Overdraw the future and become a peerless martial god

Chapter 214 A New Look for an Old Martial Arts School
Feng Tonghai was taken aback, then his brows furrowed, and he said with some deliberation, "In the past, there were martial artists who ran rampant in the countryside, and there were those who used their sects to bully the people. When I first took charge of disaster relief, several sixth-rank martial artists in the county even dared to rob the school. But since the Great Qian abolished the 'Martial Rank System' and established the 'Ming Law Examination', the situation has been very different."

Chu Ning nodded gently.

Feng Tonghai continued, "Nowadays, martial artists are not allowed to use their power in the mortal realm without the triple seals of the 'Soul Brightness Division' and the local 'Clear Seal Hall'. If they harm civilians, the consequences range from having their soul registration revoked and being expelled from the region to having their soul lock removed and being imprisoned. In the past three years, there have been no fatal cases related to martial arts in Qingyang."

"Have the privileges really been abolished?" Chu Ning's tone remained calm, but his voice was as heavy as a stone weighing down on the soul.

Feng Tonghai replied without hesitation, “There are indeed remnants, but in the past year, ninety-four people have been disqualified from the ‘Martial Arts Disqualification List,’ and none of their sects dare to protect them privately. Nowadays, if a martial artist wants to be promoted, he must ‘enter the discipline,’ take the open examination, and aspire to be recorded in the county annals and join the ranks of the common people. Although there are still sects that harbor secrets, under the open discipline, everyone knows to avoid such things, which is far from what it used to be.”

Chu Ning slowly exhaled, her voice low but firm: "So the world has really begun to change."

Feng Tonghai looked at him and said, "It has changed because someone severed the most difficult root first."

That battle in the capital not only shattered the tyranny of the powerful and wealthy, but also opened the door to a new era.

Chu Ning didn't speak again, but looked out the window at the bright sun, as if across time and space, she saw herself in her younger days, standing with a sword on her back.

—What he wants is not just change.

Yes, we will not go back to the past.

“Magistrate Feng,” he said, turning back, “you have defended this city very well.”

Feng Tonghai's eyes were slightly red. He clasped his hands in a respectful bow and solemnly said, "I'm just looking after a dream for you."

Chu Ning looked at him quietly and nodded slightly. He didn't say much, but at that moment, a mix of emotions welled up in his heart.

This county magistrate, who once bowed down to the tyranny of the Wang family, can now single-handedly protect the food and clothing of the entire city, establish free schools, and promote martial arts. He did not boast of his achievements, but he truly brought the first rays of dawn of the "Ningming Era" to the land of Qingyang.

One person and one official stood side by side in front of the hall.

The warm sunlight outside casts dappled patterns on the bamboo shadows on the wall in front of the hall. A spring breeze drifts through the hall, stirring the old county gazetteer on the long table; one page records—

"In the 96th year of the Daqian reign, the Inspector General established the Righteousness Division and returned the stolen silver to the people."

"In the first year of the Ningming era, Qingyang was free from exorbitant taxes."

Feng Tonghai turned around, seemingly wanting to say something but then stopped, while Chu Ning had already stepped out of the hall without looking back, leaving only a whispered message that dissipated with the wind:

"I came back to take one last look, at the people in my dreams, and the lights outside. Now, the dream is over."

After a while.

Outside the Relief Office, Chi Yan had been waiting for some time. He remained in human form, a long belt with fire patterns around his waist, his aura restrained. His crimson eyes looked at Chu Ning and asked, "Sect Master, next stop?"

Chu Ning looked south and said softly, "Benlei Martial Arts School."

In the twilight of spring, the light shines like glaze.

When Chu Ning stepped into the corner of the old gate, the sky was just right. In the southwest of Qingyang County, the place where the Wang family once held power and established their gate was now bustling with activity, and the oppressive and deathly atmosphere of the past was long gone.

He stood on the street, looking at that familiar old building.

With its mottled blue bricks, soaring eaves and dark tiles, and a plaque inlaid with gold, the four characters "Benlei Martial Arts Hall" shine brightly. It is not a grand hall, but a place that the people of Qingyang can see every day, like a pillar standing firm through the years.

