Chapter Sixteen: Drawing the Three-Stone Bow

In the days that followed, Yu Chaoran intensified the rigor of Yu Lang's training. Every morning, he required him to run three full laps around the eastern district of Yangzhou within half an hour, followed by an entire military training regimen—circling the yard to strike wooden posts, marching swiftly with sandbags on his shoulders, sparring with weapons, and even withstanding blows while holding his breath to build muscle strength.

For a thirteen-year-old boy, such training was not merely harsh—it bordered on forcing the seedling to grow by pulling on it. Even Qingqing, just watching, felt afraid and dared not join in. She was deeply distressed by the bruises and hidden injuries Yu Lang endured, and the kindly image of Master Yu in her mind plummeted. More than once, she nearly confronted Yu Chaoran to defend Yu Lang.

It was Obaba who came to comfort Qingqing. "In our tribe, only the children most favored by the chieftain receive the strictest training. The master is protecting Yu Lang; you mustn't be angry."

Influenced by Yu Lang's belief in treating others as equals, there was little of master and servant between them; they lived more as friends. In most households, if a Kunlun slave spoke to their master this way, they would be soundly beaten. As for Yu Chaoran, though a native Tang man and tolerant by nature, he still observed strict social hierarchy, so Obaba continued to address him as "Master."

Qingqing nodded vaguely, then Obaba hurried off to his chores.

This time, Yu Chaoran resolved to be ruthless, putting aside his usual indulgence. Decades ago, when he served under Xu Jingye, his own training had been even more grueling. Back then, he had resented Xu Jingye, wondering why, among so many soldiers, he alone was singled out for such severity. It was only after surviving countless bloody battles and earning repeated honors that he understood the painstaking care behind Xu Jingye's methods.

Aside from the basic training, Yu Chaoran also unreservedly brought out his most treasured skill—archery. His first demand of Yu Lang was to draw a three-stone bow.

Yu Lang felt his scalp tingle. Since ancient times, anyone capable of drawing a three-stone bow was a natural-born warrior, a hero unmatched on the battlefield. But he was still just a thirteen-year-old child. Even after days of intensive training, he could only manage a one-stone bow—a feat quite impressive among his peers.

Yu Chaoran's expression was grave. "Age is no excuse." With that, he raised his arm and drew the three-stone bow to its full extension, releasing the string with a sharp, resounding twang.

"If you can’t draw the three-stone bow, you don't eat," Yu Chaoran declared sternly, then returned to his room.

The moment he closed the door, Yu Chaoran couldn't help but relax his arm. After all, his age was catching up to him; drawing the formidable bow was far from the effortless display he had shown. In his view, Yu Lang was clever but lacked perseverance—sometimes, pushing him to his limits might yield unexpected results.

The massive hardwood bow, nearly as tall as Yu Lang himself, was hard even to hold steady. He called Obaba over. "Try and see if you can draw it—but be careful, don't hurt—"

Before he could finish, Obaba easily drew the bow to its full extension, leaving Yu Lang dumbfounded. He felt the rock-hard muscle on Obaba’s arm and let it go. The difference in physical strength was simply too great. He had thought that adjusting his stance or footwork might help maximize his strength, but clearly, Obaba’s awkward posture offered him no reference—sometimes, brute strength trumped all technique.

Yu Lang turned to Qingqing, hesitating. "Do you want to give it a try?"

Qingqing had a go but released the string almost immediately. "No good—the bowstring cuts my hand, it hurts." She went to borrow a thumb ring from Yu Chaoran. Though it didn’t fit well, being too large for her thumb, it at least offered some protection.

She summoned her inner energy, channeling all her sword-qi into her hands, and, with a deep breath, managed to draw the bow halfway before giving up in exhaustion. Qingqing was frustrated. "Just a little more… But at the first level of cultivation, the energy stored in my dantian is still too little—it runs out too fast."

"Consumption?" The word stuck in Yu Lang’s mind. He began to ponder: Qingqing had told him before that his dantian was blocked, preventing him from storing energy, but his ability to draw in energy was very strong. If he could immediately use up the energy as soon as he drew it in, could he skip the storage step altogether? It was like certain appliances in his previous life—they had no battery, but as long as they were plugged in, they functioned just fine.

This thought excited Yu Lang. Following the method of the Xuan Yuan Breathing Technique, he drew energy into his body, endured the agitation and pain, then, with a low shout, punched the boxwood tree in the courtyard. There was a dull thud—the tree was unharmed, but his fist was a bloody mess.

Qingqing scolded him. "Are you crazy? Even if you can’t think of a solution, you don’t have to hurt yourself like this!"

Though the experiment was hardly a success, Yu Lang felt he had glimpsed a sliver of hope. At least this time, after drawing energy in, he didn’t suffer severe backlash, meaning the idea of "immediate consumption" was viable. The problem was, his punch wasn’t any stronger than usual; the conversion rate was low. The challenge now was to find a way to convert the spiritual energy instantly into usable force within a split second, much like how appliances needed the right voltage to work, not just any current—they needed a transformer. Yu Lang was still missing his transformer.

He mused, "Perhaps this is the difference between ancient and modern thinking. Limited by knowledge and vision, the ancients accepted many mysteries without seeking the principles behind them. Modern people, however, are more driven to investigate the nature of things." He was sure he was on the right track—he just needed the key.

Yu Lang borrowed the core formula of the "Nourishing Sword Qi" from Qingqing, comparing it with the "Xuan Yuan Breathing Technique" and other books he had recently collected, carefully analyzing every step from drawing in spiritual energy, to storing it in the dantian, to unleashing it as internal force.

Unbeknownst to him, three days had passed with Yu Lang shut away in his study. He stubbornly refused to eat, wholly absorbed in his mental experiments.

On the third day, at noon, Qingqing slammed her bowl down. "Master Yu, are you really planning to starve your own grandson to death? This is sheer madness! Bai once told me many stories like this—the more gifted the person, the harder it is to accept they can’t cultivate. When they get stuck like this, they might ruin themselves for life!"

Obaba looked at Yu Chaoran with pleading eyes. "Master, even the strongest lion grows slowly—it shouldn’t be forced this hard."

Yu Chaoran placed a morsel of food on each of their plates. "A lion may grow slowly, but he cannot. He must grow up quickly—to protect himself, to protect all that he loves."

Obaba said earnestly, "I can protect Yu Lang and all of you. I can fight ten men; Yu Lang is wise, I am strong."

Qingqing felt a surge of emotion. "You fool…" But she could not bring herself to say aloud that in this land, his dark skin was a mark of original sin. Here in the Tang Dynasty, he was a lowly slave—should he ever come into conflict with the people, the authorities would seize him without question.

Yu Chaoran was physically and mentally exhausted these days. On one hand, he had to deal with Li Wenshan's repeated harassment and extortion; on the other, there were graver matters demanding urgent attention. He sensed his own end might be near, and dared not slacken. He was unwilling to explain too much to the two youngsters. Laying down his chopsticks, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked out.

He had only just reached the doorway when he heard a sudden whistling in the air and turned his head sharply.

An arrow shot from the door of Yu Lang’s study, piercing straight through and embedding itself deep into the boxwood tree in the courtyard.

"He…he actually did it." Yu Chaoran was first stunned, then broke into unrestrained, joyous laughter. "Good lad!"