“Dear, we went to Xia Province to gain a foothold and raise troops because we intend to accomplish something great. A skilled apothecary is indispensable for that.” He Chunhua, of course, knew just how to soothe his wife. “Shihuan City is filled with sects and talented people. Finding the right candidate here is better than waiting until Xia Province to recruit one. From that perspective, Chuan’er might not be so thoughtless after all.”

Madame Ying trusted her husband above all. Her anger softened into doubt. “But it’s just a monkey. Can it really refine proper medicine?”

“I’ve heard of the Thousand-Heart Flow before,” He Chunhua said. With ambitions reaching across the land, he had studied the great sects thoroughly. “It’s famed throughout the realm for its alchemy. Even though it’s technically a monster sect, the medicines refined by its medicine apes rival, or even surpass, those of human apothecaries. That’s what it means for each craft to have its masters. If we tried to hire a reputable apothecary by ordinary means, the price could easily double and still not succeed.”

High-level talent never came cheap, least of all when recruited from the capital, yet expected to relocate to Xia Province. Wages would have to cover not only salary but relocation and hidden costs as well.

What He Chunhua did not know was that this specific medicine ape of Thousand-Heart Flow could be hired for such a bargain for other reasons.

And cheap always came with its own pitfalls.

Madame Ying had spent her life in Qiansong Commandery, where her impression of monsters was limited to their savagery. To her, they were basically bandits in bestial form who lived by plunder. To hear that a monkey could manage such delicate work struck her as fresh and bizarre.

* * *

Back in his own quarters, He Lingchuan handed the monkey a kilogram of glistening sweet melon along with a bundle of herbs. “Please help me refine soul-luring incense.”

As the name implies, this incense was used to draw out the living soul of a person. In the hands of those with crooked hearts, it was a dangerous tool. Ordinary pharmacies and apothecaries would never stock it, and even asking for it risked denunciation.

However, the ape monster Ling Guang clearly lacked such scruples. It accepted the goods with a nod. “It’ll be ready in two hours.”

Rather than set up the furnace immediately, it took the melon to a basin, washed it carefully, and broke it open to savor at leisure.

He Lingchuan ignored it. He fetched a block of tofu he had bought from the market and went outside to train in the saber.

From Panlong City’s Office of Merits, he had exchanged his military merits for one movement technique and one saber technique. Though ultimately meant to be practiced in concert, at his current level, he could only work on them separately.

Forget flowing, cloudlike swordplay or earth-shaking techniques. Those were out of reach for now.

At the moment, he could only practice on tofu.

Balancing a whole block of soft tofu on his palm, he shaved at it with his changdao.

The beginner’s requirement was simple: slice it into sheets as thin as a cicada’s wing, translucent against the light.

Until he had read the saber manual, He Lingchuan had never realized that before one could be good at the saber, one first had to be a good cook. However, the manual was clear in what it required. Steadiness and precision were the foundation of the martial arts path. If one neglected them, then it was akin to building a tower on sand.

As for combat forms, skills, and divine techniques, those were all superstructures. Without a solid foundation, the upper stories would never stand.

He Lingchuan cut ten slices. Most of the resulting slices of tofu were leaf-thin.

Mao Tao clapped from the side. “Young Master, you’re amazing! You actually did so well on your very first try!”

He Lingchuan shot him a withering glare, and then he held a slice up to the light.

Opaque. Fail!

Also, this was not his first attempt at this.

He had already been at it for five days in his dreams. The first day he had attempted it had been a disaster. He had shaved the skin clean off his own palm.

Now, with Mao Tao watching, his third block of tofu still ended up serrated, his saber and hand both trembling.

Damn, this is hard.

By the time he had butchered one block, Mao Tao quickly set up another one for him.

Today’s task was to finish fifty blocks.

Of course, in the Panlong Dreamscape, the soldiers and civilians would never tolerate wasting food in this manner. There was another option for training, and that was to stack a hundred sheets of paper together and then shaving them with the blade. Each stroke must shear off only the top sheet, leaving the ones below untouched.

That method was far less wasteful than slicing tofu. In fact, that was how He Lingchuan had practiced inside the dreamscape.

The first two months after transmigrating into this world had been comfortable enough that he toyed with the idea of muddling along, living idly and at ease. After all, why struggle to improve when lying flat is so much easier?

But two brushes with death had stripped him of that illusion. First, he had been tricked by State Preceptor Sun into venturing into the Panlong Desert, and then he clashed with the Righteous Army at Immortal Spirit Lake. Both had shown him the gulf between himself and true powerhouses.

The only reason he had survived those encounters was luck. Skill had almost nothing to do with his being able to keep his life.

His father might believe his eldest son was blessed with fortune, but He Lingchuan knew better. He knew that no one could live forever on borrowed luck.

This world was far crueler than the one he came from, where ordinary folk floundered like insects in a mire. If he wished to survive here for the long haul, he could rely only on the blade in his hand to carve out solid ground beneath his feet.

Half a year ago, he had still been slacking off at work, fretting more over his paycheck than over life and death. Looking back now, it felt like another lifetime.

No, he really had been reborn into another lifetime.

By the time He Lingchuan finished carving the forty-ninth block of tofu, his right hand could no longer lift the saber. In the dead of winter, he was drenched in sweat.

Mao Tao had been watching him with burning eyes. Annoyed, Lingchuan snapped, “What are you staring at? You do the last one!”

