Elderly Martial Saint: Sixty Times the Cultivation Speed ​​at the Start

The next morning.

The Yi family's courtyard was still shrouded in a thin morning mist. Only Yi Yang was in the courtyard; he had gotten up very early today.

Time waits for no one. Yi Yang doesn't know when Yang Da will return, so he needs to seize the opportunity to improve his strength.

He sat under the eaves, wearing an old short jacket, with the thin book he had taken from Wang Yue lying on his lap.

Nine Peaks Blade.

Yi Yang turned to the first page, and the first thing he saw was a line of warning.

The sword was drawn from nine peaks, and when the peaks ended, all people perished.

Leave the enemy a way out, and they will suffer the consequences.

Yi Yang's finger hovered over those two lines of text for a long time without turning the page. He guessed that the warning meant that drawing the knife meant killing someone.

"It suits the old man's taste."

He muttered to himself, and Yi Yang continued reading.

The more I look at it, the more I realize that "Nine Peaks Blade" is no ordinary book.

It's not the rudimentary swordsmanship of ordinary martial arts schools, which involves slashing, chopping, parrying, and blocking.

This knife speaks of nine peaks.

The first peak is thick, its imposing presence like a knife, describing a mountain lying horizontally, forcing the opponent to retreat with nowhere to go.

The second peak is treacherous; the blade strikes unpredictably, as the cliff hangs in mid-air when the attack is made, and a single misstep will result in certain death.

The third peak is sharp, its tip flicking and spitting out, aiming to strike vital points such as the throat, wrist, and knee.

Further on are the characters: 奇 (qi), 叠 (die), 断 (duan), 回 (hui), 藏 (cang), and 绝 (jue).

The path of the sword winds through nine peaks, not in a straight line, but as a mountain range.

It looks slow, but it's actually a life-threatening situation at every step.

It looks heavy, but it can turn into a sinister change at the most dangerous point.

It's no wonder Wang Yue was able to kill Li Shun with this sword technique.

Li Shun's Nine Evils Blade Technique was already tricky enough, but the Nine Peaks Blade Technique was even more profound, a truly superior martial art.

Yi Yang read slower and slower, reviewing the sword techniques in his mind after each paragraph.

He chopped firewood for decades.

The machete in his hands was no longer a farming tool.

He doesn't need to think about where to use his wrists, where to use his shoulders, or where to use his waist and abdomen to generate power.

Cut wet branches in spring, split hardwood in summer, and chop frozen firewood in winter.

Wood may not speak, but it is the best at teaching people how to save effort.

The cut missed, and the knife got stuck.

Using brute force will cause your hands to tremble and go numb.

Find the right grain, make one cut, and the wood will separate on its own.

Reading "Nine Peaks Blade" now, Yi Yang realizes that killing and chopping wood are not so different in some ways.

Humans also have textures.

Joints, muscles, breathing, escape route.

If the knife lands in the right spot, it saves effort.

If you strike in the wrong place, no matter how fiercely you cut, you'll only cause trouble for yourself.

Yi Yang closed the booklet, rubbed his eyes, and said he was getting tired of reading.

He tucked the booklet into his pocket, picked up the old wood-chopping knife, and went to the most secluded corner of the yard.

It was behind the courtyard gate, and outside the wall was a patch of weeds, so Jiang Yuexin's house couldn't see it.

Yi Yang stood still, his feet firmly planted, his waist and abdomen slightly tucked in.

The machete lay across his body; it was the same old machete, its back gleaming from being polished, and its blade uneven.

But when held in Yi Yang's hands, it no longer looked shabby.

It's more like an old companion that has been with its owner for decades.

He started by working on the first peak in the booklet.

Thick peak.

Lift the knife from bottom to top, then press it down.

Looks clumsy.

As it falls, the force of the entire arm is channeled into the blade.

call.

The wind from the blade brushed past the grass, cutting a weed in the corner in half, leaving a clean cut.

Yi Yang raised his eyelids slightly.

"That's interesting."

Second move.

Dangerous peak.

He stepped forward diagonally, the blade circling around his side. It was supposed to slash at the shoulder, but it changed direction in the last half foot, aiming for the waist and abdomen.

If the enemy only blocks the upper body, the stomach will have to be opened.

The third move.

Ruifeng.

The tip of the knife points out.

Fast, short, and ruthless.

Yi Yang practiced more and more smoothly, and his decades of experience chopping wood were brought to the fore at this moment.

There wasn't a single stiff spot in his shoulders, elbows, wrists, or fingers.

The machete twirled in his hand, like a mountain path winding around a peak; one step was under his feet, the next he was at the edge of a cliff.

His physique wasn't dashing; after all, he still looked like an old man.

His back wasn't as straight as a teenager's, and his steps weren't as light and agile as a young martial artist's.

But that ruthlessness was frighteningly solid.

