Chapter Eighteen: The True Punishment

As for the others in the team, their faces were a picture of varied emotions. Watching the departing middle-aged man, they looked as though they were witnessing a fool; some barely managed to stifle their laughter.

Everyone was immensely curious about Chu Feng. What on earth had he done to provoke such a troublesome figure?

The man surnamed Qin had left, and Xiao Yue, face dark as thunder, pointed at Chu Feng and said, “You dare strike Lord Qin’s nephew? Never mind breaking his arm—why did you have to slap him twice across the face? Don’t you know you shouldn’t hit someone in the face? Are you tired of staying in the Spirit Battle Pavilion? Go, fetch a five-hundred-pound suit of armor.”

Chu Feng was slightly taken aback, mildly surprised. No matter how he listened, these words didn’t sound like a scolding for him; rather, they seemed to mock the departed Lord Qin.

“Yes, sir.” Unconsciously, Chu Feng found himself warming to this instructor, and with a reply, he headed toward one of the training rooms.

The rest of the group were puzzled. They didn’t know who Lord Qin’s nephew was, but anyone who could be in the Spirit Battle Pavilion must have achieved Spirit Transformation. Could it be that such a person had lost to Chu Feng, who could not even transform his spirit? Their hearts were filled with suspicion and disbelief.

Moreover, the instructor’s final command left them even more confused. They could not guess his intentions. A five-hundred-pound suit of soft armor—not even one among their team, even in a spirit-transformed state, could possibly lift that.

“It seems this is the instructor’s punishment for Chu Feng. Poor guy—by the time he drags that armor back, it’ll be dark,” someone whispered.

“To attempt the impossible—Chu Feng must have a screw loose. Doesn’t he have any sense of his own limits?”

“Maybe he really did defeat Lord Qin’s nephew. If beating someone once is enough for him to think he’s invincible, then he’s just a joke.”

As they muttered among themselves, Chu Feng returned swiftly, a silver suit of soft armor draped over his shoulder.

Five hundred pounds—Chu Feng could lift it one-handed, but not for long, so he carried it over his shoulder instead.

The others glanced at him: though his steps were less brisk than before, he looked entirely unbothered. Suspicious looks flitted across their faces, and they whispered, “Is this armor really five hundred pounds? Fifty would be more believable.”

None of them believed it was five hundred pounds, thinking Chu Feng was just being perfunctory. After all, he didn’t even care about Lord Qin; why would he obediently follow the instructor’s orders?

At that moment, Xiao Yue glanced at Chu Feng, then turned to the group. “Go wait for me in Training Chamber Thirteen,” he instructed.

They answered sullenly and left, feeling deeply frustrated, inwardly cursing the instructor for being so cunning—right at the critical moment, he refused to satisfy their curiosity.

“Of course, the armor Chu Feng brought back can’t be the real thing. Now he’s in trouble. The instructor will surely teach him a lesson, but is letting us go first to spare Chu Feng some embarrassment,” they all thought.

When everyone had left, Xiao Yue took the armor, weighed it in his hands, and then handed it back to Chu Feng. With a calm tone, he said, “Don’t think I’ll let you off so easily. You broke the rules; you must be punished. Put this on and run twenty laps around the training field. If you don’t finish, you don’t get dinner!”

“Oh,” Chu Feng replied, taking the armor and putting it on without hesitation. He smiled slightly at Xiao Yue, then headed for the track.

“You brat,” Xiao Yue muttered, scowling, and turned to leave.

Chu Feng felt utterly delighted inside. To him, sitting in the meditation chamber was a waste of time; he’d rather devote himself wholeheartedly to the art of body refinement.

The training field was vast—one lap around the track was a full two miles. If any other newcomer were told to run twenty laps in a five-hundred-pound suit of armor, they’d have been scared witless.

Twenty laps was indeed a challenge, even for Chu Feng. But for the past ten years, challenge had been his daily bread. What was there to fear now?

Years of hardship had become routine for him. Now, with hope in sight, he was even more engrossed in his training, not feeling the least bit of hardship or exhaustion.

In less than four hours, Chu Feng finished his twenty laps, taking four breaks in between.

When he was done and found the instructor not yet returned, he left on his own and entered a training room, eager to continue refining himself.

Glancing around at the equipment, a sudden inspiration struck him. For years, he’d trained only in fists and kicks—since he now had the chance, why not practice weapons as well? After all, when it came time to battle real monsters, bare hands would not suffice.

Chu Feng kept the armor on and quickly chose a longsword that suited his grip. Having worn a small sword for years, he felt an attachment to swordsmanship.

Without delay, Chu Feng began practicing with the sword, alone in the training room. Clad in heavy armor, wielding the longsword, his movements seemed clumsy, but he was wholly absorbed. When exhausted, he’d rest; once recovered, he’d resume practice, over and over in a relentless cycle.

He was so immersed he forgot the passage of time and even his hunger. Eventually, even the surrounding spiritual energy could not quickly restore his strength.

“That’s enough for today,” Chu Feng murmured, sprawling on the floor and letting go of his sword. He understood that he had reached his physical limits.