“Me?” Mao Tao blinked, then surprisingly agreed. “Alright.”

He placed a block of tofu on his palm, drew the dagger from his boot, and set it dancing left and right.

“…?” Why do his movements look so smooth?

In just a few breaths, the tofu was done. Mao Tao balanced several slices on the tip of his dagger and grinned. “Young Master, please take a look!”

They were not as thin as cicada wings yet, but each slice was uniform and leaf-like. More importantly, his hand had never paused. His movements were steady, fluid, and natural. That level of control was far harder than He Lingchuan’s hesitant cuts.

He Lingchuan seized him by the collar. “You’ve practiced this before?”

“Of course. It’s a matter of survival for us. How could I not?” Mao Tao had once been a sand bandit. Knowing brute strength was not his advantage, he had relied on technique instead.

He offered his young master a veteran’s reassurance. “Don’t be discouraged. With your aptitude, you’ll get it in seven or eight days.”

“Discouraged? Which of your mangy dog eyes sees me discouraged?” He Lingchuan snorted. He pointed at the rope Mao Tao had hung between two trees. “Bring that over. Tie it tight.”

Saber practice was finished. Now it was time for him to practice the movement technique.

The rope was about as thick as a pinky finger, tied neither loose nor taut, sagging just slightly.

He Lingchuan vaulted up and landed on it with one foot. With nowhere to put his weight on above or below, he swayed twice before sinking his qi into his dantian and finally managing to steady himself.

The body’s former owner had once practiced plum-blossom stakes, so his balance was decent. This much did not defeat him.

Next came the part where he had to place both hands behind his back and stand with eyes closed. But no sooner had he shut them for two breaths than the world began to spin around him.

He hurriedly opened his eyes and found himself tumbling off the rope, nearly crashing headfirst to the ground.

The moment one closed their eyes, balance vanished.

He leaped back onto the rope. This time, he had barely steadied himself when a strong gust of wind swept past.

“Again!”

Below, Mao Tao gazed up eagerly. “Young Master, just how far do you need to take this training?”

He Lingchuan gritted his teeth. “When the rope is replaced with a thin thread, and I can still run across it with my eyes closed, then that will count as minor success.”

“And major success?”

“Standing on that thin thread with my eyes shut, slicing tofu into sheets thin as a cicada’s wing with every slice perfect and without pause.”

“…”

“Uh, Young Master.” Mao Tao spoke cautiously, “Why don’t you take me along with you? Even if I never manage to succeed in learning a divine technique, at least I could join a circus troupe and earn my keep.”

He Lingchuan flicked a throwing stone straight at his face.

Mao Tao yelped and dodged.

That small exertion of force set the rope swaying violently, and He Lingchuan had to work hard to regain his balance.

“Hmm. This works too. I can kill two birds with one stone.” He would not only be training his movement, but also his throwing accuracy.

Hu Min had once said that throwing was no different from archery. It was all about precision and feel.

“Give me that to train with!” He Lingchuan pulled out two more stones and aimed at Mao Tao’s backside.

For the next hour, the little courtyard descended into chaos, chickens scattering and dogs barking.

Servants of the He household passed by, shaking their heads or chuckling at the sight. The eldest young master had only just arrived in Shihuan, yet he was already back to his antics.

Then the medicine ape, Ling Guang, appeared, alighting lightly on the rope with a bundle of black incense in its hand. “Master, the soul-luring incense you wanted is ready.”

Ling Guang landed as though weightless. The rope did not even quiver.

He Lingchuan looked down. All ten of the ape’s toes clutched the rope firmly, steady as bedrock.

How much effort would he need to match a creature born with such gifts?

He sighed and accepted the incense. “Thanks. If you have time, please also help me refine the yin and yang pills. Here’s the recipe.”

* * *

Back in his room, He Lingchuan shut the windows tight and lit a candle.

When the flame rose straight and steady, he lit the soul-luring incense, climbed onto the bed, sat cross-legged, and entered meditation.

The moment his eyes closed, the world sank into darkness. He could hear only the slow rhythm of his breathing and smell the strange fragrance of the incense curling around him.

Silently, he recited the formulas of the Meridian Art. Gradually, even the sound of his own breath vanished, and in his mind, faint images began to form.

It seemed to be the furnishings of this very room, but drained of color, without light or shadow, only outlines and contours.

He Lingchuan realized that he was no longer seeing with his eyes, but trying to awaken what the Meridian Art called the “Heaven’s Eye.” In simpler terms, it was spiritual sense.

The sensation was uncanny, beyond description, perhaps akin to how a bat “sees” through echolocation.

The Meridian Art devoted an entire section to cultivating and training spiritual sense.

The immortals of antiquity could extend their spiritual sense to avoid danger, often surpassing the five senses in sharpness. When He Lingchuan discovered this chapter, he had treasured it dearly. After all, whether on the battlefield or in single combat, uncertainty was everywhere. You never knew who might be lying in wait, who might loose a hidden arrow, or who might be scheming to pin the blame on your head.

The first attempt to extend spiritual sense was especially critical and difficult. Fail, and one would have to wait three to five months before trying again. That was why He Lingchuan had gotten the medicine ape to refine soul-luring incense as an aid.

In the stillness, even the fragrance of the incense seemed to fade, yet in his mind, what he “saw” became clearer and more detailed.