Chapter Three: Stepping into Cultivation, the Constable Requests a Painting

A new section had appeared on the light screen, presumably resulting from Anle’s mastery of the “Qi Channeling and Breathing Art.” Yet what intrigued him most was the “0 strand” indicator beside the Qi Channeling and Breathing Art. The “Cultivation Genius” Dao Fruit also bore a (0/10 strands) prompt, though it differed from the breathing technique’s notation. Was this a growth cap? Measured in strands—did it mean imbued spiritual energy, or was it awaiting the infusion of the “Essence of Time”?

Turning the question over in his mind, Anle focused his thoughts and allocated one strand of Essence of Time to the Qi Channeling and Breathing Art. As expected, a thought surfaced, and the light screen changed.

Mastered Technique: Qi Channeling and Breathing Art (1 strand)

Now only one strand remained under the Essence of Time section.

Was there any change?

Anle furrowed his brow, closed his eyes, and began to practice the breathing art again. As soon as he shut his eyes, a single strand of gray Essence of Time burned away, and a vision appeared: Fairy Yunrou, still a little girl, sat cross-legged practicing the breathing art. Soon, Little Yunrou completed the technique, drawing in the spiritual energy of heaven and earth. As she cheered, the vision faded.

Anle immediately opened his eyes. The technique, which had previously felt obscure, now came to him with astonishing familiarity. He even succeeded in channeling a strand of spiritual energy into his body, circulating it through his meridians.

“I did it!” Anle was beside himself with joy. He continued practicing the technique, and within a breath or two, another strand of deep blue spiritual energy was drawn forth!

Anle grew ever more certain of his understanding and speculation about the Essence of Time. The first time Yunrou drew in spiritual energy from heaven and earth, though not a particularly glorious moment for her, it was nonetheless a small milestone worth recording. Such memorable moments condensed into the Essence of Time.

Through this Essence of Time, Anle could experience and even replicate the state of Yunrou at that moment, enabling him to master the breathing art with ease.

His spirits soared; his eyes burned with insight.

Having truly discerned the function of the Essence of Time, Anle felt his heart blaze with excitement. He yearned to rush straight to West Lake and embrace Fairy Yunrou, extracting as much essence as possible! Since she was the only one he’d found to possess the Essence of Time, he might as well focus on her.

The more Essence of Time, the better!

Calming his excitement, Anle chose not to add the remaining strand of essence to the “Cultivation Genius” Dao Fruit. Instead, he stood up and began to practice boxing in his room—the truncated Zhao Ancestor Long Fist, now reduced to just three basic moves.

Martial arts remained martial arts; even with only three punches, Anle initially performed them poorly. Though he knew the form in his mind, his execution was awkward. Yet under the Dao Fruit’s blessing, after practicing three times, he could barely perform them properly.

Meanwhile, a new section appeared on the light screen:

Mastered Skill: Zhao Ancestor Long Fist (Incomplete) (0 strands)

He considered, then allocated the last remaining strand of Essence of Time to the Zhao Ancestor Long Fist.

The gray essence burned, and a vision appeared as expected.

Snow fell thickly. Little Yunrou, clad in a cotton jacket and as delicate as carved jade, faced a young boy, both ready for a duel as if at the summit of the Forbidden City. With an angry shout, Yunrou charged forth, expertly landing three punches with the Long Fist. The boy’s nose bled, and he collapsed onto the ground, bawling. Yunrou stood triumphant, hands on her hips, head held high like a victorious general.

The vision faded.

Anle couldn't help but laugh. That Fairy Yunrou had reduced a boy to tears with the Zhao Ancestor Long Fist—could this be considered a notable moment? Judging by her expression, she must have been quite proud then.

With the essence infused into the Long Fist, Anle felt as though he followed Yunrou down the river of time, grasping the true essence and understanding of the move. He threw punches in his room, fierce and vigorous, moving from total ignorance to proficiency.

Alas, there were only three moves—leaving him unsatisfied.

Anle was filled with regret, secretly vowing to collect more complete cultivation methods in the future. Yet truly perfected techniques were not something one could simply purchase at a bookstore; they were reserved for major sects or government-established cultivation factions.

Of course, the black market could also provide cultivation manuals, but at exorbitant prices—far beyond what Anle, who now struggled to pay rent, could afford.

