help. He would be considered even crazier, and secondly, a village kid would have no way of knowing about such things.

Screams, shouts, noise, and noise became his constant companions. The children were constantly and persistently following, watching, discussing, climbing all the trees and rocks, falling, crying, and climbing again. At first, Feng was angry, but then he suddenly realized that enduring the children was also a kind of training. After all, it was easy to maintain concentration when you were meditating like a hero of the crystal near a forest waterfall or sitting on a mountain peak. But try to do it when a few snot-nosed kids are chattering and fighting nearby!

His hands gripped the shaft of the spear tighter. The point trembled. Even though he had gotten stronger, the amount and heaviness of the exercises had also increased, and the work was not getting any less. With the extra workload, Feng was tired every day. But the visible and perfectly tangible results in practice helped him to see the prospects that made him dizzy and salivate involuntarily. Of course, saliva was released only from the only aspect of these prospects - the possibility to get food and always to eat to the brim, and not just some simple peasant food, but meat, fish, and various delicacies. In addition, good food is a necessary component to become stronger physically. After all, because Feng had decided to develop his upper dantian, strengthening his body and strengthening his muscles with qi was not going to work very well, much worse than in his previous life.

No, it could also be done, but very weakly. Feng wasn't upset because, at the current stage, a seven-year-old's superhuman strength would have raised a lot of questions, while his perception and ability to find anyone and anything could always be attributed to luck and talent. But strength was still required, and without proper nutrition, his muscles simply wouldn't grow, and Feng would only become more lean and wiry. The triad of spirit, mind, and body was something his hated master liked to talk about. If his mind wasn't a problem, his body was severely compromised. And by making it more powerful, Feng strengthened his qi, thus getting even closer to the final goal. The hardships and hardships inflicted by his master and the guardians of the Nao family hardened his spirit to the point where he could use it to chop down enemies without any qi.

Awakening the upper dantian did little to increase strength, but it gave something else far more important. Seeing all living things around him and thus obtaining food in even greater quantities. He could hit fish without missing a beat, collect grubs and find berries, perhaps even animal caches with supplies for the winter and ravage, and there was little else that a very hungry guy with qi-vision, who could see and feel the very life around him, could do! During the training and monotonous work, Feng thought a lot, trying to train and develop his mind, not only not to dumb down from the peasant life but also to extract from memory important and useful information for his own development. Belatedly, he realized how the scoundrel master managed to be so particularly scoundrelly. He could just see and feel the qi, all the living things around him! In his previous life, when Feng had used the lower dantian, he had seen much less than he did now.

"He can hear us!" The children wouldn't stop.

"See how he's straining like he's pooping?!"

"What if he bursts?"

"It's burst right on you," Feng promised. "And stain you from head to toe!"

Or drool! The thought of food makes me want to choke myself, he thought. He was pushing, of course, for a reason. Despite the unsuitable dantian, he tried not only to strengthen the body with qi preferably, taking away the trembling hands and head, especially the wiry top, which was already aching, but also to sharpen perception, strengthening vision, hearing, and smell, to someday reach this very "Gaze of a Qilin." And in this area, the successes were tremendous, promising simply huge prospects. As for the body... Feng had already seen that the hardest thing to do was to take the first step.

Get up and start practicing without putting it off until next month. To feel qi for the first time and hold it for at least a few seconds. For the first time, intensify the senses. To crush a rock in his hand for the first time. The first time to pierce a tree with your body. The first time to split the sea and crush a mountain. And for the first time to challenge Heaven.

The latter, of course, required a lot of time. But just as the path of a thousand miles begins with the first step, so the road to victory over the scoundrel master - with incessant daily training. Every wasted minute was a gift to this scoundrel, another confirmation of his righteousness.

"He can give us slaps!"

"We'll give him that when we all pile in together!"

"Come on, look how strong he's gotten! Just like Master Yi!"

"That's bullshit, he'll never be like Yi!"

Feng realized that the silly little kid didn't mean anything like that, but those so familiar words caused a strong flash of anger accompanied by a new wave of determination.

"Don't even think about it," he gritted his teeth, "I haven't forgotten anything!"

The kids weren't frightened at all. On the contrary, they took it as another reason to have fun.

"He's talking again."

"See, he stood upside down, and the aristocrat from his heels flowed into his head."

"From the heels? Doesn't it come out of his ass?"

"Why?"

