After a brief, chaotic skirmish, Qingyangzi managed to escape the town with Wu Feng in tow.
The town's soldiers and constables had all been injured badly enough that none dared give chase.
The two headed east. After walking for roughly half an hour and confirming no pursuers were behind them, they stopped in a quiet, open mountain hollow surrounded by trees.
Night had fallen thick and heavy. The forest rang with the constant chirping of insects, making the surroundings feel even more still and secluded.
Qingyangzi turned into the woods, soon returning with an armful of dry firewood, which he tossed onto the open ground. He raised a hand, made a grasping motion toward the pile, and a faint red glow appeared at his fingertips. A wisp of flame materialized out of thin air and drifted down onto the wood. With a few crackles, the campfire roared to life. Its warm light pushed back the chill of the night.
Wu Feng had seen this fire-conjuring trick once before. Even now, watching it again, he couldn't help but pay close attention.
He was still curious why the old Daoist hadn't used this impressive move back when they were surrounded. It would have looked far more intimidating than that swirling wind.
Qingyangzi sat cross-legged beside the campfire, closed his eyes, and began regulating his breathing. His expression was calm, as if the earlier fight had never happened.
Wu Feng sat down on a large blue rock opposite him, the tiger-head blade leaning against his side. One hand rested on the hilt as he stared fixedly at Qingyangzi.
Firelight danced across his face—half bright, half shadowed—while the calculation and wariness in his eyes never faded.
He was still assessing Qingyangzi's strength. The fact that a porcelain shard could wound him proved the old Daoist wasn't as overwhelmingly powerful as Wu Feng had first imagined. Yet the whirlwind defense and the ability to summon fire from nothing were still feats far beyond ordinary mortals.
The silence stretched on for a long time before Qingyangzi finally opened his eyes and looked at Wu Feng. A trace of hidden anger colored his voice. "You deliberately drew the authorities' attention, stirred up trouble, and stalled for time. What exactly were you trying to do?"
Wu Feng grinned, his tone both arrogant and blunt. "What for? This lord wanted to test how much real skill you actually have. If you couldn't even handle thirty-odd ordinary mortals, following you to cultivate immortality would be the same as walking straight into my own grave."
In this chaotic world, only strength he had personally verified could put his mind at ease.
Qingyangzi's eyes narrowed slightly. "That porcelain shard earlier—was that your doing as well?"
Wu Feng immediately put on an innocent face, spread his hands, and answered with perfect sincerity. "What porcelain shard? This lord has no idea. Everything was chaos back there. Maybe it got knocked flying in the panic. Nothing to do with me."
Qingyangzi looked at the man blatantly lying through his teeth and could only shake his head helplessly. He didn't press the matter.
Instead, he took a small white porcelain bottle from his robe, uncorked it, poured out a drop of pale-green medicinal liquid, and gently dabbed it onto the cut on his cheek.
Miraculously, in just a few breaths the tiny wound visibly closed. A faint red mark remained for a moment, then even that vanished completely, leaving the skin smooth and unmarked.
Wu Feng watched the entire process, his pupils shrinking.
The healing effect of that liquid far surpassed any golden wound medicine he had ever seen. Immortal cultivators truly had their own extraordinary methods.
Qingyangzi put the bottle away and looked at Wu Feng with a calm expression. "So? Are you satisfied with your little test?"
Wu Feng scoffed, turning his face away in disdain. "Satisfied? My ass! Thirty-odd trash. Even if I had handled them alone, I could have fought my way out—just would've taken a bit more effort. You're supposed to be an immortal cultivator, yet you let them tie you up for so long. Your skills are honestly pretty average."
"You know nothing," Qingyangzi frowned, his tone turning serious. "Immortal cultivators must abide by the Heavenly Dao and refrain from indiscriminate killing. Those constables and soldiers were simply carrying out orders. They didn't deserve death. If I had slaughtered them, I would have added to my karmic burden, which is detrimental to cultivation. True power should not be used lightly."
"Spare me that dogshit reasoning!" Wu Feng cursed, leaning forward, clearly displeased. "Besides, when you first said you'd take me with you, you promised to teach me the immortal cultivation heart method. We've been down from Black Tiger Stronghold for three or four days now, and you haven't said a single word about it. How much longer do you plan to wait?"
Qingyangzi let out a soft sigh. "It's not that I don't want to teach you. Your current state is simply too poor—impatient, arrogant, and filled with nothing but killing intent and brutality. You can't calm your mind enough to sense spiritual energy. Even if I gave you the heart method now, you wouldn't be able to practice it properly and would risk deviating or suffering qi deviation. The loss would outweigh the gain."
"Bullshit!" Wu Feng exploded in fury. He shot to his feet, hand gripping the tiger-head blade, eyes sharp as knives. "You haven't even taught me yet and you're already saying I can't learn it? You're clearly looking down on me! You said I have unparalleled immortal destiny, but I think you're just a swindler trying to trick people!"
