Chapter Seventy-One: Heart to Heart

“Heh…”

Song Chunqiu couldn’t help but smile at how utterly unabashed Gao Wu was. The boy was indeed straightforward and pure.

He made no mention of any rewards, but instead asked, “How are your injuries? Will you be able to attend the victory banquet?”

Gao Wu had little interest in banquets; he knew such gatherings could help expand one’s connections, but for an eighteen-year-old like him, what use was a vast network? Relationships, after all, were built on mutual exchange. If one only ever took and never gave, even the closest of blood ties would eventually snap.

What meaning was there, then, in forming connections at this stage? Besides, Song Mingyue was enough of a connection for him; dealing with others was simply a waste of time.

Still, a Martial Grandmaster’s invitation could not be refused—especially when that grandmaster was Song Mingyue’s own grandfather.

“It’s nothing, I can grit my teeth and manage,” Gao Wu replied, grinning.

Song Chunqiu laughed. Gao Wu was seriously injured, but his candor was refreshing. He could see now why his granddaughter thought so highly of the boy—he was intriguing, talented, and full of potential, all qualities that made him impossible not to admire.

“You’re hurt badly; go take care of your wounds,” Song Chunqiu said. “You don’t need to attend the banquet.”

He hadn’t planned to bring Gao Wu anyway. There, they would be dealing with the demonic cultists—though those fiends posed little real threat, they would hardly surrender without a fight. Had Gao Wu been uninjured, Song Chunqiu might have let him witness the spectacle.

After a brief conversation and a photo together, the Xuetao Cup came to its official close.

Leaving the arena, Song Mingyue led Gao Wu to the lounge to find Song Chunqiu.

“Your strength and physique are good,” Song Chunqiu said without preamble, “but the Soaring Dragon Palm is rather complex. It takes time and immersion to truly understand.” He paused. “I have here a set of War Soldier Fist techniques, perfectly suited to you. Would you like to learn them?”

War Soldier Fist—this was a martial art passed down in the military, known for its simple, direct style and formidable power. Ordinarily, only those who joined the military could learn it.

Gao Wu was pleasantly surprised—the Mad Dog had used this very technique, and Gao Wu had found it quite appealing.

“I’d be honored!” Gao Wu nodded eagerly, though another thought occurred to him. A man of Song Chunqiu’s stature could hardly be expected to spend his time teaching him every move. Gao Wu’s aptitude was average; even the simplest martial art would take more than a day or two to master. Though War Soldier Fist seemed straightforward, each form held unique methods of exerting force, visualization, breathing techniques, and so on—all of which required diligent, long-term practice.

Song Chunqiu offered no further explanation. He simply raised his hand and tapped Gao Wu lightly on the brow.

Everything went black for Gao Wu, then a burst of white light exploded in his mind.

Within that dazzling brilliance, Song Chunqiu’s figure appeared, demonstrating the forms and expounding upon the essence of the technique…

Gao Wu felt dazed. Was this…? But then, the Azure Dragon Mantra’s spiritual radiance flared deep within his brow, instantly restoring his clarity.

“Did Song Chunqiu just transmit the entire technique to me by mental force?” Gao Wu was astonished. Was a Martial Grandmaster truly this powerful?

Fortunately, there was no harm in the foreign mental energy—it merely carried the information of the technique. Gao Wu calmed himself and realized that this mental transmission contained an extraordinary wealth of detail, especially details that would be nearly impossible to articulate in words. For instance, the secrets of visualization, the spiritual state accompanying each form—such abstract concepts, now directly and vividly made manifest, enabling him to grasp and learn them in the most immediate way.

When Gao Wu opened his eyes again, Song Chunqiu was already gone; only Song Mingyue remained, waiting beside him.

“So this is the power of a Martial Grandmaster…”

Full of admiration, Gao Wu exclaimed, “There’s a saying in the old Buddhist texts: ‘Transmitting mind to mind, without reliance on words or letters.’ I always thought it was just poetic boasting, but it seems your grandfather has truly reached such a profound realm!

“Your grandfather is incredible!”

“It’s not so mystical,” Song Mingyue replied calmly. “The manifestation and projection of spiritual power is simply the mark of a Martial Master.”

“What?!” Gao Wu’s astonishment deepened. He’d thought this was Song Chunqiu’s unique skill, but it turned out that projecting mental force was merely the threshold of the Martial Master level.

Song Mingyue explained, “Transmitting martial arts in this way is just one application of spiritual projection. It’s like sending a data packet through a mental network. It sounds complicated, but for a Martial Master, it’s a basic skill.

“Martial Artists focus on honing the body. To become a Warrior, one must also refine the mind’s power.

“A Martial Artist’s strength lies in flesh and bone; for a Warrior, the source is ‘Origin Force,’ and only through spiritual power can one control Origin Force.”

She glanced at Gao Wu and continued softly, “I’ve already explained this to you twice.”

She was not deliberately keeping anything from him—Gao Wu’s level was simply too low for the mysteries of the Martial Master to hold much meaning yet. Still, she had stressed the importance of spiritual power to him many times.

Taking this opportunity, she emphasized it again.

“The body, after all, has its limits. Only the spirit can transcend those limits—or in your favored classical phrasing, only the heart can surpass the external world.

“At the Warrior level, the focus is on tempering Origin Force and refining body and mind. Once you reach Senior Warrior, you must discover a spiritual power unique to yourself. Only by breaking your limits will you become a Martial Master.

“After that, cultivation is rooted in the mind, progressing from within outward. Where the mind leads, the body follows.”

She added, “The War Soldier Fist my grandfather transmitted with his spiritual power will leave a fixed imprint on your mind. It’s an excellent demonstration, but it will also bind your own spirit.