"My dad always says aristocrats are asses!"

Feng was not surprised the children understood everything in their own way. The main thing was that he remembered everything. He kept in his memory and constantly went over the memories of all the offenses, all the evil words and deeds. There was not enough food, but he fed on pure hatred. It served as an inexhaustible source of energy, giving him the strength to get up and run a hundred more steps, to squeeze out another drop of qi, to make a new swing of a spear or strike with a stone. He will become like a master! He would turn into a master, replicating his accomplishments, every single one of them. And then... Then... Then, he would become much better, stronger, and faster. If the legends of Bao Xiao's Impetuous Blade were legendary before, then now the whole world would be talking about... Mm-hmm, he should have held off on such distant plans until he had an adult name. In the meantime, there is time to think up something sonorous and heroic. So what if the name was given by a priest based on some obscure priestly considerations? Priests are people too, and Feng has five years to find the right approach to his own. To placate him, to butter him up, to do him an important favor so he could justly expect a favor in return.

A new sudden thought that came to mind made him laugh loudly, without restraint.

"Looks like Feng has gone completely nuts!"

"Apparently, there's a lot of aristocrat flowing into his head."

"If you throw a rock, it'll all come out!"

"And then Frowny Shirong will take a stick, and it'll all come out of our asses!"

Feng was so excited by the new idea that he ignored the threatening chatter of the little ones, even if they should have been slapped in the face to keep them quiet. Name! If he decided to fully become like a master, he would take his adult name at the naming ceremony! That bastard took away Han's life, family, future, and Mei. That means Han becoming Feng will also take everything away from the master! After all, if he performs heroic deeds, everyone in the Empire will actually talk about Feng when they mention the master's name! Yes, at first, he would be considered an impostor, a pathetic and insignificant wannabe trying to bask in the glory of the Imperial Grandmaster Qi. But as he accomplishes new feats, everyone will realize he is the real hero, and his master will fade into oblivion even before Feng ends his insignificant existence!

There was only one obstacle - Feng had missed his master's name and then didn't really bother to recognize it. But he had qi, and that was enough! With the qi concentrated in his head this time, Feng would be able to retrieve any moment of his life! And not only listens to all the conversations and reads all the scrolls again but even views his favorite crystals again!

"So Feng should be dropped in the river!"

"Head down so that the aristocrat is frightened and out of his mouth!"

"Come on, then we'll have a bad aristocrat living in the river! Why do we need so much trouble?"

"Maybe he'll get washed away by the current."

"Or he'll poison all our water!"

"On the contrary! Poison the Master of the River!"

"You fool, you can't say that! The Master will hear!"

"No, you fool! Master can only hear by the river! And Feng has already dived twice!"

Feng smiled contentedly. The plan he had come up with on the fly back then was already bearing fruit. Foolish, superstitious peasants were always crowding the shore, waiting for Feng to be eaten by the river guardian. In the meantime, he swam underwater, practiced underwater breathing, and caught and stuffed in a pre-submerged homemade basket of fish, crayfish, eels, and lampreys caught underwater. At night, when everyone was asleep, it was not difficult to sneak to the shore, pull out the basket, and have a feast!

"He's been bragging about how he's not afraid of anyone!"

"Twice doesn't count! I dived twice, too!"

"What are you, an aristocrat too?"

"Fool, I wasn't bragging to anyone! Feng will dive once more! Or more than once!"

"And he'll start snatching young girls!"

"Why?"

"I don't know, but my father says aristocrats go for young girls' asses."

"Yeah, because they're so soft, there's probably a lot of meat or fat in there."

"Hey! What are you doing?" There was the sound of a slap and a shriek. "Do you think they eat them?"

"Father said..."

At this point, Feng couldn't stand it and fell, barely restraining himself from bursting into laughter. Of course, the villagers knew all about breeding. They had been watching goats, chickens, and other animals since they were young, and no one had a hundred rooms in their houses to hide from family members. But still, because of their age, the children did not correlate one with the other because a hen and a rooster were something familiar. Aristocrats were somewhere far away, where everyone walked like Feng, on their heads, grunting and squeaking instead of talking, and they ate not with sticks but with huge ladles with two hands and three times a day! These silly but so serious reasons made him lose concentration. But still, in the last moment, he felt something unusual, as if his gaze was piercing Heaven and Earth, noticing the tiniest speck of dust and every tiny beat of life.