"If you're really not planning to teach this lord anything, then I'm going back right now! Even if I only have a few years left, I'll accept it. Better than wasting time following a useless old Daoist like you."
He made a show of turning to leave, taking a small step while keeping his eyes locked on Qingyangzi, secretly calculating.
If the old Daoist truly refused to teach him, he would pretend to walk away, then look for another chance to test him in secret. If that failed, he would seize the heart method by force if necessary.
Qingyangzi looked at the stubborn, unruly man and knew that continuing to stall would be pointless.
He shook his head helplessly and sighed. "Fine, fine. Since you insist so strongly, I will teach you. But I'll say this upfront: if you cannot calm your mind, stepping through the gate will be harder than ascending to heaven."
With that, he reached into his robe again and pulled out a sheet of yellowed hemp paper covered in neat, dense brushstrokes that carried a faint Daoist charm.
He tossed the paper to Wu Feng. "This is the Qi Induction Technique—the most basic breathing heart method. The very first step of immortal cultivation is to use it to awaken your qi sense and perceive the spiritual energy of heaven and earth."
Wu Feng caught it eagerly and unfolded the paper at once.
Though the text was somewhat obscure, it was still understandable. It detailed breathing rhythms and exhalation techniques, every line carrying a profound, rhythmic mystery.
The more he read, the brighter his eyes became. He could tell this was no ordinary technique. He quickly memorized every word on the page.
"But remember this," Qingyangzi added. "We are currently in the West Chuan Continent. The spiritual energy here is extremely thin—nowhere near as rich as in the East Spirit Continent. It is not an ideal place for deep cultivation.
"For now, you only need to follow the heart method, adjust your breathing, and familiarize yourself with the rhythm. This technique can help dissolve stagnation, strengthen your meridians, and ease the hidden damage in your heart. Once we reach the East Spirit Continent, it will also allow you to sense the spiritual energy of heaven and earth much faster and truly step onto the path of immortal cultivation."
He paused, then reminded him earnestly, "The road of immortal cultivation is long. It cannot be rushed in a single day. Even the most basic qi sense requires years of accumulated effort. Do not be impatient. You must have patience."
As he spoke, he opened his palm again. A wisp of spiritual fire appeared out of thin air, flickering gently in his hand. "Take this spiritual fire, for example. It looks simple, but it requires gathering spiritual energy into one point and controlling it with perfect precision. Even a cultivation prodigy needs eight to ten years of hard work before they can wield it freely."
Wu Feng glanced at the spiritual fire in the old Daoist's palm, curled his lip, and pretended to be indifferent. "Got it, got it. This lord remembers."
Though his words were casual, he secretly envied that flame. If he could wrap something like that around his blade when he slashed at people in the future… just the thought of it was impressive.
He crossed his arms, scooted backward, and leaned against the tree trunk behind him, closing his eyes as if ready to rest.
Qingyangzi looked puzzled. "You were so eager to demand the heart method earlier. Now that I've given it to you, why aren't you cultivating right away?"
Wu Feng opened one eye and grinned slyly. "You're right—this lord's mind is still restless and I can't calm down. Rushing into cultivation now would be useless. Better to rest first."
With that, he closed his eyes again, breathing slowing as though he had already fallen asleep. Yet the corner of his eye remained fixed on Qingyangzi, watching his every move.
Qingyangzi said nothing more. He closed his eyes once more, sat in meditation, and gradually entered a state of deep focus. Before long he was completely still, his breathing so faint it was almost imperceptible.
Wu Feng pretended to sleep for roughly an hour. Only when he was certain Qingyangzi had entered deep meditation and wouldn't notice did he slowly open his eyes, gaze sharp.
He carefully adjusted his posture, no longer pretending. Following the Qi Induction Technique he had memorized, he slowly began regulating his breathing rhythm.
At first it felt a little awkward, but as he continued the cycles of inhalation and exhalation, an indescribable feeling of smoothness spread through his body, flowing along his meridians. The fatigue from days of travel and fighting quietly melted away, and the faint ache in his chest eased considerably.
The more he practiced, the more absorbed he became. He sank deeper into the wondrous rhythm. The insect chirps and the crackling of the campfire faded from his ears. His consciousness grew hazy, as if he had fallen into a deep, heavy sleep, and his vigilance finally slipped away.
He had no idea how much time had passed when Wu Feng suddenly snapped his eyes open. His entire body felt sore and heavy; he couldn't move.
He instinctively struggled, only to realize he was tightly bound with coarse rope. His wrists, ankles, and torso were all wrapped so thoroughly that even lifting his head was difficult.
Alarm shot through him. He whipped his head around and saw that he was lying in the back of a rickety, jolting old wooden cart. The cart bed was crude, padded with nothing but dry straw. And the driver holding the reins…
…was none other than Qingyangzi.