After lying there a while longer, feeling his strength slowly recover, he stood up, took off the armor, and left the training room.

Upon exiting, he was surprised to find the moon shrouded in mist—the night had fallen deep and dark.

“Damn, now I’ve missed dinner. If I’d known, I’d have brought some rations,” Chu Feng groaned.

“Boy, hiding here to slack off, are you?” Suddenly, a clear voice rang out.

Startled, Chu Feng looked toward the garden—and stopped short. There, on a stone table, lay a spread of delicious dishes. Just the glistening roast duck was enough to make his mouth water. As for the words spoken, they’d already been swept away by the wind.

By the stone table, Xiao Yue sat alone, holding a wine cup and looking his way.

Xiao Yue raised his cup to the bright moon, drinking alone with a flair that was almost poetic.

“A beautiful night, but drinking alone is dull. Boy, do you drink?” Xiao Yue asked.

Chu Feng paused. “Me?”

“What, you can’t? Or you don’t dare?” Xiao Yue replied.

Chu Feng’s stomach was rumbling, his eyes shining at the sight of the feast. Even if he didn’t know how to drink, for the sake of that meal, he was willing to get drunk.

“Who says I can’t?” Chu Feng said, unreserved, and sat down directly.

Xiao Yue poured the wine. After their first cup, Chu Feng went straight for the roast duck he’d had his eye on.

He ate with the vigor of old—a veritable whirlwind—but didn’t forget to toast Xiao Yue a few times in gratitude. This meal truly was a timely blessing.

With a roast duck in his belly, Chu Feng slowed down a little and asked with curiosity, “Instructor, why are you here?”

Xiao Yue replied with a stern face, “Some people’s swordsmanship is so terrible, I couldn’t leave without scolding them.”

At this, Chu Feng’s heart warmed with gratitude. Only now did he realize the meal was specially prepared for him by the instructor.

He understood completely: this instructor was a man of genuine kindness. He smiled and said, “Thank you, Instructor.”

Xiao Yue pointed at him, face serious. “What’s there to thank me for? Meeting you is my misfortune. Don’t get cocky. I only stayed to see if you were slacking off.”

He stood up and added, “Since you weren’t slacking, I’ll be off. Remember to return the dishes. Outside the Spirit Battle Pavilion, straight ahead, Drunken Fragrance Restaurant.”

He took a few steps, paused without turning, and said, “Don’t disgrace the sword, boy. Go study more at the Sutra Library when you have time.”

With that, Xiao Yue strode off, hands clasped behind his back, exuding the air of a master.

“Thanks!” Chu Feng called after him.

Watching the instructor’s retreating back, Chu Feng stroked his chin, muttering as if to himself, “Interesting.”

Xiao Yue almost stumbled at that, but did not turn back.

With the instructor gone, Chu Feng, true to his principle of never wasting anything, continued to clear the table, drinking up the remaining wine.

The jug held at least four pounds of strong spirits. The more Chu Feng drank, the more fragrant and flavorful it became. By the time he’d finished it all, his cheeks were flushed, his head light, and he felt as if he might float away. He mused, “Turns out I’m a wine—”

He’d meant to say, “Turns out I’m a wine god,” but before he could finish, he collapsed onto the stone table and fell sound asleep.

He was exhausted, and truthfully drunk. As he slumped over the table, a bowl fell over and landed upside down on his head.

Chu Feng slept straight through the night. As dawn crept in, he had yet to awaken, unaware that people were already arriving at the training ground.

“Huh? Someone’s sleeping here. Who is it?”

“Saw him yesterday, I think—must be Chu Feng from Squad Nine. Has he given up on himself?”

“Chu Feng? Isn’t that the useless bottom-dweller who can’t Spirit Transform?”

“Haha! Drunk till he drops—what a character!”

A group of youths stared at the sleeping Chu Feng with increasingly peculiar expressions, whispering and giggling as if watching a farce.

By now Chu Feng looked thoroughly disheveled—a bowl on his head, hair wild and greasy, his face smeared with leftover food. Anyone would have been shocked by such an appearance.

More people gathered, drawn by the commotion. The voices grew louder and, in his sleep, Chu Feng began to stir, bothered by the noise and the odd sensation atop his head.

Feeling something amiss, he reached up and found the bowl. Blinking awake, he took in the crowd staring at him—many faces brimming with amusement.

His face reddened; as he wiped it, a piece of vegetable fell off, and he felt mortified. At that, the crowd of boys and girls burst into laughter.

Just then, Xiao Yue and another instructor, Old Yang, arrived. Seeing the lively crowd, they pushed through, and Xiao Yue stopped short, nearly exclaiming, “Why are you still here?”

Chu Feng, hair in wild disarray and face still smeared with food, could only manage an awkward chuckle and scratch his head. “Had a few too many drinks, that’s all.”

At his words, another wave of laughter swept through the crowd.

“So he’s your trainee? He’s truly a remarkable one,” Old Yang laughed, clapping Xiao Yue on the shoulder.