One strike, and there's nothing left to lose.

If you can cut off the neck, never cut off the shoulder.

I'd rather break a leg than tear clothes.

If you can finish it off in one fell swoop, don't waste any more time.

The sword's momentum increased rapidly.

Yi Yang was able to keep it under control at first, but later he couldn't.

The evil of "Nine Peaks Blade" lies here.

It's not a knife for practicing stances.

It compels people to move forward.

One peak presses down on another, one sword urges on another.

If there's no blood at the front, there's no way to stop later.

Yi Yang frowned, turned his blade, and slashed directly at the broken ironwood stump in the corner of the wall.

Click.

The ironwood is cracked.

not enough.

The momentum of the blade continued.

Yi Yang stepped forward again, slashing diagonally with his second sword, then horizontally with his third, and finally sweeping up from below with his fourth.

The remaining ironwood stumps were chopped down, sending wood chips flying everywhere.

The momentum of the knife only subsided when the ninth cut was made, slicing the entire piece of hardwood into seven or eight pieces that were scattered on the ground.

Yi Yang's chest heaved, and his arms ached.

Small characters appeared before my eyes.

An old steed in its stall may still aspire to gallop a thousand miles.

[Nine Peaks Saber Basics: (60/3000)]

It became.

Yi Yang stared at the line of words, not looking away for a long time.

Sixty points per round.

Yi Yang realized that this destiny was terrifying. Although he had a background in chopping wood, he was able to learn such a superior martial art after just one lesson. It was all thanks to this destiny.

If people found out that he has no qualification requirements or bottlenecks, and that practicing once is equivalent to practicing sixty times, not only Yunlin County, but all the sects and families in Qingzhou would go crazy.

Yi Yang has lived long enough to understand an ironclad rule.

When you're weak, you expose your treasures by washing yourself clean and placing yourself on the stove.

True deterrence comes from displaying one's strength when one is powerful.

That's far from enough right now.

After practicing it once, Yi Yang felt that this sword technique was much more energy-consuming than the Yi Mu Health Preservation Exercise.

Yi Yang leaned against the wall and caught his breath.

"Without drawing blood, it's difficult to sheathe the sword."

He looked down at the wood-chopping knife.

"No wonder it's called the superior art of killing."

After resting for a while, Yi Yang practiced again.

Second time.

The third time.

The glint of blades flashed repeatedly in the side courtyard.

The leaves of the old locust tree rustled softly in the wind.

The pile of broken wood in the corner kept growing.

Two hours later, Yi Yang finally couldn't hold on any longer.

The machete slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

He lay on his back in the courtyard, his chest heaving violently, his clothes soaked with sweat, looking as if he had just been pulled out of a ditch.

The panel displays the progress: [Nine Peaks Knife Basics: (300/3000)]

Qi and blood are in dual stages, reaching the realm of flesh training.

If it were placed in Miki Village, it would be able to do whatever it wants.

Even if one can wield the Nine Peaks Blade, one still can't last long; one can only practice it about five times.

"ruthless."

Yi Yang looked up at the locust leaves above his head, panting as he cursed.

"That's ruthless."

But after he finished cursing, he chuckled softly.

Even at the very beginning of practice, it was like this.

If one masters the art to a high level, who in the same realm would dare to engage in close combat with him?

As soon as the blade was drawn, the nine peaks pressed down.

Even if you don't die, you'll still be skinned alive.

Around noon.

Familiar footsteps came from outside the courtyard gate, hurried and hurried, as if a dog was chasing them.

"Uncle Yi! Yuexin! I'm here!"

Yang Hui pushed open the door and came in, carrying a cleaned pheasant in her hand.

The chicken feathers were plucked clean, and its belly was emptied, indicating that she had already taken care of it on the way.

"I bought it from Zhou Liang this morning."

Yang Hui put the pheasant in the kitchen and tried to lower her voice, but she couldn't suppress her anger.

"Uncle Yi survived a near-death experience on the mountain, he needs some nourishment. Don't be shy with me."

Jiang Yuexin came out of the house and saw the pheasant. Although it looked delicious, she was still embarrassed and said, "Aunt Yang, this must cost a lot of money, right?"

"Stop talking nonsense."

Yang Hui rolled up her sleeves. "Money can be earned back, but where do you find a person once they're gone? If your old grandfather can come back, I'd give him anything, even stewing a goose wouldn't be too much."

Yi Yang leaned back in the rattan chair, still looking sickly.

"Yang Hui, if you keep being so generous, I'm afraid even your pot will cry."

Yang Hui glared at him. "I don't know if the pot is crying or not, but if you keep talking nonsense, I'll make you drink only the broth from the chicken soup."

Jiang Yuexin was amused and gently pursed her lips before turning to tend the fire.

Before long, the aroma of chicken soup filled the courtyard.

The three of them sat down around the table.

