Cangwu County in the late Qing Dynasty.
The stone steps carved against the mountain spiral up to the halfway point of the mountain.
Among the lush trees, three or two tiled houses can be vaguely seen, with blue bricks and green tiles, high eaves and moss on the stone courtyard walls, revealing a faint green atmosphere.
Climbing up the steps, the sun shines through the treetops and onto the stone jar filled with water in the open space in front of the tiled house.
Dozens of thin wooden piles are distributed in a plum blossom shape, with the lower half buried in the soil, and the exposed parts vary in height.
Song Xing, who was wearing a coarse ge-colored shirt and short hair, stood on these wooden stakes.
The wooden stake is less than three fingers wide, and it would be difficult for ordinary people to stand steadily on it, but Song Xing could move freely within this small area.
He changes his steps with him, moves his feet with his hands, uses them according to the situation, and moves around so fast that the naked eye can hardly capture his body shape.
From the slight shaking of the wooden piles, it can be seen that some of the wooden piles are only shallowly inserted into the ground. If they come into contact even slightly, they will keep shaking and appear extremely unstable.
Even so, Song Xing's speed did not slow down at all.
His feet kept moving, but the strength of his fists increased layer by layer. Every time he punched out, there was a faint thunder-like sound in the air.
When the speed reached its peak, Song Xing paused suddenly, then closed his fists, exhaled, and jumped off the stake.
When he came to the stone jar, he hugged the stone jar with both hands and exerted force with both arms. He steadily lifted the stone jar weighing hundreds of kilograms.
As his steps turned, his toes exerted force slightly, like a nimble ape, Song Xing jumped onto the wooden stake again and started a new round of practice.
Holding the moon in his arms, wading with chicken legs in the mud, no matter how the wooden stake shook, Song Xing still walked on flat ground, his upper body not shaking at all, and not a drop of water in the stone vat in his arms was spilled.
Less than half an hour later, Song Xing jumped off the wooden pile again and put down the stone jar lightly. Without blushing or panting, he walked towards the back of the tiled house without stopping.
Behind the tile house is a dilapidated woodshed, and several pieces of wasteland have been reclaimed next to it, where several fruits and vegetables common in this season have been planted.
In an open space in the distance, a fence was built and several chickens and ducks were raised.
Chu Luozhao, who was wearing a gray cloth robe and gray hair, was squatting at the head of the field, carefully tending his dozens of coriander plants.
Eating noodles without coriander is like eating dumplings without vinegar, lacking a soul, Chu Luozhao said to Song Xing.
"Have you finished practicing?"
Hearing the footsteps behind him, Chu Luozhao asked.
"Yes," Song Xing replied, then came to the field, picked a handful of coriander, and picked a few fresh spinach next to it.
"You're so hairy, don't step on it." Chu Luozhao frowned slightly and said dissatisfied.
"There are so many. How can I crush a few to death?"
Song Xing raised his eyebrows and smiled, strolled into the firewood shed next to him, picked up a few dried firewood, used his fingers to split the firewood directly, and then started a pot to light a fire.
After the water in the pot boils, add the slender noodles. Song Xing puts the washed vegetables on the chopping board and chops them finely.
Then take the noodles out, run them through cold water first, then put them into two large porcelain bowls, pour the soup made from river fish, and finally sprinkle the vegetables evenly on the noodles.
Chu Luozhao's bowl contained coriander and spinach, while Song Xing's bowl contained only spinach.
Song Xing doesn't like coriander or anything like that, he doesn't like to eat it.
After hearing Song Xing's greeting, Chu Luozhao stood up from the field, came to the kitchen, picked up the porcelain bowl, and started eating slowly.
A simple bowl of bamboo noodles, cooked by Song Xing, exuded an alluring aroma, was crispy and chewy, and the soup was delicious. The master and the apprentice ate it very well.
In the five years since he came to this dynasty, in addition to practicing martial arts, Song Xing also developed good cooking skills.
