Chapter 41: You Woman
Chapter 41: You Woman
“A once-in-a-lifetime chance, and he brought out a music score… this…”
“A bookworm is always a bookworm. Is Young Master Mu Feng crazy or did his brain get soaked?”
…
The watching clan members murmured, deeply disappointed.
They had rushed over eagerly from all directions, hoping to see his outstanding talent, to discover what cultivation manual he had obtained, wishing to witness a new talented disciple take the world by storm. Unexpectedly, the outcome defied all expectations; the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment.
A music score? No matter how ancient, no matter how excellent, could a music score fill your belly?
Without a suitable high-level cultivation art, how could he cultivate in the future?
People shook their heads and sighed repeatedly, lamenting his misfortune and frustration, angered by his failure to strive. The looks they gave Mu Feng were as if looking at a cripple, witnessing the untimely demise and decline of a supreme genius.
“Hahaha! A music score? An actual music score! It’s laughable!”
While others shook their heads in pity, only Mu Qingyuan and his cronies laughed out loud, clutching their stomachs, almost bursting with glee.
Even someone with the worst innate talent, the most garbage bloodline grade, coming out of the Cangshu Pavilion, usually managed to bring out at least one cultivation technique. Mu Feng? He brought out a music score. It was downright ridiculous! He might as well have come out empty-handed!
“This is fate! Fate! It seems our Mu Manor’s bookworm is switching professions to become a singer in the pleasure halls! Hahaha!”
Mu Qingyuan smiled smugly, deliberately raking his eyes over Mu Feng publicly from head to toe. “Young Master Mu Feng— no, Brother Mu Feng, rest easy. Go study that music score hard. When you can’t find work later, I’ll introduce you to the biggest pleasure house in Jianning City. Every time I come to play, I promise you a big, fat silver ingot!”
Endure it!
I will endure!
Mu Feng took a deep breath, remembering his mother’s teachings. He quashed the impulsive urge to rush forward and smash that wretched playboy Mu Qingyuan with one punch. Silently chanting the Clear Wind Method, he grew calmer.
“What a splendid idea!”
Faced with Mu Qingyuan’s insult, instead of anger, he nodded and smiled. “Young Master Mu Qingyuan, jump around all you want. Look at your body, soft and fair like a woman’s, with such a slender waist. Later, I’ll play the music and sing, and you come down dressed in a grass skirt to dance the hula. It will be a sensation! Your tips will outdo anyone else’s! Hahaha!”
Mu Feng laughed heartily, walking past Mu Qingyuan without even glancing at the odious wastrel, striding away proudly.
Grass skirt dance?
Hearing this and seeing Mu Qingyuan jumping about with his slender frame, the watching clan members couldn’t help but exchange smiles, whispering and pointing fingers.
“Mu Feng! I… will… kill… you!”
Under the scrutiny and gestures of the crowd, Mu Qingyuan flushed crimson. Watching Mu Feng’s retreating figure, he nearly choked on his rage.
He had touched on the rawest nerve. What did a man hate most?
Not lacking backbone. Not lacking strength. Not lacking power or influence. But being told he wasn’t a man, that he was neither imposing nor capable!
“Let’s go!”
Gnashing his teeth, unable to bear staying any longer, Mu Qingyuan led his many guards away, seething.
He had planned to humiliate Mu Feng, that difficult lout, publicly this time. But it backfired spectacularly. After this farce, people might call Mu Feng a bookworm. But whenever they saw Mu Qingyuan now, they’d remember the scandalous grass skirt dance and whisper that he wasn’t a real man! How could his reputation survive this?
Mu Qingyuan cursed bitterly as he left. Mu Feng walked faster and faster, soon returning home. Before he even passed through the gate, the sound of painful coughing tore at his heart – his mother’s illness had worsened. Inside, he found her sitting on a small stool embroidering. Her nimble fingers created patterns of insects, birds, flowers, and plants that seemed astonishingly lifelike.
“Mother, I’m back.” Seeing the strands of white hair in his mother’s hair, Mu Feng suddenly felt a pang of guilt, uncertain how to proceed.
The Cangshu Pavilion trip mattered deeply. If she knew he only brought out a music score… he dreaded how disappointed she would be!
“Mmh. The corn porridge in the kitchen is still hot. Go eat,” Situ Qing replied without looking up, her needle flying swiftly.
“Okay.”
Mu Feng responded and took a few steps forward. Perplexed and uneasy that his mother asked nothing about the Cangshu Pavilion visit, fearing she might have heard some awful rumor, he suddenly turned back. “Mother… don’t you want to know what cultivation art I found this time?”
“No need. It is unnecessary.”
Situ Qing finally set down her needlework and looked up. “Feng’er, haven’t you realized yet? Whether mastering knowledge or martial arts, the crucial thing is the spirit of diligent study and perseverance. Everything else is secondary. If you work intermittently, treating it casually like fishing briefly then slacking off, even obtaining some so-called top-tier cultivation art won’t make you outstanding. Go eat. The porridge will get cold otherwise. Go.”
“Yes.”
Mu Feng bowed deeply and turned away quickly. For some reason, his nose suddenly stung.
He felt immensely blessed to have such a mother. She could be strict, but she had taught him independence and the principles of being a man since childhood. Seeing the white in her hair now, he suddenly felt utterly useless. He needed to push himself harder, strive more diligently, whether pursuing learning or martial arts.
“Mother, wait. Your son will not disappoint you!”