While eating, Yang Hui kept telling people about the village.

"Let me tell you about what happened yesterday. Last night, the village chief sent two quick-footed young men to the county town to deliver the message."

She lowered her voice, her eyes shining brightly.

"One thing is that Yang Er is dead. That fat worm was slumped in his own chair with a knife in his neck, and a black iron plaque with a ghost face carved on it was lying next to him. The village chief said that it might have been done by some cult, but he stuttered when he spoke, so he was probably just a half-baked expert."

Yang Hui took a bite of chicken and then hummed in response.

"The other thing is that Wang Yue and his men didn't come back after they went up the mountain to get rid of the snakes. The village chief was scared; his hands were shaking so much that he wrote the letter three times. He was afraid that Yang Da would go crazy, and he was also afraid that the county government would investigate."

She slammed her chopsticks against the rim of her bowl. "Serves you right. When you were messing around with Yang Er, why didn't you think about this day coming to pass?"

Jiang Yuexin held her chopsticks and remained silent.

Yi Yang lowered his head and drank the soup. The chicken soup was hot, and the aroma of oil overpowered the smell of medicine, which also suppressed the lingering fatigue on his body.

Yang Hui added, "Yesterday, the village chief sent Zhou Liang with four hunters up the mountain. When they returned in the afternoon, Zhou Liang's face was ashen."

She glanced at the doorway to make sure no one was there before continuing. "They found Yang Dongxi and the bodies of three of Wang Yue's men in a clearing halfway up the mountain. Liu Biao, Chen Liu, and Han Zhu were all gone."

Jiang Yuexin tightened her grip on her chopsticks.

Yang Hui sighed, "They died horribly. Some had their bones broken by the snake's tail, others had their shoulders bitten through by snakes. The ground was covered in snake and human blood. Zhou Liang said that place no longer resembled a mountain forest; it looked like a butcher's stall that had been overturned."

Yi Yang picked up a piece of chicken and put it into Jiang Yuexin's bowl.

"Have a meal."

Jiang Yuexin lowered her head, ate the meat, and then put a piece on each of Yi Yang's and Yang Hui's plates.

Yang Hui continued, "But Wang Yue is not here. The body has not been found."

Yi Yang raised his eyes.

Yang Hui lowered her voice: "Zhou Liang followed the snake blood deeper into the mountains, saying that the blood became more abundant and the path more difficult the further in he went. He didn't dare to go any further."

She pouted. "He says the road is difficult, but I think he's afraid the snake might not be dead yet and he'll die. What old hunter is afraid of difficult roads?"

Zhou Liang guessed that Wang Yue either chased the wounded snake into the deep mountains, or he also perished there.

Jiang Yuexin glanced at Yi Yang, her eyes filled with lingering fear and relief.

Yi Yang ate his rice steadily, his expression indifferent.

"The snakes in the mountains are very fierce."

He mumbled, "If Constable Wang goes in, he'll most likely not make it back."

These words evoked both sympathy and relief.

It's perfectly reasonable for an old man who miraculously survived rolling down a slope to say such things.

Yang Hui sighed. "Those poor constables, they came all the way from the county town, only to lose their lives in this poor mountain village."

As the meal was coming to an end, Yang Hui helped clear the dishes and then suddenly leaned closer.

"There's one more thing."

Yi Yang paused for a moment while picking up the salted radish.

Yang Hui lowered her voice: "Zhou Liang said that he found some footprints near the open space on the mountain, which didn't resemble the six people who went up the mountain yesterday. One set of boot prints didn't belong to Wang Yue and his men. He mentioned it to the village chief, saying that there might have been other people on the mountain at that time."

Jiang Yuexin frowned.

"Anyone else?"

"Who knows?"

Yang Hui stacked the bowls up and said mysteriously.

"These days, all sorts of people can be found in the mountains: hunters, fugitives, cult members, you never know."

Yi Yang put the salted radish into his mouth and chewed it twice.

"Is that so? I'm not sure either, I passed out quite early on."

His tone was so natural that there wasn't a single flaw.

Yang Hui nodded.

"That's true. You were almost dead back then, how could you know if there was anyone around?"

She took the bowl and chopsticks and went to the well.

Jiang Yuexin, however, sat at the table, quietly watching Yi Yang.

Yi Yang picked up the soup bowl and drank the last sip.

The hot soup went down my throat, and warmth settled into my stomach.

Outside the courtyard, the noise from Sanmu Village started again.

Some people were talking about Yang Er, some about the big snake, and some about whether the people from the county town would hold them accountable.

Yi Yang put down his bowl, lowered his eyelids, and pondered, "The footprints were left by Li Shun. It's not surprising that Zhou Liang has sharp eyes, but they are just footprints."

"The wind blows all night, and the rain falls halfway through; the mountains can swallow up too much."

The real trouble isn't on the mountain.

In the county town.