Disciples came and went in front of the gate, dressed simply but neatly and orderly, with spirited features, and most of them were sixteen or seventeen years old.

Further away, a group of seven- or eight-year-old children were practicing the most basic "Thunderclap Saber Technique" under the guidance of their master. Their postures were still immature, and they would fall down from time to time, getting covered in dust, but their laughter never stopped.

Chu Ning remained silent for a long time.

He remembered how he used to sneak in by climbing over the wall, squat in a corner and imitate these movements, practicing day and night, just to learn a basic sword technique.

Today's children, however, can openly and legitimately practice boxing and swordsmanship under the monument and in the sunlight.

He suddenly laughed.

Chi Yan glanced at him and asked in a low voice, "Sect Master?"

Chu Ning remained silent, only slowly raising her head to look at the corner in front of the door—

A statue stands there, depicting a boy of seventeen or eighteen, with a resolute expression, his clothes fluttering in the wind, and an inextinguishable flame burning in his eyes.

That's him.

He was young.

He felt a slight tremor in his heart, his gaze calm. His right arm was missing, his left eye was lifeless, and the five marks of his soul lock were buried deep in his blood and bones; he was no longer the same person he once was. But looking at the statue, he felt no pity whatsoever.

Because it wasn't commemorating him alone, but rather the belief that "the young man of Qingyang could ascend to heaven."

He stepped forward and stood in front of the "Museum Rules Monument".

"I cultivate martial arts not for high positions, but solely for protection."

"Martial arts do not bully the weak, and righteousness does not betray one's conscience."

"All disciples of the martial arts school are equal; there are no distinctions based on background, and no entry requirements."

The inscription gleamed faintly in the evening light.

He knew that those words were the vows he made after angrily rebuking the Wang family years ago—vows that were later used by the Benlei Martial Arts School, engraved into its rules, and spread to more than a dozen schools in various states.

Now, the monument bears no name, yet its inscription is read by all. He need not sign his name, for everything has become the rule, not a memory.

Chi Yan looked at him and suddenly asked, "You stand as a spirit in this realm, your five markings overwhelming all others, so why do you still think of the old feelings here?"

Chu Ning smiled gently and said, "There are always people in this world who should walk ahead, paving the way and lighting a lamp for those who come after. I once knelt here and begged for the Way, and now I've only come back to see if that lamp is still there."

He turned and walked in.

In the setting sun, the wind rustled through the courtyard wall, and the sword flashed like a shooting star, gleaming in the young man's hands.

The soul lamp has not been extinguished, and the Dao heart still burns.

The martial arts school's doors were wide open, and spring sunlight streamed through the red-lacquered door frame, casting dappled patterns on the spotless bluestone path.

The disciples came and went in a hurry, but they did not appear flustered.

The boys, with black cloth belts around their waists and the school emblem with the character "雷" (Lei) on their chests, rushed into the courtyard in twos and threes during the break between classes, their faces filled with focus and vigor.

Chu Ning slowly stepped across the threshold.

Just like I was years ago, only this time, I didn't climb over the wall or sneak in. I simply walked in quietly, like an ordinary passerby.

No one came forward to greet him, and no one recognized him.

Chi Yan stood beside him, slightly surprised, and whispered, "They...don't recognize you?"

Chu Ning watched the teenagers run past him without turning back or staring at them; his expression only grew more serene.

He smiled faintly and said, "Over the years, Benlei Martial Arts School has expanded and relocated all of its oldest members to new schools in various places. Some serve as instructors, while others serve as trainers, all dedicated to nurturing students in their respective regions."

"But this Qingyang main hall alone is reserved as the 'starting place of teaching,' 'where the lamp was first lit, the old flame should not be allowed to extinguish the new flame.' Therefore, here... now it is full of new people."

Chi Yan nodded solemnly and said, "Such an arrangement is indeed brilliant—those who guard the roots do not disturb the branches and leaves, and those who spread the branches do not disturb the origin."

The two strolled slowly along the side corridor of the martial arts school. The blue brick ground was clean, and the new paint on the courtyard walls was still wet; everything they passed looked brand new.

In the distance, on the central training ground, the "ten stone steps" are clearly visible.

