In the late Qing Dynasty, Cangwu County.

The stone steps chiseled against the mountain circled up to reach the hillside.

Among the lush trees, there are vaguely three or two tiled houses, green bricks and green tiles, tall eaves and teeth, and moss is everywhere on the courtyard wall made of stone, revealing a faint green air.

Go up the steps, and the sun shines through the treetops, shining in the stone jar filled with water on the open space in front of the tile house.

Dozens of fine wooden stakes are distributed in the shape of plum blossoms. The lower half is buried in the soil, and the exposed part is of varying heights.

She was wearing a coarse gherkin and short hair, and was standing on these wooden stakes.

The wooden stake is less than three fingers wide. It is difficult for ordinary people to stand steadily on it, but Song Xing can move freely between this inch.

The steps are changed, the feet are out at your fingertips, and the momentum is used, and the movement is so fast that the naked eye can hardly capture his body.

From the degree of slight shaking of the wooden piles, it can be seen that some of the wooden piles are simply inserted into the ground. When they touch them slightly, they will shake constantly, making them extremely unstable.

Even so, Song Xing's speed did not slow down at all.

The force on the fist kept rising layer by layer. When each fist was swung out, a slight sound of thunder came from the air.

When the speed reached its peak, Song Xing paused suddenly, stopped, then closed his fists and leaped off the wooden stake.

When he came to the stone jar, he hugged the stone jar with both hands and exerted force with both arms. He lifted the stone jar weighing hundreds of pounds steadily.

As his feet turned, his toes exerted a little force, like a flexible monkey. Song Xing jumped onto the wooden stake again and began a new round of practice.

Holding the moon in his arms, chicken legs wading into the mud, and no matter how the wooden stakes shake, Song Xing was still as if he was walking on the flat ground, his upper body did not shake at all, and the water in the stone jar in his arms was even less than a drop of water.

After half an hour, Song Xing jumped off the wooden stake again and lightly put down the stone jar, his face was not blushing or breathing, and his steps kept moving towards the back of the tile house.

Behind the tile house is a dilapidated wood-room, and several wastelands have been reclaimed next to it, planting several kinds of fruits and vegetables that are common in this season.

There was also a fence on a vacant land in the distance, and a few chickens and ducks were raised.

In a gray-white cloth robe and gray-haired Chu Luozhao was squatting in the field, carefully serving dozens of coriander plants.

Eating noodles without coriander is like eating dumplings without vinegar, which lacks soul. Chu Luozhao said this to Song Xing.

"Have you finished practicing?"

Hearing the footsteps behind him, Chu Luozhao asked.

"Yeah," Song Xing replied, then came to the field, pouted a handful of coriander, and picked a few fresh spinach next to it.

"You are so furious, don't break it." Chu Luozhao frowned slightly and said dissatisfied.

"So many, what's wrong with trampling a few to death."

Song Xing raised his eyebrows and smiled, walked into the woodshed next to him, picked up a few dried wood fires, exerted force on his fingers, split the wood fires directly, and then started the pot to make a fire.

After the water in the pot boils, add the thin noodles, and place the washed vegetables on the chopping board and chop them finely.

Then pick up the noodles, pass through cold water, then put them in two large porcelain bowls, pour them on the soup made from river fish, and finally sprinkle the vegetables evenly on the noodles.

In Chu Luozhao's bowl were coriander and spinach, while in Song Xing's bowl was only spinach.

Song Xing doesn’t like coriander and doesn’t like it.

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, exudes an attractive fragrance, crispy and chewy, and the soup is delicious. The master and apprentice eat it very delicious.

After five years of coming to this dynasty, in addition to practicing martial arts, Song Xing also developed a good cooking skills.

Song Xing consumed a lot of money in practice. Chu Luozhao only ate one bowl of noodles in the pot, and the rest was put into Song Xing's stomach.

After Song Xing finished eating, put down his chopsticks, Chu Luozhao pondered for a while and said carefully: "Have you encountered a bottleneck in 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 time to regulate the five internal organs, the master said."

Chu Luozhao was not surprised: "You have already cultivated Fanxing stakes to great success, and your skills in boxing are already practicing to a very deep level."

Looking at Song Xing's young face, Chu Luozhao's eyes flashed with satisfaction: "Five years have passed to the point where he is today. For fifty years, as far as I know, there are only two or three people."

"The next thing is to rely on water grinding skills. The true form contains the true spirit and the water will naturally come true."

After hearing Chu Luozhao's words, Song Xing felt thoughtful and then stood up to clean up the dishes.

After finishing the kitchen work, Song Xing fed chickens and ducks again, and then followed Chu Luozhao to the front hall of the tiled house.

Chu Luozhao is old and has poor energy. She finds a place with sunshine and basks the sun.

Song Xing brewed a cup of hot tea for the master, put it next to Chu Luozhao, and then ran to the side to do his own thing.

Chu Luozhao took out his pipe and lit it for himself. He took a few beautiful sips. He turned around and saw Song Xing holding a somewhat old book, reading it with relish.

"Taiping Guangji", a legendary novel about the strange and strange ambitions written by the Song people.

"Master, do you think, are there gods in this world?"

As if feeling Chu Luozhao's gaze, Song Xing suddenly asked.

"Did you still not give up on that unrealistic fantasy?"

"Just ask casually." Song Xing did not look up.

"Of course there are no gods and immortals in the world. The sayings of immortals and gods are just the spiritual sustenance of the ancients. We practitioners of martial arts believe in martial arts and ourselves, and respect the gods without fearing the gods!"

Chu Luozhao picked up the tea, blew it, and drank it dry in one sip.

Five years ago, I met Song Xing who was about to starve to death. With pity, I took him as my apprentice.

Over the past five years, Song Xing's talent for martial arts has given Chu Luozhao too many surprises, and five years of cultivation is worth twenty years.

But three years ago, Song Xing began to collect some strange and strange novels, and from time to time went to the folk to visit some strange and unusual things.

Chu Luozhao, who had lived for more than 60 years, encountered magical things, but had never seen the so-called immortal god. Naturally, he advised his only disciple not to devote too much energy to these things, so as not to delay practicing.

With Song Xing's talent, if he can concentrate on martial arts, he may have reached the rumored state of transcendence and sainthood.

Hearing Chu Luozhao's affirmative reply, Song Xing did not speak, but just looked at the books in his hand quietly.

"I'll take the herbs to the shopkeeper Qian to exchange for some rice and grain."

Seeing that Song Xing did not respond, Chu Luozhao didn't care and ordered.

The mountains are barren, except for growing some vegetables by themselves, the elderly and the young have no life. Occasionally, they pick some herbs in the mountains and take them to the foot of the mountain to exchange for money and live a life.

"Old Qian is dead."

Song Xing put down Taiping Guangji in his hand and said to Chu Luozhao.

“Hmm?”

Chu Luozhao raised his head and looked over in surprise.

"It is said that I received a ginseng from the old mountain. The county government said that the empress dowager's birthday was to give it to her, but she refused."

Song Xing did not finish his words, but Chu Luozhao understood.

The old man sniffed his pipe hard: "This damn world!"

Song Xing didn't say anything, but just lowered his head and looked at the legend in his hand that he had not finished reading, Xin Gongping's immortal.

The so-called morality is rare in this world, but fortunately, there is a knife.
Chapter completed!