Chapter Twenty-Three: Male or Female?

In no time, the golden light atop the page was completely absorbed by Feng Yuan, drawn into his dantian. Though it had seemed abundant, once taken in, it amounted to only a tiny bit. Feng Yuan had no idea why this was so; it appeared as if the light had been compressed, for it shone even more brilliantly and dazzlingly than before, sparkling with golden radiance.

Having finished absorbing the golden light from the writing, Feng Yuan began searching around the study for other objects that might bear this glow. Unfortunately, he found none—not on any item, not even the books. This was contrary to what the illustration had suggested, and he couldn’t fathom the reason.

He then exited the house to look elsewhere, but the result was the same: no trace of golden light on anything he could find.

“Forget it. No need to search. If I write myself, that’ll be faster!” Feng Yuan thought to himself. Since the golden light had come from his own writing just now, perhaps he could produce more by penning another story.

Without further ado, he laid out paper, ground his ink, and quickly set to work. In no time, he had written over a thousand words.

Sure enough, just as Feng Yuan had expected, the freshly written characters shone with golden light. Each word bore a tiny, golden tadpole, a most magical sight. Feng Yuan was utterly baffled as to why his own fiction would yield such a phenomenon.

But this was a good thing. If he could cultivate from his own writing, it would be incredibly convenient; he’d never need to search in vain. All he had to do was sit and write each day.

“Young master, the meal’s ready!”

Just then, Hu Xiao entered and called to him.

“All right, you go ahead and eat first. I’ll join you in a moment,” Feng Yuan replied.

But Hu Xiao didn’t leave. She stared at him with a puzzled look and said, “Young master, you smell terrible.”

“Smell terrible?”

Feng Yuan paused, sniffed himself, and indeed detected an unpleasant odor. Looking down at his body, he noticed a faint layer of black grime on his hands, from which the stench emanated.

Rolling up his sleeves, he discovered his arms were coated in the same filth—a foul, pungent mess, as if he’d just crawled out of a cesspit.

He understood at once: this was exactly as the cultivation illustration had described. After cultivating, the body would expel impurities. In his eagerness to absorb the golden light, he’d neglected this and now needed to wash up immediately.

He set his brush aside and said to Hu Xiao, “Stay here and don’t come outside. I’m going out to bathe!”

With that, Feng Yuan hurried to the bedroom, grabbed some clothes, then dashed into the courtyard. There, he stripped off, drew water from the well, and washed himself thoroughly and quickly.

Inside the study, Hu Xiao did not leave. Instead, she stealthily climbed to the window and peeked out. The window faced the courtyard and had not been shut tightly, leaving a gap through which she could see Feng Yuan bathing stark naked, every detail visible.

Her face flushed scarlet at the sight of him without a stitch of clothing. Embarrassed and bashful, she quickly covered her eyes and turned away, whispering softly, “So that’s what the young master looks like. So thin! I must cook some good food for him to build him up!”

After the bath, the two sat down to eat. But at the sight of the dishes on the table, Feng Yuan’s face turned green—it was all chicken again, over thirty different preparations, even more than at breakfast.

“Xiao Xiao, are you part weasel? You love chicken this much?” Feng Yuan said helplessly to Hu Xiao.

She lowered her head, embarrassed. “Young master, I’m sorry!”

“All right, if you love chicken, make as much as you like, but prepare some other dishes for me too. Now, let’s eat,” Feng Yuan said, picking up his bowl.

Hu Xiao nodded enthusiastically and started eating heartily.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and a voice called, “Feng Yuan… Feng Yuan…”

“That glutton must have smelled the food,” Feng Yuan thought to himself. He told Hu Xiao to stay seated and went to open the door himself.

Outside stood Fatty Zhang, holding a large food box. He grinned at Feng Yuan and said, “Have you eaten yet? I bought something good. Let’s have a drink together!”

“Well, well, Fatty, you’ve actually brought a gift. That’s a rare event!”

“What are you talking about? I, Zhang Zhen, am always generous. Haven’t I treated you often enough?”

“Hmm… In all the time I’ve known you, today is the only day you’ve ever treated. Does that count as often?”

Fatty Zhang coughed awkwardly. “Ahem… Let’s not discuss topics that might harm our brotherly bond. Let’s go inside—I have good news for you!”

The two entered, and upon seeing the lavish spread on the table, Fatty Zhang muttered under his breath, “If I’d known the food would be this good, I could have saved those few dozen coins.”

