Martial Arts: My talent multiplier increased

When Fang Yuan woke up, the sunlight had already crept through the window to the foot of the bed.

His consciousness struggled out of a thick, hazy fog, like an archer rising from the bottom of mud. Every muscle in his body was screaming an alarm. Not of pain, but of emptiness.

The concentration of Qi and blood in the meridians plummeted from its peak of 9 times the root bone last night back to a base of 4 times the root bone. The drop was too great. The meridian walls still maintained the diameter widened by the first layer of the Breakthrough Pill, but the Qi and blood inside were only 60% of their normal capacity.

open.

My meridians felt faintly sore in the open space.

Fang Yuan's eyelids opened a crack.

On the right.

A head lay sprawled on the edge of the bed. Hair was disheveled. Only half of the crooked rope remained of the two small tufts of hair. One hand gripped the locust branch that had been brought from the Grade A courtyard. The fingers were clenched tightly, and a ring of bark fragments was embedded in the knuckles.

Fang Ying.

Her face was pressed against the hardwood edge of the bed, one side flushed red while the other paled. A trace of dried drool clung to the corner of her mouth. Her breathing was extremely shallow.

Fang Yuan's left hand emerged from under the blanket. He touched Fang Ying's forehead with the back of his hand.

The temperature is normal.

On the left. A bowl of medicinal soup. Completely cooled. A layer of brown medicinal film had formed on the inside of the bowl. The smell of the medicinal soup—Fang Yuan's sense of smell had decreased by at least 40% due to his weakened state—but he could still distinguish two layers.

The outer layer is the bitter taste of ginseng rootlets. The inner layer—

Yangyan Dan is purely yang and spicy.

Liu Ruyan.

Fang Yuan's 8x standing meditation technique underwent a full-body assessment at the weakened baseline.

Two cuts on my left arm. Dark red scabs have formed. The scabs are dry. There are no signs of infection. Someone applied a medicinal powder to the wounds—the powder is the color of Baicaotang hemostatic powder.

Right shoulder. A cut. It's been bandaged. The gauze is wrapped three times. The technique was unprofessional—it's wrapped too tightly, leaving two red marks. But it's effective at stopping the bleeding.

Five blood-streaked puncture wounds in his chest. All were sealed with ointment. The ointment was a dark gold color.

It's not a medicine from Baicaotang.

It was Liu Ruyan's doing. Dark gold—she used the pharmacological properties of Yangyan Dan to create an external ointment. The pure yang medicinal properties seeped into the wound, sealing the blood while repairing the micro-damage caused by blood vessels eroding the ends of the meridians.

Fang Yuan performed an internal sweep using his 8x power of stance training.

The micro-cracks in the meridian wall are still there, but they haven't widened.

Liu Ruyan's topical ointment slowed the expansion of the micro-cracks. It didn't repair them; it suppressed them, buying time for the body to heal itself.

When did she arrive?

Fang Yuan didn't know. He had no recollection of what happened after he fainted. But judging from how cold the medicine had become—it had been sitting there for at least two hours. Liu Ruyan brought the medicine, treated his wounds, and then left.

Before he woke up.

Fang Yuan looked away from the medicine bowl.

He tried to sit up.

A dull ache shot through the area where the knee struck my abdomen. The bruising hadn't faded yet. The spaces between my ribs ached slightly when I breathed—not from a fracture. It was the diaphragm and intercostal muscles still recovering their elasticity after the internal organ concussion.

Fang Yuan propped himself up against the headboard.

Fang Ying stirred slightly on the edge of the bed. She didn't wake up. She mumbled something indistinctly.

"...Brother...don't go..."

Fang Yuan placed his left hand on Fang Ying's head. He ran his fingers through her disheveled hair. He didn't speak.

Outside.

Footsteps.

It wasn't just one person. It was the sound of three people's footsteps overlapping. The first two were the sounds of leather boots on the stone slabs—hard soles, fast rhythm—the standard leather boots of the city guards. The last one was in cloth shoes, the steps steady, the spacing even.

Fang Lin.

Even in his weakened state, Fang Yuan's 8x stance training allowed him to discern the frequency of Fang Lin's footsteps from the sound patterns of his footsteps.

The door was pushed open.

Fang Lin stood at the doorway. His face was a little paler than the night before. His lips were chapped. He no longer held the dagger; instead, he clutched a tray. On the tray were a bowl of porridge and two steamed buns.

Fang Lin's gaze lingered on Fang Yuan's face.

