Chapter 34: The Bottom Line of Players—Those Who Know, Know

"Why did you..."

Qiao Feng slowly opened his eyes, his expression a complex tapestry of emotions. Having received the infusion of power, his internal energy was stronger than ever before. The nameless mental cultivation technique he had been granted was profoundly formidable, operating in a manner entirely distinct from any conventional martial arts he had ever known.

Why bestow such power upon him? And how could the giver possess such a limitless, unfathomable reservoir of energy even after transferring so much to him? Was there truly no ceiling to the martial path?

Countless questions flooded his mind.

"I felt like it." Zhang Chengyi provided an answer that perfectly suited his character, then added, "You can think of my internal energy as inexhaustible, though there is a limit to its quantity."

"It is restricted by the physical body."

"None of the current martial arts can break through this limit, so I intend to find people to help me research and advance the martial path further."

Qiao Feng pondered for a moment and asked, "Is that all?"

"That is all," Zhang Chengyi replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

How could he not have simply discussed it or invited others properly? To force someone away in such a manner... it was truly...

It was exactly the kind of thing he would do.

Qiao Feng felt a sense of helplessness. Despite having known him for only a short time, he had gained a vivid sense of just how willful and impulsive Zhang Chengyi was.

After a moment of contemplation, he said with a sigh, "To be honest, I have no idea where to start."

Advancing the martial path sounded intriguing, but he felt completely at a loss. This power had been bestowed upon him from thin air; he had barely begun to familiarize himself with it before being told to find a way to break its limits.

"I do have an unrefined idea," Zhang Chengyi said casually. "Why not try using true energy to temper the body?"

In truth, his knowledge of martial arts was limited; his suggestion was drawn primarily from the various novels and television dramas he had consumed in his past life. Any talk of "body tempering" was purely irresponsible speculation.

Use true energy to temper the body?

Qiao Feng frowned, yet he began to think seriously about it. After all, this idea came from someone whose martial prowess far exceeded his own.

True energy inherently affected the body; practicing internal arts strengthened one's physique. Beyond muscles, one's hearing, sense of smell, vision, and reflexes were all enhanced. Because the human meridians spanned the entire body, constant practice allowed true energy to circulate to every part, naturally leading to health and longevity for those who achieved mastery in internal arts.

Since ancient times, people had only ever focused on how to make their internal energy more abundant and powerful. The notion of actively consuming true energy to reinforce the body was truly counterintuitive.

Even external arts like the Iron Sand Palm mostly relied on using external objects to磨练 (temper) specific body parts, then channeling internal energy to reinforce those parts, achieving a synergy where the whole was greater than the sum of its parts.

Using true energy to "temper" the body—did it mean consuming power to permanently enhance one's physical constitution? How would one temper it? Where would one begin?

Qiao Feng began to brainstorm, Qiao Feng fell into a quandary, and Qiao Feng found himself at a dead end.

"Alright, stop thinking for now. Take it slow. When we capture a few more people, we can all think about it together."

Seeing Qiao Feng’s confusion and inner struggle, Zhang Chengyi offered a word of advice, then asked with mounting excitement, "Hey, do you want to know about your true origins?"

Qiao Feng snapped out of his thoughts. Hearing the word "capture," his eyelids twitched. He took a deep breath, remained silent for a moment, and said, "Are you suggesting that I am a descendant of the Khitan people?"

"Heh, Monk Zhiguang and his lot only know the surface; they don't know the inside story. But I am different—I know everything." Zhang Chengyi’s face practically shouted, "Beg me!"

Qiao Feng hesitated for a long time before letting out the breath he had just drawn in a heavy sigh. He bowed and said, "I implore you, brother, to enlighten me."

Zhang Chengyi nodded in satisfaction and began to ramble, "Since you have asked with such sincerity, I shall show you mercy and tell you. To prevent the world from being destroyed... wait, no, wrong script."

"Here is the truth: about thirty years ago, there was a military commander of the Xiao clan in the Liao Kingdom named Xiao Yuanshan. He was deeply trusted by the Empress Dowager of Liao. Because a Han person had taught him martial arts, he swore never to treat the Han as enemies or kill them, and he repeatedly advised the Empress Dowager to cease hostilities between Liao and Song."

"However, his actions made him a target. When he was traveling through Yanmen Pass with his wife and child to visit relatives in Wuzhou, they were ambushed. His wife was brutally killed, and after he went mad and slaughtered more than ten of the skilled ambushers, he threw himself off a cliff."

"..."

Qiao Feng stood stunned for several seconds before asking, "Are you saying that this Xiao Yuanshan is my father?"

"Precisely. As for what happened afterward, Monk Zhiguang explained it quite clearly," Zhang Chengyi nodded. "However, Xiao Yuanshan did not die, and the person who faked the intelligence to lure your parents into an ambush is also still alive."

Qiao Feng felt as if he had been struck by lightning. A moment later, he trembled, "You say my biological father... he... he is still alive?"

"What, you believe me?" Zhang Chengyi asked with a smile.

Qiao Feng steadied his still-agitated emotions and replied, "You joke, brother. I..." He laughed wearily, a trace of desolation appearing on his face.

The sorrow of being betrayed by the members of the Beggar Sect was far greater than he had shown. He simply had not been willing to reveal it. Hearing now that his biological father might be alive was like a drowning man clutching at a straw, and his heart was too stirred to remain composed.

If the members of the Beggar Sect had acted merely to seize power, what had he done to end up in this position? If he truly were a Khitan, in what capacity should he continue to live?

"Master Zhang, we have arrived," said Su Xinghe, who was driving the carriage.

Zhang Chengyi looked at the street scene of the small town outside and extended an invitation: "Let's go, Brother Qiao. Let us go down for a drink, and I shall tell you the rest slowly."

A little spoiler was a fair benefit for the work he would be doing.

For a true hero like Qiao Feng, or a hapless soul like Wu Yazi who was at least a decent person, giving them some benefits before putting them to work ensured they would toil with all their might while remaining filled with gratitude.

As the saying goes, "Look, he's even thanking us for it."

A gentleman can be deceived by his own integrity.

Those who were devoted to the martial path, like Kumārajīva, were easy to handle—a mere promise of a future goal sufficed. Xiao Yuanshan and Murong Bo both had their weaknesses, and since neither were good people, he felt no guilt in threatening them. The monks in the temples were simply unlucky; he had never been fond of monks to begin with. He had even less regard for those like Xuanci, who had committed great wrongs and broken his vows, or the monks of the Tianlong Temple, who belonged to the Dali royal family. Capturing and coercing them into labor meant nothing to him.

A ranger was not a bleeding heart. To save someone in distress, that "someone" had to be someone he deemed worthy.

For strangers he didn't care for or respect, any method was fair game.

Of course, he still had something of a bottom line—though a player's bottom line...

Take the martial artists at Jingfu Temple, for instance. Many of them were likely just there to watch the commotion, yet he had beaten them all indiscriminately. They hadn't died, but for martial artists skilled in internal energy, being covered in bruises still meant needing to rest for days, and the pain wouldn't be a whit less.

Qiao Feng, having no idea that Zhang Chengyi’s mind was filled with the logic of a Stellaris player, readily agreed. With his chest full of pent-up anger and frustration, he desperately needed a jar of good wine to soothe his throat.