“Money, always money—no matter my golden finger, without money, I’m powerless.” Anle groaned.

A penny can thwart a hero.

But then a thought struck him. Now that he had drawn in spiritual energy and begun his cultivation, could he register at the magistrate’s office and receive a stipend?

Thirty taels of silver a month—not enough to buy true manuals, but sufficient to cover his rent.

He glanced at the sky; dawn was breaking in the east. Immersed in cultivation, he had let the night slip by unnoticed.

He decided not to sleep, washed up, and prepared to visit the magistrate to see if he could collect any silver.

Before he could leave, his door was knocked upon.

“Master An, are you in?” called the inn’s attendant.

“What’s the matter?” Anle inquired, puzzled.

“There’s an officer downstairs looking for you. You’d best come down,” the attendant replied hastily.

Anle was taken aback—an officer seeking him?

He hadn’t done anything against the laws of Great Zhao; since arriving in the capital, he’d spent most of his time by West Lake, watching flower boats, trying to benefit for free—was that illegal?

With a clear conscience, Anle was unhurried as he opened the door and followed the attendant out.

In these times, common folk still feared government officers.

Hearing that Anle was sought by the authorities, the attendant instinctively kept his distance, thinking perhaps Anle had committed a crime.

Downstairs, the dining area of the inn was furnished with tables and benches. A burly figure in constable’s garb, sword at his waist, sat boldly on a bench, drinking from a bowl of wine.

As Anle descended, the constable’s gaze swept over him, fierce as fire—Anle could feel its burning intensity. A sign of strong vital energy.

Yet what truly drew Anle’s attention was that this constable seemed to have two strands of Essence of Time swirling about him! Unlike Yunrou, who had more than a dozen, this constable had only two.

Why such disparity?

Anle pondered, suspecting it was due to differences in cultivation. Though the constable was a cultivator, his level was not high, whereas Yunrou had already condensed her inner elixir at eighteen.

So, the higher the cultivation, the more moments worth recording as Essence of Time?

The constable stared at Anle, his eyes flashing with surprise. Anle had just finished cultivating, and the spiritual energy within him radiated faintly. Though not strong, the constable sensed it.

“A cultivator?” the constable exclaimed in surprise.

“Had a sudden insight, just drew in spiritual energy and completed my initiation,” Anle replied with a courteous smile. “May I ask why the officer seeks me?”

“I am Huang Xian, constable of the Black Bureau of Lin’an Prefecture.” He said, “A pity, sir, that you are a bit old for your initiation—cultivation will be difficult.”

“To set foot on the path is already a blessing; I am content,” Anle replied.

“Good attitude. Even so, once you begin cultivation, you’ll live well—better than most ordinary folk.” Constable Huang nodded approvingly, then drew a folded sketch from his coat and gently unfolded it.

The paper depicted a black-and-white portrait: Fairy Yunrou veiled, rendered in lifelike detail through light and shadow, her eyes stunningly beautiful.

“Did you draw this?” Huang asked.

Anle frowned; this was the very first sketch he had sold upon arriving in the capital. Its novel technique combined with Yunrou’s fame had fetched five taels of silver. He hadn’t expected it to attract the attention of the authorities.

“I passed the provincial exam in Chongzhou and came to Lin’an to attend next month’s imperial examination. On the journey, I was robbed by bandits and lost all my silver. Forced by circumstance, I sold some sketches to scrape by. May I ask what crime I have committed?” Anle explained.

Huang was astonished. Anle wasn’t very old, yet he had passed the provincial exam and intended to sit for the imperial examination—not something just anyone could do, indicating he held an official degree.

Now, Anle had completed his cultivation initiation, earning the status of a cultivator. With his scholarly rank, his identity was far from ordinary.

Thus, Huang’s demeanor changed, and he quickly clasped his hands in respect. “You misunderstand, Master An. I haven’t come because you committed any offense.”

“Rather, I’ve been entrusted to request a painting from you.”

“A painting?” Anle was dumbfounded. While astonished, he silently drew a strand of Essence of Time from Huang.

Constable Huang noticed nothing.

He glanced at the surprised Anle, smiled mysteriously, and said, “The one who commissioned me to seek your art is of extremely high status.”

“Come with me, Master An, and you will see for yourself.”