Time is like an illusion. Something that the mortal mind can never fully grasp or comprehend. Any moment can seem eternal, while others are fleeting. For mortal humans, their lifespans are just a brief moment upon the endless timeline of this everchanging and chaotic world. That’s why they must fight ruthlessly every day for survival or potentially risk their very livelihoods.

For a cultivator’s, a mortal’s life is but a brief moment in their seemingly endless life. What seems like the casual meditation session for a cultivator can be the difference between a young boy turning into an old man on his deathbed. No matter how hard a cultivator tries, they can never bridge the gap they created between them and mortals by treading the path of immortality.

Mortals are to cultivators what ants are to mortals. A mortal can step on an ant and go on with their day as nothing happened. Why do they not care? It’s because they are ants. A mortal weighs their existence as something incomparable to an ant’s. Even if they were to decide between the life of every single living ant or their own, they would choose their own every single time.

This is the same for cultivators. They could witness the massacre of a family, village or even entire city and not bat an eye. They have much more important matters to worry about such as their own cultivation and the pondering of their own techniques and insights.

However, Ip An wasn’t a cultivator. He only had the meagre lifespan of a mortal and had to use it the best he could. The world wasn’t going to stop time for him to train. It was going to stay the way it has always been, regardless of whether he wanted it to or not.

Every day, Ip An trained. At day he would punch the wooden board until his fists were destroyed and then cleanse himself in a herbal bath. Until he slept at night, he would be meditating, observing upon his inner qi and slowly learning to control it. It was painful, but he endured with a strong will to grow stronger.

The world also began to change around him. As the seasons changed from spring to autumn, the green leaves giving shade to him as he trained had fallen to the courtyard’s ground. Fortunately, Ip An didn’t have to waste his time cleaning the leaves as Manzi had called for a servant without leaving the house at all. A couple of days after he became Manzi’s disciple, a quaint old man appeared at their doorstep by the name of Cheng Bao. It turned out he was actually deaf. Surprisingly he could somehow understand what they were saying and was very capable, leaving Manzi satisfied and Ip An thankful that he did not have to be a servant anymore.

With each day, Ip An’s naive, uncoordinated and sluggish punches found a direction and substance. They grew more explosive, his movements more instinctual and fluid. His skin, bone, tendons and flesh became more resistant and durable. His eyes grew from that of a hopeful greenhorn to that of an enlightened veteran. Eventually, he let out not even a single reaction.

And when Manzi noticed this, he increased the intensity, not allowing him any time to rest or fall into a routine. On top of the punching, was now kicking. And that too was pushed to the limit. His shins would turn into a bloody mess, every kick feeling like he was going to snap his leg in half. And with each step to the herbal bath after practice, it felt as if his legs were hollow inside.

One day, Ip An was confident that his level of manipulation of inner qi was sufficient for him to try using it in an internal technique. As Ip An walked to the front of the familiar board, he prepared himself. If one were to ask what the board looked like, smelt like felt like or even tasted like. He could form a perfect mental image in an instant.

As Ip An stood in place, one could notice that Ip An now had a much healthier visage compared to his former villager boy self. He had gained some muscle, grown in height by a considerable amount to be able to look most boys his age in the eye. This was all due to his vigorous training and the vast increase in the quality and quantity of the food he was eating.

Silently, Ip An closed his eyes and observed his breath and the subtle sound of his heart beating, a minor ability he had gained from all the introspection he had performed during meditation. Then, he took a provoking stance as he stared at the wooden board as if it was his mortal enemy.

A few seconds passed in silence until Ip An suddenly punched out with frightening speed while twisting his lower body. It was as if his arm was a whiplash as its image blurred. Inside, his inner qi was flowing from the bottom of his leg to the tip of his fingers with strong vigour. It was like a coursing river, except it immediately dried out as Ip An’s punch impacted against the wooden board.

The dark wood crunched like ice as his fist went right through the wooden board. Wood pieces were sent flying through the air and as the pieces clattered to the floor he stared through the board’s hole at his fist with an incredulous expression.

‘The power of inner qi is incredible. I was able to punch such a hole through this type of unbreakable wood’, Ip An retracted his hand and thought as he observed the hole he had made.

Behind, Ip An heard someone clapping and turned around to see who it was. It was Cheng Bao, the old servant who currently held a small smile filled with many wrinkles as he clapped.

Ip An slightly bowed in thanks, “Thank you.”

Just three weeks ago, Ip An had collapsed to the ground unable to get up while on his way to his daily herbal bath. Manzi would always prepare a herbal bath for him early in the morning and would close it off with a wooden lid so its medicinal properties wouldn’t leak out while Ip An finished his training later that day.

