Cultivation Nerd

Chapter 23: Painting A Canvas in The Rain

Rainy days persisted long after the first, signaling a shift in the weather for the worse. It wasn't entirely unexpected, considering it was autumn, and seasonal changes were a norm even here. Yet, despite the downpour, some constants remained, like the old goat's unwavering gaze as I attempted to read.

Didn't this tea addict have anything better to occupy his time?

He knew I was aware of his gaze, and there was a good chance he did it solely to provoke a reaction from me.

Kids should be enjoying life and acting stupid. What's got you so stuck up? he remarked, bringing me a steaming cup of tea from the second floor before settling opposite my desk.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply and entering a meditative state. Every muscle, every subtle twitch, I felt it all. This state of heightened self-awareness allowed me to perceive every nuance within my body.

With the rainy storm affording me some free time, it seemed like an opportunity to explore the development of a method to discern my own statistics without undergoing rigorous testing. It would be akin to crafting a martial technique. A mortal-grade technique allows one to gauge their own physical condition. However, I would require something akin to Qi to manifest the illusion or numbers before my eyes.

Name: Liu Feng

Age: 16

Talent: C (fifty-three spirit root branches)

Cultivation: Body Tempering (eight-star)

Strength 8.1 8.2

Agility 8.2

Endurance 8.6 8.9

Qi 0

Techniques:

-Piercing Fang Fist (Mortal Grade)

-Rushing Bull Step (Mortal Grade)

-Turtle Shell Body (Mortal Grade)

I had progressed surprisingly fast, though my endurance continued to outpace other aspects by a widening margin with each passing day.

"Hey! You listening to me, brat?" the old man sighed, but I did not entertain him, prompting him to shake his head, with disappointment etched across his face. "I swear, youngsters these days. Eyes in the books and heads in the clouds. Did you know that back in my day..."

He scratched his chin, fingers threading through his goat-like beard as if contemplating something before blurting out, "You know what, we didnt do things much differently in my days either. The brave ones who faced the world head-on rarely survived and usually met a gruesome end."

"You're talking to yourself, old man. I thought someone your age would catch the social cue that when someone is not responding to you while reading a book, they don't want to talk right now," I retorted.

"You had your eyes closed. You werent reading shit."

"I was meditating and trying to rest my eyes."

"Yeah, too much reading and it'll ruin your eyes."

I had a retort ready, but a sudden thought gave me pause. "Do cultivators even need glasses? I mean, our eyes are enhanced the more we advance."

Even the old guy seemed taken aback. "Huh, you're right. I know some cultivators who wear glasses despite their advanced cultivation levels. Maybe it's just for aesthetics, or perhaps they've worn them since their mortal days. Personally, I think they're just weirdos."

As he made that last remark, the old janitor glanced toward the librarian, who wore glasses. The poor guy was catching stray shots without even saying anything.

"Don't act like I'm not here! Also, you're the weird ones. One moment you're at each other's throats, the next you're all friendly," the librarian sighed. "Why do you act so grumpy for no reason?"

"It's the rain. Haven't seen the sun in a while," the old man offered as his excuse.

For someone of his age, he possessed a remarkable way with words. Yet, surviving in a sect where people were maimed and killed for minor transgressions mandated a knack for diplomacy as a means of survival. It was almost regrettable that he used his talents primarily to wriggle out of responsibilities.

I rather enjoyed our verbal sparring matches. I needed someone to engage in such banter with, though attempting it with anyone else risked sparking great offense and potentially triggering a blood feud that could end up with my cultivation shattered at best.

"It's all dark and gloomy, and even I'm grumpy sometimes," the old man remarked while sipping his tea.

"Sometimes?" I arched a skeptical brow, a small twitch betraying my attempt to suppress a smile. "We'd have a tougher time figuring out when you aren't grumpy."

"Your eyes are on the books, but your mind is in the clouds... or down in shit."

We exchanged verbal jabs a while longer before I closed the book in my hands and rose to my feet. The old goat shrugged. "Do you always have to train even on days like this?"

"Well, I might end up in a fight, and it could be raining. The last thing I'd want is to slip while using the Rushing Bull Step and meet my demise because of it."

The old guy appeared unimpressed. But he was never impressed, so that wasn't saying much, "We both know that's a lie. You just enjoy frolicking about in the mud like a child with too much power."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Damn, he knew me all too well.

This old codger was remarkably perceptive when he chose to be, and it was easy to overlook his ability to read people like an open book. From what I had seen, he likely wasn't some secret elder, but he wasn't entirely harmless either. Sheep had their own ways of surviving.

He was the sort who could access the library's second floor simply because everyone perceived him as harmless. If this old codger decided to steal something from the library, I doubted anyone would intervene, especially not the librarian, who was practically his best friend.

He was living the life I dreamed of, with access to everything simply because nobody cared.

I packed up my belongings, leaving my backpack with notebooks and supplies behind so they wouldn't get wet. Before I left, the old man called out, "Try training Piercing Fang Fist. It might help in the rain. Don't get too lost in your own world, and remember that these martial arts were developed for more than just your enjoyment."

His tone was serious, which was unlike his usual self. An uncomfortable feeling settled in my gut as he continued, "These martial arts are the legacy of those who devoted their lives to them. Many sacrificed family and personal pursuits for their craft. These techniques are all they left behind."

His words struck a chord within me. He was right; these martial arts were often the culmination of years of dedication, perhaps even lifetimes.

