Chapter 80: Withered Branches Bloom Again

The burial plot that everyone originally pooled their money to buy for Yu Lang ended up being used by Zhang Chengxing instead—a prime location, blessed by wind and water, a perfect place for eternal rest. As Zhang Chengxing himself once said, death extinguishes all, and any grudges vanish like smoke.

Old Master Zhang was by no means a fool. When he saw Zhu Yiming appear at the end, his heart grew clear—the grandson had been schemed against. Both Old Master Zhang and Old Instructor Huang were steadfast; though custom dictated that a funeral after a wedding should be quietly handled, neither was willing to slight their grandchild’s memory and insisted on a lively send-off. Old bones as they were, they cared little for others' opinions.

Nevertheless, a rift remained between the two families. For the elderly to bury the young is a tragedy, and mutual hostility at least provided an outlet for grief.

Yu Lang once questioned Li Mi, who had hidden in the shadows that day, why he hadn’t acted.

Li Mi’s reply was inscrutable: “A sage is devoid of emotion. Some things must be allowed to take their course for the best outcome.”

After Zhang Chengxing’s burial and all matters settled, the year drew to a close. According to his agreement with Director Chen, Yu Lang would escort Yang Yuhuan to Chang’an after the New Year.

Calculating the days, it was also time to seek his master, Chen Wuning, for the method to condense his Dao Seal. Yu Lang decided to return home and change his clothes before visiting the Moon-Washing Academy—it would be inappropriate to meet an elder in mourning garb, having just returned from the Zhang family.

Upon entering his own courtyard, Yu Lang saw a small boy practicing martial arts with earnest, measured movements beside the well. He paused for a moment before recognizing the boy as Lin Shuisheng, Red Silk’s younger brother, who, despite his youth, carried himself with remarkable responsibility.

Lin Shuisheng seemed reluctant to acknowledge Yu Lang; he glanced at him, then returned his attention to his practice, unmoved and focused.

Yu Lang took no offense, sensing that his deliberately distant attitude toward Red Silk had fostered the boy’s hostility. He lingered, intending to offer some guidance, only to realize he could not comprehend the logic of the boy’s technique.

Forward one moment, suddenly behind the next—though Lin Shuisheng’s punches lacked strength due to his frail body, his movements were bizarrely unpredictable, with no logical connection between one punch and the next.

At first, the chaotic style struck Yu Lang as amusing. But the longer he watched, the more he realized how difficult it was for each move to bear no relation to the one before. It was like a test full of true/false questions—perfectly avoiding all correct answers was itself a rare feat.

Yu Lang imagined facing the boy with equal physical strength, relying solely on fist techniques—what were his chances? The answer startled him: none whatsoever. Yu Lang considered himself of average talent but unmatched in adaptability, yet the boy’s self-taught moves could surpass him—a true prodigy.

“A genius. This boy is undeniably a genius,” Li Mi remarked, appearing beside Yu Lang with folded arms. “His moves aren’t the result of deliberate choreography, just spontaneous improvisation.”

There are, Li Mi continued, two kinds of martial prodigies: those who advance swiftly in cultivation, which is inner talent, and those with unique insight into technique, which is external talent. Generally, without a solid foundation, external talent is little more than a castle in the air, but for those who have reached a certain level, exceptional external talent is rare and invaluable.

Moreover, in Yu Lang and Li Mi’s eyes, Lin Shuisheng’s bones and tendons held almost no impurities, and though his core was undeveloped, its innate strength was several times greater than most—he was a rare gemstone indeed. No wonder he managed to wound Zhang Tianba with a knife despite being surrounded by thugs.

Li Mi, usually aloof, crouched beside the boy and smiled. “Kid, are you interested in joining the Myriad Forms Mountain as my sole personal disciple?”

“What’s Myriad Forms Mountain? Is it far from here?”

“Myriad Forms Mountain is a sacred Daoist place. Every year, countless youths like you endure rigorous selection to enter its gates. To become my personal disciple is even—” Li Mi began to boast, only to be cut off by the boy.

“I asked if Myriad Forms Mountain is far away.”

“It’s far, several thousand miles from Yangzhou City.”

Lin Shuisheng shook his head. “If it’s that far, I can’t go. I have to protect my sister; there are many bad people outside.”

At the mention of “bad people,” Lin Shuisheng glanced at Yu Lang, already wise to the cliché of the hero saving the damsel as a crude ploy.

Li Mi laughed heartily, pleased to see Yu Lang humbled, and felt even more convinced of the bond he would share with the boy.

Li Mi shifted tactics. “To protect your sister, you’ll need extraordinary skills. Right now, you’re too weak.”

Lin Shuisheng looked at him seriously. “I’m not weak.”

“That’s a misconception—you’ve never seen a true master. For example, me, Li Mi, I am—” Again, Lin Shuisheng interrupted.

“Show me, then. What does a true master look like?”

Intent on impressing the boy, Li Mi pointed to a withered branch in the flower bed. The branch suddenly revived, sprouting buds that soon blossomed.

The scent of spring flowers in the biting cold stirred the soul.

“Marvelous!” Yu Lang exclaimed; to force a dead branch into bloom must be an art of the Dao of Vitality. Such an otherworldly feat could only be performed by those who had transcended the upper three realms. For Li Mi to achieve this at his current level was astonishing.

Lin Shuisheng remained unmoved. “So a true master is just someone who can perform tricks?”

Now it was Yu Lang’s turn to mock Li Mi.

Frustrated, Li Mi stomped; the blue bricks in the courtyard crumbled to dust.

“Master!” Lin Shuisheng bowed deeply. For him, coaxing winter flowers seemed mere showmanship, but shattering solid bricks was truly impressive.

Understanding this, Li Mi was amused and a little exasperated, but accepted the gesture. Elsewhere, if Li Mi sought disciples, thousands of talented youths would flock to him, yet Lin Shuisheng was so particular.

“Rest assured, follow me for three years, and your skills will far surpass Yu Lang’s. Then you’ll be able to protect your sister on your own, without relying on him.” Li Mi glanced at Yu Lang.

Lin Shuisheng smiled, satisfied, and nodded. Li Mi was adept at persuasion, hitting every mark.

For Lin Shuisheng to become Li Mi’s disciple at Myriad Forms Mountain was fate; Yu Lang had no intention of intervening, nor any desire to take on pupils himself. He was glad to see it resolved—a potential trouble settled, as the proper approach to the boy had always been tricky.

Having changed clothes, Yu Lang set out with Li Mi for the Moon-Washing Academy. Li Mi’s visit was to ask Yu Lang for a favor: to tour the academy’s famed “Mountain of Literature and Sea of Art” library.