Night Conversations
Dish after dish was brought to the table. The two fell silent, eating in earnest. Ever since Jiang Feng had begun his martial training, his body demanded far more energy, and his appetite had grown remarkably. He ate swiftly, not picky in the least; a bowl of rice vanished in a few bites.
Chong Fan, on the other hand, was his opposite. He favored vegetarian fare, taking only a few small bites from each dish.
By the time Jiang Feng was scooping his fourth bowl of rice, Chong Fan had barely consumed half a bowl.
Jiang Feng shook his head. “Eating with you is really no fun…”
Chong Fan swallowed the last of his rice, set down his chopsticks, and finally spoke. “Because these dishes aren’t as tasty as yours.”
This “One Bowl” tavern was the largest in Luming Town, famed for decades, with a chef who had never been replaced and a reputation for excellence. Yet Chong Fan claimed they paled compared to Jiang Feng’s cooking?
Jiang Feng looked up, fixing his gaze on him. After speaking, Chong Fan resumed eating. Jiang Feng chuckled, “Thank you very much!”
After their meal, Jiang Feng remembered to pack two dishes and a portion of rice for Uncle Dong.
They returned to Dong’s tailor shop to collect Chong Fan’s clothes. Uncle Dong insisted on accepting only half the payment, but Jiang Feng tossed the money onto his counter and dashed out.
Chong Fan followed him down the street, breathless by the time they stopped. Catching his breath, he gave a wry smile. “Why do I feel like we’ve become robbers…”
Jiang Feng laughed, “Uncle Dong is a good man. When I was young, he’d use leftover cloth from other orders to make new clothes for me. Whenever I delivered goods, he’d hand them to me.”
He turned to Chong Fan and smiled. “There are plenty of bad people in the world, but there are many good ones too.”
Night deepened, lanterns casting their glow on Jiang Feng’s profile. Chong Fan felt again the warmth he had first sensed upon entering the town.
He nodded earnestly. “Yes, I’ll remember that.”
On the road back, Chong Fan still had to sit in the bamboo basket, carried by Jiang Feng. Perhaps because the night had fallen, he felt far less awkward than in the morning, and was instead struck by the steadiness of Jiang Feng’s steps.
He lifted his head, watching the moonlight pour down from the sky, casting a pale silver sheen over all things.
Had I ever noticed such scenery before, ever felt the caress of this night wind?
Chong Fan was lost in thought. Reflecting on the day’s events, he sensed something dissolving within him, while something else was being rebuilt.
Suddenly he spoke, “I ran away this time because I didn’t want to live anymore…”
…
…
Had it been any other time, or any other person, Chong Fan might never have uttered such words. Though he had been ill since childhood and his body frail, something in his heart always kept him from making even the slightest complaint, no matter how great his suffering.
But now, perhaps the beauty of the moonlight, the joy of the day, or the nightingale’s song in the woods had loosened his tongue.
Jiang Feng said nothing in response, and his pace did not falter.
This reassured Chong Fan, and he continued, following his train of thought.
“Not long ago, the doctor who’s always treated me told my mother that if she wanted me to live a bit longer, she should watch over me more closely. If possible, I should stay at the hot spring manor, never leaving except for the small courtyard.”
“Eat small meals often, food with little salt or oil, nothing hard, best boiled into porridge.”
“No reading, no chess, no writing, no painting.”
“…I didn’t want to live anymore.”
“If it were me, I’d go beat that doctor up,” Jiang Feng suddenly spoke, his tone calm with a hint of laughter. Chong Fan could tell he was joking, but there was a trace of seriousness as well.
“Don’t really go hitting anyone, of course. But honestly, what difference is there between living like that and being dead? If your health is poor, sure, take care of yourself—but living should be more than just surviving!”
He let out a long breath through his nose, grunted, “He can have his judgment, but that advice is utterly unreasonable!”
Chong Fan was stunned. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if these words were spoken by Jiang Feng or if they had burst forth from his own heart.