Additionally, after the first day of training Manzi was no longer there to supervise him. Still, if Ip An didn’t show his training to be of adequate intensity later that evening then there would be punishment. Luckily, that never happened because he had squashed his hesitancy and unwillingness to do it earlier. He was here to grow stronger and here he was doing it, even if it was painful. He had to push himself by himself with no one else watching over him or directly monitoring him. It was a struggle.

Right then and there, Ip An was going to shout out for help for Manzi. Yet suddenly, Bao Cheng appeared and wordlessly picked him up from the ground, stripped him and then carefully laid down in the herbal bath. For this, he held deep gratitude towards him despite blacking out just a few moments later.

Acknowledging Bao Cheng, he walked past him and soon found himself standing in front of Manzi’s doorstep. After a few knocks, he heard Manzi’s aged voice, “Enter.”

Walking inside, Manzi was quietly turning through an aged book with a refined posture, a cup of fragrant tea sitting beside him. Surrounding the room on all sides were bookshelves filled with all kinds of books. On the ground and the nearby table were dozens of stacks of scrolls and books. From characters in big black print, the book Manzi had in his hand was titled, ‘Shaolin of Jin’. Shaolin of Jin? Was his master perhaps reading about monks?

“What is it my disciple?”, Manzi asked, not taking his eyes off the book he was reading, his eyes constantly flickering up and down the columns of writing.

Ip An cupped his hands while bowing, “Master, I have used the first form of the One Strike Arts to destroy the wooden beam in the courtyard like you have asked me to.”

Manzi left Ip An with seemingly no response for a few breaths until he set his book down, took a sip of the tea on the desk next to him which was also similarly stacked with books and scrolls before speaking with a pleased expression, “That is good to hear my disciple. To learn the first form of the One Strike Arts from zero in just six months is just what I would expect from an awakened. With this, I will now start sparring with you. Before that, I would like to personally see what you have accomplished. Come.”

As Manzi and Ip An arrived at the courtyard, Manzi ordered him, “Strike at me with your first form.”

Ip An did not hesitate and immediately fell into position. Taking a deep breath he stirred his inner qi into a massive coursing river from the bottom of his feet to the tip of his fingers in his right hand. As he punched, he exhaled his breath rapidly and aimed to hit Manzi in the stomach. As Ip An’s punch impacted his stomach, he suddenly decided to try vibrating his inner qi to see what it would do.

It was a small book that Manzi had given him, detailing seventeen forms of art called the ‘One Strike Arts’. The first form was just a single punch while twisting the lower body, and cycling some inner qi as his energy travelled from his lower body and then released through his fist. However, if one were to truly master this form they would have to be able to vibrate their inner qi when striking. At this instance, Ip An was curious and had just decided to vibrate his inner qi as the book said. Although he had never done it before, he easily manipulated the inner qi to vibrate as it had described.

Surprisingly, Manzi did not dodge or block his strike. He faced it head-on. Ip An’s blur of a punch suddenly stopped like a person stepping into a marsh as he punched hit his stomach. Though, Manzi felt the impact of it. He stood in place like a statue for a few breathes until he suddenly coughed out a small bit of blood onto his chin.

Seeing that his punch had somehow caused Manzi to cough blood he became mortified! He thought that Manzi was going to punish him very badly for this. In contrast to his thoughts, Manzi stood still with a dark expression, dark shadows forming across his protruding features. His right fist clenched tightly as he wiped the blood off of his chin and looked at Ip An with grave eyes.

“Give me your hand”, Manzi ordered.

Ip An immediately gave him his hand. He was subtly reminded of the time when he had entered the sect when Manzi asked him this. Manzi closed his eyes in a short meditation and then opened his back up a short moment later, similar to how Wei Jin, The Inner Sect Head Stewart had done.

He looked at Ip An before admitting, “I have underestimated you yet again”

He sighed, ashamed that he had not foreseen or expected Ip An’s monster-like progress, “You sensed your inner qi in one month. Learned to use it in a martial form in six months. Not just that, you also vibrated your inner qi like it was nothing. I’m afraid that I would’ve died if I hadn’t counteracted your qi with my own at the last moment.”

Manzi’s last words caused Ip An to be speechless, in disbelief of his own power and the fact he could’ve almost killed Manzi.

“As for your kicking, I do not need to see it. I have already seen while you weren’t looking. It was passable. And I hold similar expectations for you to learn inner qi techniques for kicking”, Manzi continued, “Since you have now learnt to manipulate your inner qi and achieved with your punches and kicks it is now worth my time to personally train you. I expect great things from you monkey.”

“Yes!” Ip An shouted excitedly yet internally had a feeling that his life would only be filled with only more pain-filled training.