Despite his unease, Su Jie never stopped studying.

Ever since he had mastered external hard-style martial arts, the intensity of his training had doubled, yet he no longer felt tired.

He still hadn’t moved on to practicing other techniques—just relentlessly repeated the move known as the “Hoe Strike.” He had trained it to the point where its extension and contraction were dragon-like, its rise and fall stirred wind and clouds. It howled like a tiger descending a mountain, cried like a crane soaring across the skies, slithered like a snake through the grass, squatted like a bear uprooting trees, leapt like a monkey scaling cliffs, and called like a rooster announcing dawn across the world.

He had pushed this single move’s form to the peak of perfection.

Now, his focus had shifted to cultivating his intent and mind.

Aside from physical training each day, he placed greater emphasis on his cultural and intellectual development.

At school, during his spare time, Su Jie practiced calligraphy in the calligraphy and painting room.

He attended one of the top high schools in the nation—well-staffed and well-equipped. The school boasted not only gyms, computer labs, music rooms, and rooms for calligraphy, painting, and chess (both Go and Chinese chess), but even a swimming pool.

At the calligraphy table, Su Jie wielded his brush like a dragon in flight, producing a neat and orderly script.

“The Way has no root and no stem, no leaves and no bloom, yet all things are born of it, and all things are completed through it.”

This line came from Guanzi: Chapter on Inner Work.

This passage explored cultivation of the mind, health, and breath training.

After writing this, he added two large characters: “Rootless.”

Then, he copied down a verse:

“A rootless tree, its blossoms faint—

Who’d truly quit this lust for fame?

Life adrift, a boat on pain—

Tossed by waves, no freedom gained.

No shore, no port, no rope to bind,

Swimming in peril, beasts entwined.

Should you turn back—look ahead!

Lest storm and tide sink what you tread.” (G: I enjoyed that)

The author of this poem was Zhang Sanfeng!

Last time, Uncle Mang had urged him to read more of the writings of sages like Wang Chongyang and Zhang Sanfeng, to find guidance in mental cultivation. Su Jie had been gathering materials ever since, carefully reading and digesting them. However, his foundation was still shallow, and he hadn’t made much progress.

But after staying for a month at Master Ma’s rural estate and consulting him on many matters, his knowledge had begun to deepen. Now, he was starting to grasp these ancient cultivation texts on a much more meaningful level.

Zhang Sanfeng, the legendary Daoist, had been mythologized—rumored to be the founder of Taijiquan. He’s been portrayed in countless TV dramas, movies, novels, and even recorded in The History of the Ming Dynasty. Whether those tales are true or not didn’t concern Su Jie. What mattered was extracting the essence of the ancients’ thinking.

A thousand years of cultural heritage—regardless of how these people were buried by the dust of history, their ideas could transcend time and engage in dialogue with modern minds.

Each time he read the works of these sages, Su Jie felt that although ancient people lacked advanced technology, some true sages had a level of inner cultivation that modern people could hardly reach. Precisely because they lived in a world of material scarcity—devoid of today’s flashy distractions—they were able to focus inward and uncover deeper truths for self-cultivation.

Of course, Su Jie didn’t believe that modern science and technology were bad or that the ancients were always right. But when it came to personal development and inner cultivation, the ancients definitely had the edge—an edge worth learning from.

When it came to physical training, modern technology offered undeniable advantages.

Drawing from both traditions was the path chosen by many modern masters.

People like the “God Maker” Odell, Uncle Mang, and Master Ma.

All of them were highly educated—not those so-called “masters” of the back-alley, fringe variety.

Old Chen, on the other hand, didn’t have much formal education. His Taijiquan had been passed down through generations. Yet he only taught the physical techniques—never embellishing or exaggerating them. That, in itself, spoke volumes about his character.

As Su Jie continued writing the Rootless Verse with his brush, he felt a radiant clarity settle into his spirit. All stray thoughts and mental clutter seemed to flow out through the tip of his brush.

Every stroke, every hook, every horizontal or vertical line was a form of mental refinement, a forging of spirit—and also a kind of martial training.

Suddenly, Su Jie realized how profoundly similar calligraphy was to martial arts. The strokes of the brush followed the flow of intention throughout the body, then spilled forth from the tip with graceful power. This not only trained his essence, energy, and spirit—it was a full-body workout.

The brush was a weapon. The brushstrokes, combat techniques.

With deep enough mastery, every line and curve carried its own spirit.

Master Ma had judged that his mental state had already reached the peak of the second level of the Great Corpse State—”Seems dead but not truly dead”—a state akin to neither thought nor no-thought. When still, Su Jie couldn’t even tell whether he had thoughts or not.

Very few people in the world are able to cultivate their practice to this level.

But Su Jie knew that without a breakthrough, his martial arts would stagnate here.