His Adam's apple bobbed. There was so much in that movement—Fang Yuan's eight times stance training was only deciphered to two layers with its weakened precision.

First layer. Pine. The kind of pine that makes you feel like you're seeing people still alive.

The second layer. Something deeper than the pine. A thin, watery light shimmered at the bottom of Fang Lin's eyes. But it didn't fall.

Fang Lin placed the tray on the bedside table. He turned around.

"Young Master. Instructor Fang Yuanshan is waiting in the front hall."

Fang Yuan's doubled spiritual perception swept over Fang Lin's back the instant he turned around—his spine was ramrod straight. But his left hand trembled slightly at his side.

Fang Yuan didn't call out to him.

Fang Lin walked out. The distance between his steps—Fang Yuan counted—was two centimeters shorter than usual. Shortened stride. A tense person will shorten their stride when walking.

Fang Lin had been guarding behind the door all night. His fingers gripped the short dagger so tightly that his knuckles turned purple. The door trembled incessantly from the aftershocks of the two combatants at the Qi and Blood Realm level. He didn't move an inch.

Fang Yuan threw back the blanket, put his feet on the ground, and stood up.

My knees were sore. The 8x stance training had brought my quadriceps to a level just enough to support my weight. I swayed slightly. Then I stabilized.

He walked to the table, picked up the now-cold medicine, and gulped it down.

Bitter. The ginseng flavor seeped from the back of the tongue into the stomach wall. Then, the pure yang spiciness rose from beneath the bitterness, traveling along the tiny cracks in the meridians.

Aching and swelling.

The tiny cracks in the meridian walls contract slightly under the stimulation of the pure yang medicinal properties—a precursor to repair.

Fang Yuan put the bowl down.

He picked up the bowl of porridge. He took three sips. He chewed a steamed bun. He then put the second one in his pocket.

Fang Ying was still lying on the edge of the bed. Fang Yuan draped the corner of the blanket over her shoulder.

go out.

-

lobby.

Fang Yuanshan sat behind the long table. A long sword stood upright on a knife rack beside the table. The blade was clean. There was no blood.

Fang Yuanshan had removed his armor. He was wearing his usual blue cloth long gown. But on the right shoulder of the gown—Fang Yuan's gaze swept over it—there was a two-inch-long tear. It had been sewn up, the stitching rough. It wasn't Fang Lin's work. Fang Yuanshan had sewn it himself.

When Fang Yuanshan saw Fang Yuan walk in, he lifted his finger from an official document on the table.

His gaze swept from Fang Yuan's face to his feet.

From the bandaged right shoulder, to the five dark gold ointments sealing the holes in the gray-blue short-sleeved shirt, to the bruises on the waist—the edges of which the short-sleeved shirt couldn't cover revealed a patch of bluish-purple.

Fang Yuanshan pursed his lips slightly.

Fang Yuan had seen that gesture on his face many times before. It was Fang Yuanshan suppressing some kind of emotion.

"sit."

Fang Yuan sat down opposite the long table. As his lower back leaned against the chair back, a pulling sensation came from the bruised area on his abdomen. He didn't make a sound.

Fang Yuanshan pushed the official documents on the table toward him.

Fang Yuan looked down.

The first document. An emergency announcement from the City Lord's Mansion. Stamped with Xiao Zhennan's City Lord's seal. Content—

"...The Blood Demon Cult's Liangshui City branch colluded with traitors within the city, plotting to destroy it. The city guards, together with righteous men, bravely resisted and defeated the bandits. The branch leader, 'Blood Bat Dharma King,' was killed that very night. Li Jue, the young master of the Li family, and Zhao Biao, a squad leader of the city guards, were found guilty of treason and have been apprehended and are awaiting trial according to the law..."

Fang Yuan's gaze lingered for a moment on the words "City Guards and Righteous Men in the City".

City Guard.

Where were the city guards last night?

The city guards increased patrols at the city gates and along the four main streets. Xiao Zhennan extended the patrol intervals at the northwest corner of the city to an hour. Twelve evil cultivators from the Blood Demon Cult entered from the northwest corner. Fang Yuan killed them all by himself.

The city guards did not participate in the battle in the northwest corner of the city, nor did they participate in the battle in the inner courtyard of the Fang family's main residence.

Xiao Zhennan's announcement stated, "The city's defense forces unite with righteous men in the city."

Fang Yuan's lips twitched slightly.

Old fox.

The second document. Fang Yuanshan's handwritten report.