They sat down, drinking and chatting as they ate.

Fatty Zhang’s good news was that the novel had earned a fortune that morning—six taels of silver, even more than yesterday. After readers finished it, word spread rapidly, and by morning the academy was as crowded as a marketplace. Both Fatty Zhang and Instructor He were so busy collecting money that they could hardly keep up.

Now, everywhere in town, people were talking about Feng Yuan’s novel—it was a sensation.

“Here’s the silver!” Fatty Zhang said, handing it to Feng Yuan, who was surprised by the book’s popularity.

“Xiao Xiao, keep this as living expenses,” Feng Yuan said, passing the silver to her. She quickly put it away.

“Feng Yuan, have you finished today’s installment? Everyone’s eager to read it!” Fatty Zhang asked anxiously.

“It’s ready. After we eat, you can take it to the academy.”

“Excellent! I bet we’ll make another fortune this afternoon!” Fatty Zhang said excitedly, raising his cup. “Come, cheers!”

Feng Yuan nodded, clinking cups, but only sipped, for the wine was so sour it was like drinking vinegar—a taste he really couldn’t stand.

After lunch and a short rest, Feng Yuan sent Fatty Zhang off with the new chapters to the academy, while he stayed home, writing more to stockpile manuscripts and to continue his cultivation.

That midday session of absorbing golden light had left Feng Yuan feeling incredibly comfortable, lighter and more at ease than ever before. Clearly, it did strengthen the body, and since his own constitution was weak, he needed to absorb as much as possible.

He wrote all afternoon, and by evening had produced over twenty thousand words, nearly thirty thousand. He was utterly exhausted—writing while standing had left his whole body sore, especially his writing hand, which he could barely lift.

Still, seeing the pages densely covered in those golden tadpoles brought him great satisfaction. The afternoon’s effort was well worth it.

Without delay, Feng Yuan sat cross-legged and began absorbing the golden tadpoles.

In no time, all the golden tadpoles were absorbed. Once finished, all his aches and pains vanished, leaving him refreshed.

Yet within his dantian, the golden light was still only the size of a grain of rice, unchanged despite absorbing so much. Feng Yuan could not understand why.

“Young master, someone is here to see you,” Hu Xiao entered and informed him.

“Who is it?” Feng Yuan frowned, for it clearly wasn’t Fatty Zhang—otherwise, Hu Xiao wouldn’t have put it that way.

“I don’t know, young master. I’ve never seen him before.”

“All right, I’ll go out now.” Feng Yuan stood, checked himself—thankfully, none of the filth from the morning had returned—brushed the dust from his clothes, and stepped outside.

In the courtyard stood a young man in white, holding a folding fan, about the same age as Feng Yuan—eighteen or nineteen. He was exceedingly handsome, with delicate features, skin as pale as jade, a small face, a sharp chin, and a slender build. Yet his chest was well developed, almost incongruously so.

As soon as Feng Yuan appeared, the youth stepped forward, bowed with hands clasped, and said, “Junior Zhao Qingxue pays his respects to Senior Brother Feng.”

Feng Yuan was taken aback. The youth’s voice was so gentle and melodious it sounded nothing like a man’s; in fact, it was more like a girl’s. Feng Yuan looked carefully for an Adam’s apple, then smiled and said, “Miss, why do you disguise yourself as a man?”

At these words, Zhao Qingxue’s expression changed slightly, a hint of panic flashing across her face. But she quickly recovered, smiling and replying, “Senior Brother Feng jests. I merely have gentle features, but I am indeed a man.”

“Oh, really?”

Feng Yuan grinned mischievously. “Is that so? My mistake, then—please forgive me. But Junior Brother Zhao, you’ve developed quite the chest muscles. They look very sturdy!”

As he spoke, Feng Yuan reached out and patted Zhao Qingxue’s chest twice.

At once, he felt a softness beneath his hand.

“Ah…”

Instantly, Zhao Qingxue gave a startled, feminine shriek. Her face flushed crimson, and she covered her chest with both hands, glaring at Feng Yuan in a mix of shame and anger. “You… you… you scoundrel…”

With that, Zhao Qingxue spun around and fled like the wind.

Feng Yuan watched her go, grinning wickedly. “Serves you right for disguising yourself and refusing to admit it.”

But what had Zhao Qingxue come to see him for?