When he’d heard the doctor tell his mother that, hadn’t he felt the same way? Yet as the words hovered on his lips, his mother’s somber gaze had forced them back down.
He was about to explain when Jiang Feng asked, “After the doctor finished, how did your mother respond? She didn’t agree, did she?”
Chong Fan instinctively wanted to explain, “My mother only wants what’s best for me. Without her, I wouldn’t have survived this long…”
“Of course she wants what’s best for you,” Jiang Feng interrupted bluntly, “but she wants what’s best for herself too! Living isn’t just about survival. You should ask your mother: if it were her, could she bear such a life?”
Chong Fan couldn’t help but ask, “Then what do you think she should do?”
Jiang Feng shook his head. “I don’t know what she should do. But I think it’s her business—and yours. How long to live, how to live, you two should sit down and talk, really communicate. Maybe you want to live as long as possible, and follow the doctor’s orders. Or maybe you want to live more fully, not so suffocated… Maybe your mother doesn’t even know what you truly want.”
Chong Fan fell silent, and Jiang Feng said no more.
He recalled something.
That night, when Chong Fan was gravely wounded and bleeding without end, Jiang Feng forced out his own golden blood energy and infused it into Chong Fan’s injuries.
Chong Fan’s bleeding stopped, his wounds healed, and a black substance seeped from his pores, foul and unbearable. Later, this black substance dissipated into the air and vanished. When Jiang Feng awoke, he noticed the moss on the cave walls had shriveled and yellowed, as if poisoned.
Was that black substance the cause of Chong Fan’s illness? If so, his sickness might have been cured completely.
Jiang Feng pondered, a smile forming silently.
Chong Fan’s family background was clearly extraordinary; saving such a child would surely earn him a handsome reward.
Yet Jiang Feng gave no thought to this. What truly intrigued him was: what expression would this boy wear when he discovered his illness had suddenly disappeared?
…
…
Back at the valley, Jiang Feng settled Chong Fan in his small room, then climbed a nearby peak to begin his training.
Bathed in moonlight, Jiang Feng’s mind was clear as water, sweeping through his body as he examined his current state.
The “optimization” from earlier had depleted all his inner energy, and even now it had not fully recovered.
Still, the matured “fruit” had not shriveled; the opened channels remained clear, only their reserves emptied.
The Celestial Cube had ceased its operation, quietly resting in the vortex of the Heartseed, as though awaiting its next task.
To this day, Jiang Feng still felt baffled by its existence.
What exactly was it? What was its purpose? Was it solely for optimizing martial techniques? What was the principle behind its improvement?
Midnight training was soon to begin. Jiang Feng withdrew his awareness and prepared for cultivation.
Moonlight poured down, gathering overhead, and energy surged into Jiang Feng’s body, passing through the Heartseed and into the Yuan Branch.
Within the Heartseed, the vortex spun, and the cube began to operate once more.
About a third of the energy was absorbed by the cube. After its previous task, its blocks had dulled, losing all luster. Now, faint golden light rippled across its surface, seeping within.
It seemed to be recharging, gradually regaining vitality.
An hour later, Jiang Feng finished his training, brow furrowed.
Only two-thirds of the Yuan Branch was filled with energy, the rest still empty. In this hour, far from progressing, he hadn’t even fully recovered!
What was happening? Why had his training efficiency suddenly dropped so low?
If this continued, would he really be ready for the county exam in two and a half months?
Any worries vanished when he saw “Guiding Light Art: First Improvement.”
His memory was sharp; after reading the original version twice, he had nearly memorized it. Comparing it to the improved edition, he saw massive changes!
The martial technique had been restructured, incorporating new foundational elements.
Jiang Feng realized these basics seemed tailored precisely for him.
They addressed the issue of sparse, uncontrollable energy, teaching the user how to concentrate it to a single point, increasing its density until it could be manipulated.
At the same time, the technique retained its original strengths, emphasizing precise control over small amounts of energy for subtler operations.
Words swept through Jiang Feng’s mind like a river; he pursued them with all his focus, striving to comprehend their meaning.
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