Chapter Eleven: The Purging of Filth

“Aunt Mei, I’ve been waiting for you! He’s awake!” Aunt Mei looked at Ruoxi’s anxious expression and laughed as she reminded her. Ruoxi gazed into the room, her eyes brimming with anticipation. The master bedroom door was open; without a second thought, Ruoxi pushed it and entered, just in time to see Xiaoshan changing his clothes.

“Xiaoshan?” Ruoxi saw Xiaoshan standing up, disbelief written all over her face. Just moments ago, he hadn’t moved at all, and now he was already dressing himself. Anyone would be shocked, even incredulous.

“Mm! Ruoxi, did you just go find your father?” Xiaoshan asked, puzzled. “You didn’t give him a hard time, did you?” He’d heard Aunt Mei mention Ruoxi storming off toward the east wing, furious, and assumed she’d gone to vent her anger on Lin Feng.

“No, I didn’t give him a hard time. I just asked him what exactly he did to you!” Ruoxi stammered through her answer, her voice trembling. “I was just afraid you’d never wake up, afraid I’d never see you again.” Her words were laced with sobs and the sound of sniffling.

“Ruoxi! Why are you crying all of a sudden? Look, I’m right here, aren’t I?” Xiaoshan watched as Ruoxi’s eyes grew moist once again.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry!” Xiaoshan felt a pang of compassion seeing Ruoxi in tears. He gently wiped her face with his fingers.

“Xiaoshan! Why do you smell so strongly of sweat?” Ruoxi wrinkled her nose, her expression full of distaste.

“I—” Xiaoshan glanced at his chest and touched it, realizing how sticky he felt. He remembered how feverish he’d been last night. He probably stank of sweat, since he hadn’t washed. The thought made him feel uncomfortable all over, and he wanted nothing more than to cleanse himself. As he was about to get out of bed, it dawned on him that he didn’t know where the bathroom was.

“Aunt Mei, where’s the bathroom?” Xiaoshan asked, somewhat embarrassed.

“Right there! Everything you need is inside,” Aunt Mei replied with a smile, pointing behind her.

“Ruoxi, I’ll go shower first then,” Xiaoshan said with a gentle smile.

“Hurry up, you really stink!” Ruoxi laughed, covering her nose. “Just don’t scrub all your flesh off!”

Xiaoshan smiled back, finished dressing, and took a few steps. The door was inconspicuous, blending in with the wall’s color. He hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but now saw there was indeed a door here.

“Oh, young master, the lord said you should see him tomorrow. Today, just rest up,” Aunt Mei informed Xiaoshan.

He paused a moment at her words and nodded.

After his shower, Xiaoshan felt invigorated, a sensation he’d never experienced before. His eyes were crystal clear. He stretched out his hand, turning it over, and it seemed as if he could see his pores. His skin felt smoother and more supple, much lighter and brighter.

He was astonished by his transformation, unsure if it was related to the blow Lin Feng had dealt him yesterday. But he was certain it had something to do with all the sweating; the grime and blemishes seemed to have been expelled from his pores, leaving his skin much whiter.

Lin Feng had said he didn’t need Xiaoshan as a sparring partner today—perhaps he had another purpose, maybe he’d noticed Xiaoshan’s change?

A deep sleep, sweating all over—could it be connected to the mural on the wall?

Xiaoshan speculated it might be related. He immediately looked toward the mural, scanning from left to right. In his mind, the little figure depicted seemed to move, each posture and movement slowed down several times.

At this thought, a spark lit in Xiaoshan’s eyes. He realized this might be an opportunity—a chance to learn martial arts and protect others.

The little figure’s movements shifted in his vision, and his own body unconsciously mimicked them, each technique replaying itself upon him.

His breath began to change, inexplicably, as if a middle-aged man were demonstrating the forms, revealing the essence of martial arts. A spirit emerged within him, an unstoppable momentum, like a spear breaking through all obstacles.

After completing a set of movements, Xiaoshan sensed the change in his body. A bead of sweat dropped to the floor with a “plop.” Xiaoshan’s ears twitched; he could clearly hear the sound of sweat hitting the ground.

His eyes shone brightly. He could distinctly feel the transformation within himself—every gesture was refined to the extreme, an aura of natural perfection.

His hands slid down his chest, breath gathered within, exhaled in a steady rhythm.

Xiaoshan lightly raised his left leg; there was no resistance, air parted around him. His face broke into a broad smile. He lifted his right leg with force, pushing backward.

He leapt into the air, landing with a smack against the wall ahead. Losing his footing, he tumbled to the ground, his head spinning.

The mural toppled over, falling onto Xiaoshan’s chest. It was heavy, bouncing his head off the ground before it settled.