Chapter Forty-One: A Strange Occurrence

Late at night, Feng Yuan was cultivating an unnamed technique in his study. At this moment, the golden light from the novel, following the movements of his hands, continuously entered his body and gradually converged in his dantian. Now, the cluster of golden light in his dantian had grown to the size of two grains of rice—doubling in size. Feng Yuan vaguely sensed a surge of power emanating from the golden light, imbuing him with an overwhelming feeling of strength.

In no time, all the golden light from the novel had entered his dantian. Yet, as his hands kept moving, more golden light continued to flow into his body, gathering within his dantian, brighter than what the novel described. Where were these golden rays coming from? The answer lay above Feng Yuan’s head. A patch of golden radiance, speckled like stars, hovered there, numbering in the thousands.

Feng Yuan had no idea where this golden light originated; he had only noticed it in recent days, and it increased daily. At first, there were only a few dozen points, but their numbers multiplied quickly, and today they were more abundant than ever, leaving Feng Yuan baffled as to why such golden light appeared above him.

Though all things could produce golden light, its sudden appearance on his own body felt uncanny. How was this golden light generated? What was its nature? Feng Yuan could not fathom it.

If his body really produced golden light automatically every day, he wouldn’t need to write novels anymore—absorbing this golden light would suffice, a life of ease. But Feng Yuan doubted it could be so simple. There must be some kind of opportunity or reason behind this phenomenon; otherwise, it made no sense. Yet he had not yet discovered the cause.

The golden light above his head differed from that in the novel. It couldn’t be absorbed quickly; its absorption was slow, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn’t know why. The only thing Feng Yuan could discern was that the quality of this golden light seemed superior, for it shone brighter, and once it entered his dantian, he could distinctly feel an increase in power.

After more than an hour, Feng Yuan had absorbed all the golden light above his head and prepared to go to bed. Suddenly, the cluster of golden light in his dantian released a beam of gold, shooting out uncontrollably, racing along his meridians toward his chest and striking an acupoint there.

Before Feng Yuan could react, another golden ray shot out from his dantian, hitting the same acupoint. Then came a third, a fourth, a fifth... until the golden cluster in his dantian dimmed and stopped.

At this point, the acupoint in Feng Yuan’s chest that had been struck by golden light began to glow faintly. Within the acupoint, there seemed to be a shadowy figure, blurry and indistinct. Feng Yuan focused all his energy to try to see it clearly, but the vision remained hazy, and a sharp pain struck his head. Finally, he had to give up.

He could not make sense of the situation. Dizzy and confused, Feng Yuan decided not to dwell on it, stood up, and went to bed.

The next morning, Feng Yuan rose early as usual to exercise, running along the road outside his home toward the Book Street, turning at the Magistrate’s Academy, then circling back, repeating this route a dozen times, covering four or five kilometers.

Though dawn had just broken, many people were already up—especially on Book Street, where poor scholars had set up their stalls early, for coming late meant losing a good spot.

On Book Street, scholars earned their living by selling calligraphy and paintings, writing couplets for weddings and funerals, and offering divination or announcements. Those without much reputation rarely sold their art, relying instead on these services for survival.

Even so, such work was scarce—not every day brought a wedding or funeral—so they might only get business once every ten days or so. But each job could sustain them for three to five days, and with some land to farm, their lives were barely manageable.

Feng Yuan had once been one of these scholars peddling his services on the street, relying on miserable luck that eventually starved him to death—a thought that filled him with sorrow.

“Good morning, Brother Feng!”

“Morning, Brother Du!”

“Good morning, Brother Feng!”

“Morning, Brother Zhao!”

As he ran, Feng Yuan greeted the scholars on the street—former fellow stallholders, so the exchanges felt natural. They all looked at Feng Yuan with envy. Not long ago, he had been struggling alongside them, worse off than most. Now, having risen to fame by writing novels, he focused on physical fitness and health. Truly, fate treats people differently.

Jogging along, Feng Yuan suddenly spotted a familiar face: Scholar Ding Changqing, who had visited yesterday. Early this morning, Ding was leading two other scholars hurriedly toward an alley.

Feng Yuan would not normally pay much attention to Ding, but just then, he noticed Ding’s face was pale as death, utterly bloodless, with a strange expression—odd and unexplainable, but unmistakably abnormal.

Moreover, Feng Yuan observed a faint green aura above Ding’s brow, though the distance made it hard to see clearly. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Whatever Ding’s condition, Feng Yuan had no desire to get involved, wishing he could avoid him altogether. He accelerated his pace and ran off.

Ding, meanwhile, led the two scholars into the alley where he lived, but instead of going to his own house, he stopped at the door of the house opposite. He knocked, and soon the door opened. A woman in red appeared—it was the same woman with whom Ding had spent a passionate night. As she stepped out, Ding became visibly excited, his eyes filled with her image.

The other two scholars reacted similarly, utterly captivated. The woman smiled seductively and beckoned them inside. Unable to resist, the two scholars entered, while Scholar Feng remained at the doorway, grinning foolishly.

After a while, the two scholars emerged, utterly changed—clothes disheveled, faces drained of color, grinning vacantly as if they saw a naked beauty before them.

They wandered off like puppets, staggering out to the street, and after a short distance, collapsed, motionless.

A passerby, seeing this, hurried over to check and was instantly frightened out of their wits, crying out.

“Someone’s dead...!”

“There’s been a death!”

In an instant, a crowd gathered around the bodies.

Meanwhile, in the alley, the woman in red smiled brightly at Scholar Ding. “Well done. Come in, let me reward you with some pleasure!”

Ding rushed inside eagerly...