To reach the third level of mental state—”Living Dead”, which means “the heart is dead, but the spirit lives”—was essential for a tremendous leap in his skills.

Everything he was doing now, every move and action, was in preparation for this goal—like squatting deeply before a jump.

He had found his core objective, and he could occasionally sense the wonder of that mental state.

Once he crossed that threshold, untold treasures and wealth would be within reach.

And this treasure was more important than mountains of gold and silver in the real world—because it represented spiritual fulfillment.

He felt that if he reached this state, even if he had nothing, was plagued by illness, old and feeble, and living at the very bottom of society—he would still be the richest person in the world.

“Life and death mean nothing to me, fame and fortune are but passing clouds.”

Before he realized it, Su Jie had written these two lines—they were born of his feelings in that moment.

Only after finishing did he notice what he had written. He crumpled the paper and threw it into the bin, then left the study.

Every day of training brought fresh insight.

Compared to his current state, his previous life felt like that of a walking corpse—only now did he truly feel “alive.”

*****

Meanwhile, in S City.

The headquarters of the Haoyu Group towered sky-high, long since one of the city’s landmark buildings.

The structure was built entirely from modern, eco-friendly, high-tech materials. From the outside, it was a sweeping curve of glass—distorted, flamboyant—a futuristic, sci-fi aesthetic that marked it as a tech company.

At the top of the building was a private residence reserved for the chairman. Without his permission, no one could enter. It was the absolute command center and a closely guarded secret of the Haoyu Group.

Even Feng Yuxuan couldn’t get in without clearance.

Because this was the office of Haoyu Group’s supreme leader—Feng Shoucheng.

Outside, the building screamed sci-fi. But inside the office, it was classic Chinese style—simple, understated. On the ceiling was a Taiji yin-yang symbol.

Beneath the Taiji symbol stood a massive three-dimensional globe used as a feng shui orb. Oceans, continents, countries—all were raised in relief and clearly visible.

The globe stood taller than a person, dominating the center of the office and drawing all attention.

At this moment, there were two people in the room.

One was none other than Feng Shoucheng, chairman of Haoyu Group. Though already over sixty, he looked like a man in his early forties—exceptionally well-maintained, with not a single gray hair.

The other was an elderly man in his eighties or nineties, wearing traditional Tang-style clothing. In his hand was a bamboo tube filled with divination sticks, which he was shaking rhythmically, producing a constant clatter.

“Draw a stick,” the old man said, holding out the bamboo tube. “No peeking, no choosing. If you do, it’s useless. The moment must align, inspiration must flash—only then can we glimpse the future.”

Without hesitation, Feng Shoucheng drew a stick.

It was engraved with symbols most people wouldn’t understand.

The old man pulled out an aged book, compared the symbols, and found two lines of poetry:

“When fortune smiles, heaven and earth lend their aid;

When luck departs, even heroes are shackled.”

Feng Shoucheng leaned in to see his fortune. Upon reading the lines, his face darkened. He knew their meaning well: when luck is on your side, even ghosts and gods help you, and miraculous opportunities seem to fall from the sky. But once luck fades, even unmatched heroes like Xiang Yu or Zhuge Liang meet tragic ends.

“Indeed. This points to your future—and that of the Haoyu Group,” the old man said. “Your fate is formidable but volatile. You’re prone to meteoric rise and sudden fall. You were born with wealth and power in your destiny, but only for ten years. After that, misfortune—perhaps even prison—was to follow. What comes fast also goes fast. But you sensed this on your own, sought help from wise men, and by sheer luck found me. You helped me in a great time of need and promised to support my family for generations. That bound our fates together. So I risked it all to help you—changed your fate, your feng shui, recalculated your destiny. I broke the ten-year catastrophe and gave you twenty years of good fortune. Haoyu Group’s success today is already pushing the limit. Going further will be extremely difficult.”

“I know that every ten years brings a challenge. But look at Haoyu now—booming, massive cash flow. I have many capable sons, and even my daughter is starting to shine. With this wealth, this power, this concentration of people’s energy, can we not overcome a downturn?” Feng Shoucheng asked.

“No.” The old man shook his head. “When luck leaves, even heroes are helpless. If they can’t resist it—what chance do we have?”

“I see no signs of Haoyu declining—on the contrary, we’re like oil on a blazing fire. But one must be cautious in prosperity. The more peaceful the times, the more we must walk on thin ice. I understand that,” Feng Shoucheng said. “That’s why I’ve been fasting these seven days, praying with sincerity, and now drawing another fortune—to seek insight. Who would’ve thought I’d get lines like these? Is fate truly unchangeable? Am I to sit and await disaster?”

“Of course fate can be changed—otherwise, how would you be where you are now?” the old man said. “Your ability to remain vigilant in comfort—that alone shifts destiny. If fate were fixed, we might as well lie around waiting to die.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep