Chapter Sixteen: The Storm Subsides

"Exhausting the body, after training I do feel terribly hungry," Xiaoshan mused after a moment's thought. "So, what do you want me to learn?"

"Then practice this tome, 'Wind and Cloud Breath!'" Lin Feng replied, pulling a small black book from his chest and tossing it to Xiaoshan.

Xiaoshan reached out with both hands, catching the black book as it traced a perfect arc into his palms. The moment he accepted it, his expression changed—this little book was surprisingly heavy! He had assumed something so small would be light, but to his astonishment, it weighed far more than expected.

Lin Feng noted the look on Xiaoshan’s face and spoke in a grave tone, "Whatever you do, don’t read the latter half. Otherwise, your life may be at risk!"

"Practice according to the mural in the main hall! Ruoxi, come quickly and begin your training!" Lin Feng beckoned to Ruoxi, then strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Xiaoshan lowered his head to examine the book—a cultivation manual, black cover with white script. The title read in bold characters: "Wind and Cloud Breath." Under the title, in smaller writing, was the name: "Written by Lin Feng."

Xiaoshan glanced at the door, lost in thought.

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Returning to the west wing, Xiaoshan, filled with urgency, flipped open "Wind and Cloud Breath."

"If this art is cultivated to perfection, mountains and seas can be shattered!"

Could it break Kilimanjaro? Or just this piece of gravel? Staring at the white stone before him, Xiaoshan muttered to himself. He was eager to train; after all, entering the Lin household was for the sake of martial arts. That feeling of helplessness was etched deep within him—a fissure that could never be healed, always reminding him that he must train until he could finally protect himself.

He turned to the second page, where, on a large sheet, a few words were boldly written in black ink.

The brush strokes were wild and flowing, as if dragons soaring and phoenixes dancing.

"Channel the surging veins into the heart of the fist, let the blood boil and surge, root yourself firmly as a mountain—strike with thunderous force!"

What sort of cultivation technique was this? The energy channeling route didn’t seem right either.

Xiaoshan furrowed his brow until a deep crease formed; it seemed his current understanding could not decipher these words. Flipping through a few more pages, he found only a handful of phrases, with no clear instruction on how to cultivate the energy.

He shook his head—then suddenly, his eyes brightened. Wasn’t there a mural in the main hall? Surely this technique was connected to it!

Without hesitation, Xiaoshan took "Wind and Cloud Breath" into the main hall and studied the mural from left to right. Each movement depicted unfolded before his eyes, and he began to grasp how the practice should proceed.

"Channel the surging veins into the heart of the fist, let the blood boil and surge"—so, one clenched the fist with all strength, veins bulging, pouring every ounce of force into the motion.

"Root yourself as a mountain—strike with thunderous force": shift your weight into your stance, spread the legs, plant the feet firmly to achieve the steadiness of a mountain. And the thunderous strike? Was it to release the gathered energy in a shout?

"Ha!" Xiaoshan followed the instructions and movements, but doubt gnawed at him.

Yet, he felt no energy stirring in his chest. Could it be hidden in the latter half?

Page after page turned—this was a brand-new book, and under Xiaoshan’s hands, fresh creases took root, forever marking the pages. One phrase after another, he committed to memory. Soon, the entire first half was etched into his mind.

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"Internal Power?"

Was this the latter portion?

On a broad sheet, only these two words were written.

A life-threatening risk? Could this be the method for generating inner energy, or something else?

Xiaoshan’s expression grew solemn. He hesitated, unsure whether to turn the page and read further.

Outside, the trees swayed in the wind, leaves rustling in the breeze. A sudden gust caught his hair, lifting it gently—a soft, cool wind, surprisingly tender for spring.

Before him, the page containing the cultivation method fluttered, as if the next second it would open on its own.

"Shasha!"

The wind outside had stilled. The page, stubbornly, did not turn.

Xiaoshan sighed, placing his right hand upon the page, his left securing the other side, and closed "Wind and Cloud Breath."

"Enough," he murmured, gazing at the mural on the wall. "Biting off more than you can chew leads nowhere. I’ll master the first half before anything else."