Song Xing's practice consumed a lot of money. Chu Luozhao only ate one bowl of noodles in the pot, and the rest went into Song Xing's stomach.
After Song Xing put down his chopsticks after finishing his meal, Chu Luozhao pondered for a moment and said thoughtfully: "Have you encountered a bottleneck in your practice recently?"
Song Xing nodded and said: "The strength penetrates the whole body, but it seems that it is still a little short of the ability to regulate the five internal organs as you said, master."
Chu Luozhao was not surprised: "You have reached great success in Fanxing Zhuang, and your martial arts skills in the boxing frame have reached an extremely deep level."
Looking at Song Xing's young face, a look of satisfaction flashed in Chu Luozhao's eyes: "It took five years of training to reach this point. In fifty years, as far as I know, there are only two or three people."
"The next step is to rely on water milling skills. The true form contains the true spirit, and it will happen naturally."
After listening to Chu Luozhao's words, Song Xing was thoughtful, then stood up and put away the dishes.
After finishing the work in the kitchen, Song Xing fed the chickens and ducks, and then followed Chu Luozhao to the front hall of the tile house.
Chu Luozhao was old and lacked energy, so he found a sunny place and basked in the sun.
Song Xing made a cup of hot tea for his master, put it next to Chu Luozhao, and then ran to the side to do his own thing.
Chu Luozhao took out his pipe, lit it for himself, and took a few puffs. He turned around and saw Song Xing holding an old book, reading with gusto.
"Taiping Guangji" is a legendary novel about gods and monsters written by the Song Dynasty.
"Master, tell me, are there any gods in this world?"
As if sensing Chu Luozhao's gaze, Song Xing asked abruptly.
"Have you still not given up on that unrealistic fantasy?"
"Just asking." Song Xing didn't look up.
"There are naturally no gods in the world. The theory of gods and immortals is just the spiritual sustenance of the ancients. Those of us who practice martial arts believe in martial arts and ourselves. We respect gods but do not fear them!"
Chu Luozhao picked up the tea, blew on it, and drank it all in one gulp.
Five years ago, he met Song Xing, who was about to starve to death. He took pity on him and took him as his apprentice.
In the past five years, Song Xing's talent in martial arts has given Chu Luozhao too many surprises. Five years of practice is worth twenty years for others.
But three years ago, Song Xing began to collect some strange novels, and from time to time he went to the people to investigate some weird and unusual things.
Chu Luozhao, who has lived for more than sixty years, has encountered supernatural things, but has never seen the so-called gods. Naturally, he advised his only disciple not to put too much energy on these things, so as not to delay his practice. .
With Song Xing's talent, if he could concentrate on martial arts, he might be able to reach the legendary realm of transcendence and sainthood.
After hearing Chu Luozhao's affirmative reply, Song Xing didn't speak, but just looked at the book in his hand quietly.
"Take the herbs to Shopkeeper Qian later and exchange them for some rice."
Seeing that Song Xing didn't respond, Chu Luozhao didn't care and ordered.
The mountains are barren. Apart from growing some vegetables, the whole family has nothing to do. They occasionally pick some herbs in the mountains and exchange them for some money at the foot of the mountain to survive.
"Old money is dead."
Song Xing put down Taiping Guangji in his hand, looked at Chu Luozhao and said.
"Well?"
Chu Luozhao raised his head and looked over with some surprise.
"It is said that I harvested a root of Laoshan Ginseng. The county government said that the Queen Mother was celebrating her birthday and asked Laoqian to donate it, but Laoqian refused."
Song Xing didn't finish what he said next, but Chu Luozhao understood it.
The old man took a deep puff on his pipe: "This damn world!"
Song Xing didn't speak, he just lowered his head and looked at the legend in his hand that he had not yet finished reading, Xin Pingping's Immortal.
The so-called morality is rarely seen in this world, but fortunately, there is still a knife.