“When you’re finally able to break free of that spiritual imprint and realize your own martial spirit, only then can you claim true mastery.”

“I understand—‘To live as a mere imitator is to die as a shadow.’” Gao Wu blurted out.

“What a perfect summary!” Song Mingyue’s bright eyes flashed with admiration. “Your insight far surpasses mine—I should learn from you.”

“Haha, just a lucky turn of phrase,” Gao Wu said modestly. “We’re such good friends, you can learn whatever you like. No need to say it so seriously, you’re making me blush…”

“I’m going to the banquet with my grandfather,” Song Mingyue said, ignoring his jest. She lowered her voice: “If I’ve guessed right, my grandfather will make his move at the banquet. You need to be careful.

“There are many cultists; they might not all be caught. Any who slip through could still be a threat.”

“I understand.” Gao Wu nodded firmly.

He’d kept Sister Jun and the old man from watching the finals precisely because he didn’t know when Song Chunqiu would act. Logically, it shouldn’t happen at the martial arts arena—too many people, and a sudden move would cause chaos. But demonic cultists couldn’t be judged by normal standards; there was no need to risk it. Home was far safer than the arena.

A new concern came to him. “What about the bet?”

Song Mingyue shook her head slightly. Before she could explain, Gao Wu realized the truth: her wager had been merely a ruse to mislead the enemy—she’d never intended to win money.

“I really thought I’d get rich overnight—how naive!” Gao Wu sighed. With a few million, his family’s life would have changed drastically.

He thought of the fanatical blond youth and couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy: poor kid, after this lesson, maybe he’ll finally quit gambling…

“Go home and rest,” Song Mingyue said. She’d known the likely outcome when she placed the bet. The odds on Gao Wu becoming champion were too high, and too much money had poured in during the finals. Even if her grandfather didn’t act, the bookmakers would certainly vanish—the money was never meant to be won.

As Song Mingyue walked away, Gao Wu suddenly called out, “Be careful—stay safe!”

She paused and turned, nodding solemnly. “I will.”

She hesitated, then added, “You too—take care.”

Once the lounge door closed, Gao Wu reached behind his back.

Earlier, the doctor had already treated his wounds with tissue-bonding gel. After cleaning and disinfecting, the split flesh had been pressed back together and sealed with the gel—much easier than stitching and better for tissue regeneration, often leaving no scar. The only drawback was the cost—two vials ran nearly a hundred thousand.

Truth be told, with his constitution, the wound would have healed rapidly on its own. But there was no need to seem too unusual, especially since the tournament organizers were covering the expenses.

Now his back was perfectly smooth, without the slightest pain—just a sticky residue.

Gao Wu realized it was the healing gel itself—because his body healed so quickly, the gel, instead of being absorbed, had been expelled by his tissue.

The Azure Dragon Mantra, plus fifteen points of constitution, truly was monstrous. Song Mingyue must have noticed how unusual he was, yet hadn’t mentioned his wound at all.

A trace of regret flickered through Gao Wu—had he known Song Chunqiu would act at the banquet, he would have gone along to witness the might of a Martial Grandmaster firsthand.

But it was too late now—a grandmaster had no time to wait for him.

Gao Wu retrieved his longsword from his locker, slung it over his back, and left the martial arts hall by the side door, riding his bicycle back to the old house.

Shang Qingjun and the old man were both surprised to see him return. Shang Qingjun hurried over. “Little Wu, you didn’t go to the hospital?”

She’d watched the live broadcast and had seen his back split open, the wound deep and raw. It had broken her heart.

“It’s all taken care of. They used tissue-bonding gel. It’s fine,” Gao Wu said casually.

Shang Qingjun didn’t insist on checking—after all, he was grown now. Besides, a tournament like the Xuetao Cup was sure to provide professional medical care, and as the champion, he’d have received the best.

The old man beamed. “Watching the broadcast, I thought you were badly hurt. I’m glad you’re all right.”

He added, “Eighteen years old and the Xuetao Cup champion—the first time in fifty years! What an honor!

“I’ll have to tell our ancestors when I burn incense: our family has produced a genius!”

He’d wanted to share a celebratory drink with Gao Wu, but remembering the boy was still recovering, he set aside the thought. “We’ll drink together when you’re healed!”

It was the first time Gao Wu had seen the old man so flushed and exuberant, entirely without his usual sternness.

Gao Wu was deeply moved. Though he bore a different surname, the old man had always treated him as his own.

Shang Qingjun gripped Gao Wu’s hand tightly, as if wanting to speak, her thoughts drifting to her late father. He, too, had once competed in the Xuetao Cup but had only made it to the quarterfinals. If only he could see Little Wu win the championship, how happy he would be.

The memory made Shang Qingjun tremble with mingled sorrow and joy; trying to hold back her tears, she said, “Little Wu, I’m just so proud of you today…”

The old man, seeing his granddaughter’s expression, was reminded of his son, and his smile faded.

Gao Wu squeezed Shang Qingjun’s hand in return. He knew both her father and his own had been soldiers, her father dying in action with the Aurora Legion, his own family destroyed by a beast attack. Shang Qingjun and the old man had taken him in out of sympathy and understanding.

For all three of them, these were old wounds, long left unspoken.

Gao Wu had no words to comfort them, even afraid that if he tried, something might well up in his own eyes.

Suddenly, a thunderous boom erupted outside, shattering the somber stillness.

The three hurried to the window. Far off, fiery light blazed against the night sky, so brilliant it obscured the moon itself.

Gao Wu saw the flames were coming from the direction of the Jinsheng Hotel. His heart leapt—such chaos! Could Old Song really handle it?

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