Sure, it was disappointing that they were only mortal-grade techniques. Yet, these individuals poured their hearts and souls into something they believed in.

"Also, it's unsettling to see you grinning like a fool when you think nobody is looking at you. I know you like martial arts, but please, stop embarrassing me. I'd rather not have people think I know someone like that," the old janitor ruthlessly sliced through my contemplation as if it were nothing.

"Then stop looking at me so much, old man!" I retorted as I strode out into the rain, receiving a nod from the librarian as he stowed my belongings under his counter. It was our silent agreement that he would look after my things.

As my clothes soaked through with rainwater, I pondered whether my decision not to carry an umbrella stemmed from a desire to feel the barrier around the library dry my clothes. Carrying an umbrella would be cumbersome, and I'd still get wet during training. Besides, with a cultivator's body, the risk of falling ill from water exposure was negligible. So, an umbrella was unnecessary.

But life wasn't always governed by logic and reason. What made life truly fulfilling were often the smaller, intangible moments that accumulated over time.

Just because someone's spouse had shown love at one point didn't guarantee a happy marriage.

In my previous life, I was never married. Yet, in this life, there was something I lacked in my past existencesomething Liu Feng possessed: a fiance. They had last met as children, and Liu Feng hadn't necessarily found her pretty back then. However, he respected her, coming from a well-off cultivation family.

Amidst pondering these peculiarities, I arrived at the training ground as usual, casting a side glance at where the buried spirit stones were meant to be. I hadn't even touched the accursed things or used them for anything meaningful. They proved more troublesome than beneficial, even causing me to question my best friend... whose name I had yet to learn. This charade was becoming tiresome; I resolved to shadow the chubby guy one of these days and learn his name.

Drawing in a deep breath, I savored the sensation of damp air against my skin and raindrops tracing down my face. Everything felt remarkably clear.

Piercing Fang Fist!

My hands moved almost instinctively.

How many times had I executed the same punch, in the same way? Thousands? Tens of thousands of times? Perhaps even more? Considering Liu Feng's relentless practice of Piercing Fang Fist, this body might have thrown the punch millions of times.

The motion was fluid and direct, executed with a grace seldom witnessed in reality. Though it was my own hand in motion, I couldn't help but admire its precision. My heart quickened its pace, akin to recalling a woman I loved.

Okay, that analogy was a bit weird, comparing martial arts to women. I didn't even want to touch that thought with a ten-foot pole.

Yet, I couldn't describe the sensation any other way. Excitement bubbled within my chest, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

The air around my arm twisted, as it always did. I had always felt the air move around my arm, but now, with the rainwater, I could actually see the way the air took shape, forming a spiral of water around my limb.

In an instant, the moment passed, and everything returned to normal. The spiraling water fell to the ground, and I returned to my senses. The entire motion of throwing a punch had lasted less than a second, yet it felt much longer than that.

Was I growing delirious? Perhaps the cold rain was affecting me after all. I had executed this punch countless times, so why was I so lost in thought now?

Usually, training felt like a game to me. But now, it was as if I were painting a beautiful canvasI was creating art!

Being able to see something instead of just feeling it was groundbreaking! Some martial arts became visible only after someone awakened their Qi.

Once again, I pulled my fist back and executed the martial technique. The water started to twist around my arm, merging with the wind. At the peak of my knuckle, a fang-like protrusion of water burst forth and shot forward.

I halted, hypnotically gazing at the water. "So that's why the technique is called the Piercing Fang Fist."

I tried it again, this time in a barrage of punches, which formed water fangs around my arm. Though they dispersed a moment later and proved useful only for displaying the air movements. Still, I attempted to craft a more impressive water fang. Though it didn't enhance the technique significantlyit simply looked impressive.

As I continued for some time, I lost track of the passing minutes, the dark rainy clouds obscuring any sense of time. Only when a distant leaf rustled under the wind pressure, did I cease throwing punches.

I tried again, ensuring it wasn't merely my eyes playing tricks on me. Somehow, the pressure from my fists was sufficient to send a gust that caused leaves to rustle about two feet away. There was no mention of such a phenomenon in the Piercing Fang Fist technique manual. Moreover, the technique wasn't some closely guarded secret; it was practiced widely by Liu Clan cultivators as their introductory technique. It wasn't rare enough to be absent from the Blazing Sun Sect library either.

This meant that I had stumbled upon a new application of the technique!

Granted, it could only produce a soft breeze at most, weaker than an electric fan, but it was still fascinating!

Caught in my excitement, I began throwing punches, causing the surrounding leaves to flutter.

"Just when the fire nation attacked, the...." I halted mid-joke, a realization dawning upon me.

Somehow, I had begun using the Piercing Fang Fist more efficiently. Despite executing numerous punches, I felt no fatigue or soreness.

Piercing Fang Fist wasn't typically stamina-intensive or prone to causing injuries with overuse. It was a basic technique, but that didn't imply one could use it endlessly without tiring.

I was tempted to test its effectiveness when combined with the Rushing Bull Step. Small improvements in technique could prove more potent when combined.

However, such considerations ceased when another realization struck me. The old guy had been the one to suggest that I train Piercing Fang Fist in the rain.

Was it all merely a coincidence? How could he have known that training in the rain would enhance the technique's efficacy?

"Just when I thought there was no chance the old man was secretly a formidable cultivator," I muttered under my breath.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM