C11 Hei Yuqing

Blood Shadow possessed an inexplicable spirituality, with a glint in his eyes that sparkled with intelligence. It was as though a master of Form and Will Boxing stood there, attentively mentoring Nangong Fan, a disciple emerging after countless years.

Each of Blood Shadow's movements was exceedingly deliberate, as if he feared Nangong Fan wouldn't be able to clearly see and keep pace with him.

In one form, he extended his right arm, drew his left arm back to his waist, leaned his left leg forward, and half-squatted on his right leg, embodying the Dragon Subduing and Rising Dragon stances.

In the second form, he leaned forward on his left leg, tilted his torso, leveled his right leg with his body, and thrust his hands forward with force, capturing the essence of the Tiger Leaving the Cave and the Courage of the Pouncing Tiger.

Each form was a vivid representation of nature: the ascent of a dragon, the pounce of a tiger, the agility of a monkey, the gallop of a horse, the buoyancy of a duck in water, the poise of a solitary chicken, the acrobatics of a swallow, the suppleness of a snake, the proud tail of a bird, the spread wings of an eagle, the collision of bears.

The Form and Will Twelve Forms, each one embodying the divine.

Every stance seemed to bring forth the presence of a beast, its roar echoing alongside, with thunderous sounds booming in the sea of consciousness and the shadow of the beast flickering behind, as if real mythical creatures were stepping out of the void. The presence was majestic, yet fiercely intense.

With each movement Blood Shadow made, a current of air rose from his dantian, penetrating his heart. There, the peculiar blood could be seen, and with the rush of air, resilient strands of blood emerged, intertwining with the heart.

This relentless surge of air made the heart's beating grow stronger and more vigorous.

Upon completing the twelfth form, Nangong Fan, almost without thinking, opened the jade bottle on the table. The blood within was devoid of any scent of gore, instead carrying a refreshing fragrance that captivated the senses, reminiscent of the most exquisite ambrosia.

The blood appeared mundane, akin to that of any mortal, its original resentment and energy long sealed by the hands of the mighty for better absorption by future generations. Yet, the spirituality within it remained intact, even after eons.

Nangong Fan's arm lifted mechanically, bringing the jade bottle to his lips. He tilted his head back slightly and drank down the blood.

The blood shadow seemed to be anticipating this very moment, springing into motion once more. Nangong Fan immediately joined in the dance. The nascent strand of Qi, freshly emerged, was drawn by the movement, coursing with the blood toward his heart.

With deliberate slowness, the blood shadow executed each form, methodically repeating the Twelve Forms of Xing Yi before focusing solely on the Six Forms of Bear within his mind. It was akin to a devoted mentor, tirelessly instructing its sole pupil.

The bear crouched, gathering strength, agile in both advance and retreat, then leapt into the air. The bear's press came next, bearing down with the crushing force of Mount Tai, its presence overwhelming.

As it rolled upon the ground, it resembled a bear tumbling down a mountainside, its joints powering each movement. In close-quarters combat, it relied on the strength of its waist, colliding back-first like a bear bracing against a mountain. Grasping its foe with its paws, it tore and pulled with relentless force, embodying the essence of a bear embracing a mountain. Every so often, a thunderous roar would break the silence, the sound waves reverberating through the air, daunting any would-be adversaries.

Amongst the animal kingdom, the bear is revered for its commanding aura; often, a single roar suffices to intimidate its foes. Renowned for its Herculean strength, the bear can hold its own in a brawl with the regal lion or tiger, and even grapple with the colossal elephant.

The Bear-Shaped Fist, a martial art inspired by the movements of a bear demon, captures and exhibits the bear's advantages to their fullest extent.

Nangong Fan's limbs synchronized with the blood shadow's movements. Warmth surged from his dantian, following an enigmatic path into his heart, sustaining its vigorous pulsations.

Hidden from Nangong Fan's view, within the heart, lay a blue blood bead, ensconced at the center, indifferent to the white warm current that flowed into its domain. The black dragon blood that had recently entered the heart enveloped the curled-up black and red blood bead, welcoming the incoming white warmth without resistance.

The black and red blood bead tumbled incessantly, churning the white current. The red hue of the bead gradually receded, giving way to the sound of joyful dragon chants emanating from within. If the red black dragon blood were likened to an endless sea, then the blood bead at its heart would be the true dragon, sovereign in its aquatic realm.

The red hue had vanished from the blood beads, and Nangong Fan finally snapped out of his trance. A strand of white liquid seeped from the black blood bead, merging with the newly formed blood in his veins, revitalizing his body. Behind him, the shadowy outline of a majestic, pitch-black dragon emerged, its deep-set eyes exuding an aura of ancient dignity.

Nangong Fan remained rooted to the spot, seemingly still lost in the bear-shaped boxing techniques taught by the blood shadow, unable to pull himself away. A rumbling from his stomach, however, abruptly brought him back to reality.

With a wry smile, Nangong Fan mused, "Has it really been that long?" He summoned a piece of hardtack in front of the black ring with a mere thought. Lifting his sore arm, he wolfed it down, which made him feel somewhat better.

His aunt, Hei Yushang, had always been incredibly attentive, ensuring he was well-provisioned within his ring. Although he had never been able to retrieve anything from it before, his servants usually accompanied him on his travels, so he never had to worry.

Struggling to his feet, Nangong Fan's eyes sparkled with renewed vigor. As he stood tall, the black dragon's spectral presence behind him slowly faded away.