"Arga!" He shouted out, jumping up and picking up the bamboo spear.

The spear slammed into the soft earth, penetrating it almost halfway. Feng's grip on the handle twitched, and he pressed his whole body against it, sinking it deeper.

"What are you waiting for, you fools!" he yelled at the children. "Hurry up!"

The children rushed forward, huddled around the spear. In no time, they scraped away the turf and began to rake the sandy earth with their hands. After a while, the spear stopped twitching, but the children had already dug a deep enough hole, revealing the back of an earth badger who had foolishly ignored the loud cries and carelessly gotten too close. And even though the beast was barely moving by now, the little ones immediately forgot about all the arguments. Each of them grabbed a stick or a weighty stone and began to rain down a hail of desperate blows on the beast. The wounded badger twitched again as if it had gained new strength. It thrashed about, hissing and growling, lunging, trying to bite, but it could not escape because Feng's spear had pinned it too tightly to the ground. Feng felt sorry for the beast for a moment - there was no honor in the victory of the crowd over an already defeated opponent. But he realized that if the beast had broken free, it could have torn all the children, including Feng, to pieces. Besides, the badger was large, with a fluffy, striped pelt that could be traded for something useful from a merchant, fatty flanks for the approaching winter, fat from which, collected in pots, would brighten their table and help them survive the winter, strong bones, and sharp claws that could be used to make excellent weapons and tools, and plenty of meat. In addition, you can ignore the fact the credit for killing the badger does not belong to Feng alone.

"If you help me carry him to my mom," he said in a confident, non-contentious tone, "each of you will get a bowl of rice soup with a piece of meat!"

And only a deafening enthusiastic howl was his answer.

* * *

"That's it, take that and more!" Han-Feng stabbed the sharp stick into the ground passionately.

Even though no one, not even the hungriest peasant, would eat the shoots, fruits, or large, fleshy tuber of the Yellow Woolly, it was still cultivated here. Feng didn't know where it went - whether it was used in alchemy, used as medicine, or as an ingredient in some exquisite dish. But it was one of the few goods the merchant did not exchange for other things but gave real money, albeit small. Coins served not only as a way to pay taxes but also as jewelry - if you put a string through the square holes, you could wear them around your neck, showing wealth and affluence.

Alas, the Yellow Woolly was not only a very fastidious plant but also attracted insects, which willingly devoured both flowers and leaves. And the only way to deal with them was to collect the ones that got out. Or...

"You get one too!"

Sometimes Feng wondered why the small and stiff hornet beetle had such huge and fat larvae. And why, if the beetle itself was useless but easy to catch, but the larvae, which could usually only be obtained by digging up the beds in the spring when planting seeds, so good at burrowing into the ground? Of course, such thoughts did not prevent him from walking along the beds with a sharply sharpened bamboo stick.

With each strike, the stick was jammed into the loose earth and found a new prey. The insects were killed and immediately sent for further preparation in his self-weaved basket. Qi helped him to see the bugs even in the thickness of the earth, and the strokes of the stick sharpened his precision and concentration. Feng stood in one of the stands, which looked appropriate in this case and did not arouse suspicion. And what could be strange about a peasant boy leaning over the garden beds while getting rid of insects?

His relatives acknowledged his efforts as useful but still not very necessary. And if it were not for any apparent benefit, he would have been punished for such a whim a long time ago.

"You'd better go catch some fish," said Gang, who was passing by with a wooden hoe on his shoulder.

"Or chop some firewood," Kang advised.

"You could have chopped it yourself," Feng snapped. Although chopping wood was good exercise, he never liked doing it without an iron axe. Pounding on sharp stone with a wooden mallet and then spending all day chopping a pile of not-so-thick branches and twigs was not what he would call time well spent.

"Uh, don't argue with your elders!"

Feng dodged the slap, jumped up, rolled over, and ran away. The older brothers ran a couple of steps and stopped, for Feng was running lightly, bouncing and twirling his stick with dexterity. Immediately noticing the lack of shouts of pursuit, he frowned. Normally, the brothers were a little more persistent. Something was wrong!

He turned around and curled his lips when he saw that Kang and Gang had picked up the forgotten basket of booty and were beckoning him with a finger. Feng turned around and stalked dejectedly back, certain that he was about to be slapped for disrespecting his elders. He usually managed not to get caught because his brothers always behaved properly in front of his father, but they only tried to beat him up when he was alone. So Feng used his older siblings to develop his flexibility, hone his reactions, and practice dodging and running. Running fast was always useful, whether it was for work, hiking in the woods and rivers, dodging danger, or chasing someone who thought too much of himself.