Mu Feng clenched his fists. After eating quickly, he hurried out again, heading towards the Hundred Thousand Mountains behind Mu Manor, seeking a secluded corner to train. Settling in a quiet spot within the endless miles of bamboo forest, he first retrieved the thread-bound ancient book from his robe.
Life is death’s continuation;
Death is life’s beginning.
In the Great Thousand World, for all, you and me,
There is birth, there is death.
The past life? A memory;
This life? A fleeting dream;
Only the life hereafter is eternal.
I have tread every corner of the Great Thousand World,
Seeking every footprint of ancient sages,
Kissing every handful of soil that birthed all things;
Not seeking memories of past lives,
Not seeking eternity in this life,
Only hoping, in the life after I die, for one moment of peace!
…
The thread-bound book was thin. Each page was a musical score.
Reading it carefully gave a transcendent, otherworldly feeling. Sadly, he knew nothing of musical theory, so he had no idea what beauty playing this score might bring. Shaking his head, Mu Feng put the music score away and started training.
Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle…
The sound of his blood flowing, rushing, grew louder. Slowly, faint wisps of crimson mist began emanating from his body, seeping and spreading deep into the bamboo forest. Where the blood mist passed, insects and birds that couldn’t flee fast enough shuddered. Their bodies rapidly shriveled, withering, dying of blood loss. Even the lush mountain bamboos seemed to fade, losing their usual vibrant vitality. Conversely, the blood mist blanketing the bamboo canopy intensified.
“Blood Spear!”
Just as the tidal waves of blood within him surged to their peak, Mu Feng roared. The blood mist in the sky abruptly contracted, coalescing into a single, ferocious, blood-red long spear. Covered densely in Talismanic Script, a thirsting, violently destructive aura radiated from it, making scalp hairs stand on end. Compared to the Blood Spear he had hastily formed during his battle with Xing Jiu, its power and presence were incomparably greater!
Blood Refining Art!
Mu Feng channeled all his resentment, frustration, and aspirations into raw power. He violently surged the blood within his body, fiercely cultivating the Blood Refining Art, the most brutal and mighty technique of the Sorcerer’s Gate, dating back countless aeons.
While he was immersed in his secluded training in the mountains, deep within the Mu Manor, inside an isolated and lonely wooden hut near the rear mountains, the white-bearded Family Patriarch knelt on the ground as usual. His body remained utterly motionless, whether through wind or rain, day or night. Those unaware might have thought a cold statue stood inside the wooden hut.
Hu…
A breeze swept through. Suddenly, a shadowy figure appeared within the hut. His sleeves were empty. A pitch-black braid of hair trailed down to the floor.
Zuinü.
The Family Patriarch’s sole guard and servant materialized silently in a dark corner. “My Lord, Young Master Mu Feng has come out of the Cangshu Pavilion. He brought out a music score.”
“A music score?”
The Patriarch, motionless like stone, gave a slight tremor. A cold glint flashed in his eyes. As one who had ruled the Mu Manor for hundreds of years, he grasped the situation instantly. Not turning his head, his voice was low. “Did someone tamper inside the Cangshu Pavilion?”
“Today, an additional hidden seal was placed within the Pavilion. It vanished only moments before Young Master Mu Feng emerged,” Zuinü nodded, standing rigidly in the shadowed corner.
“Our Mu Manor grows increasingly lawless!” the Family Patriarch gave a cold laugh. A flash of heavy killing intent crossed his face, but faded quickly, leaving his heart as placid as water. His voice remained deep. “Retribution. Retribution. This is a calamity fate has ordained for our Mu Royal Manor. I have sinned!”
“My Lord, should we… give Young Master Mu Feng another chance? Or… allow your servant to act? We can eliminate the scoundrels within the clan!”
Zuinü’s eyes were icy. The hair at the ends of his braids abruptly stood on end. Half the braid trailed behind him; the other half was hidden in darkness – as if it had pierced into another space, vanishing without a trace.
“No.” The Family Patriarch rejected Zuinü’s suggestion outright. “If Mu Yuan’s son is truly destined to be the pillar supporting our Mu Royal Manor’s future, he will naturally find his own opportunities and solutions as he grows. He requires no intervention. If he is not… then let him be. Each has their own lot. From ancient times until now, great men capable of monumental achievements have all experienced inhuman tribulations and hardships.” His voice continued, slow and measured. “A sharp sword’s edge comes from grinding, and the plum blossom’s scent comes from harsh winter.”
“As for those scoundrels…” the Patriarch continued deliberately, “…let them persist in their arrogance, let their audacity grow. Without their conceited display as a mask… how could we secretly build our strength? How could we hide from the far-reaching grasp of the all-seeing Tongtian Dynasty? The day a Saint emerges among our clan’s disciples will be the day our Mu Royal Manor raises its head proudly once more!”
The once strictly ruled Mu Manor had descended into chaos; its fortunes declined. Yet, the Family Patriarch remained immovable. No matter the storms raging outside, even if heaven and earth collapsed, he held fast to that unwavering sliver of belief.
Hurricane over the ridge; only grass flattened survives!
Under the oppressive might of the Tongtian Dynasty, every once-glorious great family trembled, clinging to life, waiting, enduring hardship and humiliation. At such a time, the first to raise its head would absolutely face the Tongtian Dynasty’s devastating wrath, torn out root and stem.
“A sharp sword’s edge comes from grinding, and the plum blossom’s scent comes from harsh winter…”
Zuinü murmured the words softly under his breath, sighing. Standing frozen in the darkness, yet within his mind’s eye, a fragile-looking scholar struggled on tirelessly, refusing to yield.