Taking a step forward, Nangong Fan reached for his black dragon sword and gathered the remaining two ancient scrolls and the black scale from the table. He didn't fully understand the significance of these items, but given the gravity with which his ancestor had left them, they were undoubtedly exceptional—likely irreplaceable in the mortal realm.

Nangong Fan was determined not to overlook such treasures. Who could say whether he'd ever be able to return to this hidden sanctuary after embracing this legacy?

No sooner had Nangong Fan secured all the items left by Hei Batian than he felt an overwhelming force of rejection from the sealed space, as if it couldn't wait to expel him.

"So unfeeling," Nangong Fan remarked dryly, nodding in satisfaction with his haul yet inwardly grumbling about Hei Batian's miserliness. He had hoped to spend more time exploring this space! Surely, a place that had eluded the Hei Family's notice for a millennium must hold unique secrets.

Nangong Fan failed to notice the black dragon pattern that had once again begun to emerge beneath his feet. It was imbued with a mysterious and formidable power, casting an eerie glow that completely enveloped him. In an instant, Nangong Fan vanished from the sealed space.

A fresh breeze stirred beneath the sealed room's floor, snuffing out the flickering oil lamps in its wake and plunging the space back into its inherent darkness and solitude.

When Nangong Fan's vision cleared, he found himself staring at an ordinary three-meter-long spear. Its surface was marred by rust, yet it seemed to possess an unusual spirituality that was obscured by the corrosion, concealing its true edge.

Seated on the ground, Nangong Fan took a moment to acclimate to the mild disorientation caused by the spatial shift. His gaze fixed on the spear, he contemplated briefly before shaking his head. With the Black Dragon Sword at his disposal, swordsmanship was the clear choice. He reminded himself that it was better to master one skill than to dabble in many and master none.

The military heritage of his family weighed on him, as most of his elders were esteemed generals. Despite his efforts to suppress it, Nangong Fan felt an irrepressible fondness for the spear—a weapon well-suited to a soldier's life. Once he felt more at ease, he rose without a second thought and headed for the staircase.

How much time had passed? Had his aunt returned from her military service?

A twinge of anxiety gnawed at Nangong Fan. If his aunt had returned and not found him, he was in for a harsh reprimand. While he strategized his next move, his steps were surprisingly brisk.

"I, Hei Ze, am finally able to cultivate again! Let those who once scorned me tremble at the might of Young Master Hei!" he thought with a surge of anticipation.

Descending to the ground floor, he noticed the elder lying motionless in his armchair, utterly silent. Nangong Fan passed by without eliciting the slightest reaction.

He offered a respectful nod to the old man's slumbering form, though he couldn't help but inwardly criticize the elder's carelessness. To guard such a crucial place with such disregard was beyond belief.

Step by step, he emerged from the narrow passageway.

The scorching sun bathed the earth in its harsh rays. As Nangong Fan stepped out of Wanbao House, a wave of heat hit him full in the face. He instinctively raised an arm to scratch his head, but his once frail limb now seemed to weigh a ton.

He appeared simple and unassuming, like a bear standing tall.

However, that guileless expression was quickly replaced by one of conceit. The spoiled nature he had cultivated over the years wasn't so easily shed. "It seems I truly am a prodigy. To have embraced such a grand legacy in no time at all," he mused.

With those words, he confidently strode down the shaded path ahead, his face radiating pride.

Unseen by him, the protective array of Wanbao House bore a stark message: No Visitors.

Had Nangong Fan seen it, he would have been astounded. Such a sight was entirely absent from the memories of Hei Ze that lingered in his mind from the last eighteen years.

After Nangong Fan vanished into the narrow corridor of the Ten Thousand Treasures Tower, a figure clad in a white robe stepped out from the lower levels. He held a wine gourd to his lips, taking hearty swigs. The strong liquor seemed to be poured haphazardly, yet not a drop spilled. It was as if an invisible force guided the clear liquid straight into his mouth.

His slender frame exuded a sense of wild and carefree grandeur.

He watched the corridor where Nangong Fan had disappeared, his eyes narrowing, a fierce gleam flickering within. He whispered, careful not to disturb anyone, "Qi concealed within the body? A Martial Master? Why do I sense a hint of danger from that wisp of Qi?"

The man in the white robe continued his leisurely pace, disappearing into the seldom-visited Ten Thousand Treasures Tower.

After his departure, his gentle voice lingered in the vacant first floor, "Uncle, you've worked hard these years. I let you rest comfortably for over ten days. You really ought to thank me. But as a younger relative, I must offer my apologies to my elder."

There wasn't the slightest hint of embarrassment in his voice. One had to wonder if the old man, had he been awake to hear such words, would have leapt up to confront this outwardly genteel scoundrel.

As it happened, the elder soon stirred from his slumber, muttering under his breath before dismissing the incident from his mind. "I haven't had such a restful sleep in ages. But given my level of cultivation, why am I feeling a bit hungry today?" He was certain no one could knock him out undetected, so the thought didn't cross his mind.

The only person in the entire Hei family who could incapacitate the elder and call him 'uncle' was a middle-aged man. This was none other than Hei Yuqing, Hei Ze's father—a man who once struck awe into Dragonstone, suppressed his peers, and led the pack, only to now be labeled as a has-been.

Yet, from this incident alone, it was clear that Hei Yuqing was far from the depleted man rumors made him out to be. He could effortlessly render the family's seasoned warriors unconscious without their knowledge. Coupled with his distinctive aura—worn yet brimming with an indomitable spirit—it was uncertain how many in Dragonstone could truly stand toe-to-toe with him.