"O mighty Kang and Gang," he began to bow from afar, "the great and chief pillars of our Duojia!"

The brothers visibly relaxed and opened their ears. They knew that the insolent kid would be punished anyway, but for now, they could let him begin his humiliating plea.

"Kang, which resembles a ferocious tiger, and Gang, whose gaze pierces the Earth and Heaven as if he were a great dragon!"

The brothers smiled and looked at each other. The uneducated fools had never read books, scrolls, or seen crystals, so they were not accustomed to such crude flattery.

"Every step you take reverses the rivers! Your breath scorches the forests! And when you sit down to take a poop..."

"...rockfalls coming off the mountains?" Gang tried to fill the pause.

"... the heavens are sending thunder?" Kang speculated.

Feng made sure they were relaxed enough and that he was in the right position to dash forward. Even though the body reinforcement wasn't working well, it was still working. So Feng gave a qi to his feet, snapped out of his place, and dashed in, snatching the basket.

"They always dirty in their own shit!" Feng finished and, ignoring the outcry, sped off into the distance.

His ability to run fast once again came to the rescue, and the wind whistling in his ears drowned out the hurtful words and threats. Even though the hurtful names hurt Feng less and less after he made important decisions, he didn't want to hear them. His brothers had no imagination, so they were boring and repetitive. He had more important things to do. For example, a third-filled basket of fat and very nutritious maggots.

"I ran!" Feng yelled. "I'll chop wood! Unless I fall asleep after a delicious lunch!"

* * *

"Master Yi," Feng said to the village blacksmith. "It must be hard for you to manage on your own at the forge. It seems like you have a lot of work to do?"

"Hello, Feng," Yi grinned good-naturedly, putting aside his hammer and wiping his sweat. Despite his constant swinging of the hammer, he looked not so much muscular as wiry. "Let me guess! I'm having such a hard time forging these things here that I'd be a fool not to apprentice you so fast, strong, and skillful. And once I have you in the forge, everything will be fine. A dozen dozen demons will come from the Underworld with rich gifts, and a phoenix will descend from the sky and reward me with a mountain of money. Right?"

Feng hadn't thought of demon and phoenix stories, but Yi's words were so close to his prepared speech that he was confused.

"But it's late fall..." he made another attempt.

"And, of course, the whole village will be busy fixing tools, and those who have anything iron will come to me. I'll be swamped with a mountain of orders higher than the top of Crooked Hill, so if I don't take you on, I'll dawdle with so much work."

Feng's mouth dropped open. He had no idea Duojia had a hidden expert, so powerful that he could easily conceal qi and pretend to be an ordinary blacksmith! Could it be that Yi is following some dao of blacksmithing, practicing and amplifying qi while swinging his hammer? The fact that his work does not result in swords made of Star Steel or Blood Iron, but rather poorly made knives, axes, and sickles, is all on purpose for the sake of secrecy.

He cultivates qi in the heart dantian, which allows him to not only fool everyone's heads but also read other people's minds, just like he did a moment ago. Well, maybe he's a runaway demonic master using unholy techniques. In that case, Yi has chosen the right village - there is a constant strong flow of pain and suffering from the peasants, accompanying their usual life, and thus filled with dark, cold yin.

"Hey, don't be surprised and shut your mouth, or a dozen stray demons will fly in!" The blacksmith laughed.

There! Another confirmation that he was very familiar with the Lower Realms! He had to end the conversation and run away. Run away without a trace to keep his qi and soul unaffected!

The blacksmith had obviously noticed his desire to run away, so he laughed even harder.

"Don't look so surprised. How many times do you think I've had kids come to me, wanting not only to become strong," Yi flexed his arm, showing off his not-so-impressive biceps, "but also to learn blacksmithing? So you don't have to work in the fields, don't have to take care of livestock, but just stand and swing a hammer in the forge, getting a lot of money, honor, and respect from the whole village?"

"Probably... a lot?" Feng suggested.

Either Yi was a hidden expert who had prepared an impenetrable story to cover his dark deeds, or he was a simple village blacksmith tired of the crowd of children trying to be his helpers.

"A lot of them! Your brothers were here, too. Even one of your sisters was always here. They came both by themselves and with their parents, and sometimes the parents alone came with requests and gifts for me to take in their strong and healthy children, each of whom had been Gong Buntao himself or at least an imperial blacksmith in a previous life. And everyone is always asking, and asking, and asking, and asking, promising gifts, promising to work for free and even to pay, if only I would take them in."

"What about you?"

"Why would I need that? Sometimes, I could use an extra hand, but I'm doing fine on my own. Duojia is a small village. Two blacksmiths can't do much here. I'm young and strong. I can work for a long time. Why do I have to make rivals for myself?"

Feng wanted to say he would not be a rival since he was leaving the village, but he held back. No one was supposed to know about his plans.

"What if that someone just wants to learn how to forge iron but won't become a blacksmith?" he asked. "Wouldn't take your customers away from you?"

"Customers - wow, what a fancy word you know, they must be telling the truth about - aristocrat. No, it won't work. I won't mess with you. I'll tell you straight away: No."

"But why? Why no?"

"I mean, what's in it for me? I don't like talking to people much anyway. I'm better off alone. And dealing with a six-year-old kid is definitely not my dream."

"I'm already seven!" Feng was indignant. "You don't need to bother with me! I can do it all by myself!

"Yeah, yeah, I heard, I heard. You can catch the river spirit, outrun the wind, and, ha ha ha ha, wash your clothes good!"

Feng puffed up with resentment. He had thought that the laundry episode was a thing of the past.

"No offense, it happens! But the river master, stop it, boy. You'll be lost for nothing. The spirit of the river - he is neither good nor evil, but he does not like it very much when he is disturbed by annoying people."

Feng smiled inwardly. With each day, each trip to the river, and each dive into the depths, he was convinced that there was no such thing as a spirit, only superstitious peasant tales. Now that it was getting very cold, to the training of breathing was added the training of resistance to the cold. It might not be long before he could open a second dantian and be able to fish even in winter!

"If I give up," he said, "the whole village will think I'm a blabber! Though if I should happen to have a more important business....."

"...Like working in a blacksmith shop? Nice try, but it didn't work out. Don't think I care about you that much. You're nothing to me, and I don't care about you. And you won't be the first to drown, die of stomach ailments, or be lost in the woods. And as for blabbering... The whole village thinks you are. Silly bragging, of course, but at least it's fun. Especially if you do find your expected demise."

For such an unsociable recluse as you want to appear, you're too fond of chatting! Feng thought.

"I can help you! And I'll keep diving anyway. I'll be gone soon, which means you won't have to put up with me for long!" he said out loud.

"I know, I know that you will not be my rival... " laughed the blacksmith.

Feng choked with resentment and hatred. These words were so reminiscent of the scoundrel master's favorite saying that he immediately lost the desire to work at the forge.

"...because I can see at once that this village is too small for you. If you survive, if your bad head doesn't get you killed, you won't stay in the village. You'll want more. You're a city boy, aren't you? You'll probably want to go back to the city!"

"So you don't want to take me because I'll leave?" Feng asked with relief. "But I can promise..."

"No, no, no, I'd be totally fine with you leaving. But think about it. What do I need a seven-year-old kid around? And one who's no help to me at all?"

Feng cheered inwardly. It was just a matter of being young, and that was a thing that passed quickly. He had to think of a way to win the blacksmith's favor, to prove his usefulness, to gain his trust, and then to become a handyman! There will be no problems with the parents - they are happy to put one of their offspring in a prestigious and rich place, thus not only receiving honor and wealth but also later, when the son grows up, gaining the ability to order valuable metal things for free, only for the cost of coal and iron.

"I will grow up and prove that I am worthy to be a blacksmith!" he declared, raising his fist in the air. "And I'll show you that I'm very useful! And you must promise me that you will take me!"

"Well, well, well," Yi hummed. "Okay. I don't know what you want to do, but if I see that you're worthy, I promise to think about it!"

"If you're worthy, you're worthy, and that's enough," Feng said, recalling one of his verbal masterpieces.

"Well said!" The blacksmith nodded approvingly.

"See you soon then!" Feng shouted and ran back.

Work, training, and a very bright future awaited him. Why did he even think the blacksmith was such an unsociable meanie? Yi was not only a great guy but also a fine connoisseur who could do justice to a wise quote!

* * *

Chapter 12, in which the hero learns that one is sometimes better than two and overcomes the intrigues of his enemies