Those were the martial arts rules personally established by Lei Wanjun: After entering the school, disciples must ascend step by step, progressing through ten stages and ten levels of mental techniques, footwork, physical fitness, and spiritual awareness, without ever overstepping or presumptuously learning.

Wooden swords and spears were planted on both sides of the stone steps, where dozens of teenagers were practicing in perfect unison. Midway up, a middle-aged instructor, one hand behind his back, reprimanded them in a deep voice, his breath steady: "If your mind isn't calm and your feet aren't steady, how can you be worthy of practicing martial arts! Benlei Martial Arts School does not accept impetuous people!" His voice, like a morning bell and evening drum, echoed endlessly in the training ground. Several younger students, whose movements were a little slower, were immediately punished by marching three hundred steps in place, forbidden to complain.

Chu Ning stopped and stared intently.

His eyes flickered slightly, and he said softly, "Back then, I almost sold my soul to pay the tuition of ten taels and three months' worth of tuition, just to get a qualification to enter the sect."

Chi Yan listened quietly without uttering a word.

Chu Ning continued, "Back then, I was being hunted down by my enemies and ostracized. Becoming stronger became my only way out."

"Now, these young people... do not need to sacrifice themselves, bow their heads, or pay the price with blood. All they need is a heart that desires martial arts to enter this gate."

His voice was extremely faint, like willow catkins falling in the spring breeze—light, yet resounding when they landed.

Chi Yan looked at Chu Ning, a look of almost respect appearing in his eyes.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard Chu Ning talk about the past, but today, illuminated by the laughter and joy of reality, these memories seemed especially vivid.

Chu Ning slowly walked down to the "tenth step".

There, a blue stone stele stands quietly.

The stele is not tall, its surface mottled and slightly bluish in color. The top of the stele originally had a gap, which has been repaired with copper and stone, but the marks of time cannot be concealed. Looking closer at the stele's surface—there are no gilded inscriptions or names of the pavilion masters, only a few lines of simple, unadorned characters:

"People do not practice martial arts for the sake of worship, nor do they honor themselves for the sake of favor."

"With a single thought, I raise my fist, simply because Heaven does not protect me; I will lift up Heaven myself."

"Though bones may be broken, will cannot be broken; though life may be as insignificant as dust, the heart can shake mountains."

"We martial artists strive to overcome difficulties, protect what we hold dear, and never bow down to fate."

"If no god grants my wish, I will use my body to shatter the throne of the gods with lightning and fire."

The font is bold and the strokes are slightly rough, yet it exudes an undeniable stubbornness.

Chu Ning slowly walked forward and gently stroked the corner of the stone tablet.

At that moment, it was as if he was not touching cold stone, but his own younger self, clenching his fists, gritting his teeth and shedding tears.

He recalled kneeling before this monument years ago, his soul imprint unactivated, his heart empty. Looking up at the stone tablet, he repeatedly murmured in his heart:

"I want to become stronger."

At that time, no one paid attention to him, and no one knew that he had survived three winter nights on the dry rations he had saved, just to get a piece of paper on the list of those who could enter the academy.

Today, his name is not recorded on the monument, but he knows that every word on it is a statement he once made, a thunderous soul that he obtained with his unwavering devotion.

Chi Yan asked softly from behind him, "Was this monument erected by you back then?"

Chu Ning slowly shook his head, his gaze calm and serene: "I didn't set it up."

"But this monument is for all those who, like me, were so poor that all they had left was their will."

As he spoke, he turned around and looked at the vast martial arts arena, at those young figures, those who stumbled and got up again, and those who fell but still looked up.

At that moment, his eyes shone.

The spring breeze blows, and the sky and earth are clear and bright under the bright sun.

Standing in the morning light, Chu Ning said softly, "From one man to a hundred. The Thunder Martial Arts School has changed, and so has Qingyang. That's enough."

He turned and left.

In front of the gate, several young disciples were still imitating the "Thunderclap Saber Technique," falling down and getting up again and again.

That scene—he no longer needed to go back to participate, because those who were about to set off were no longer alone.

That's what he truly left behind.

The museum includes a brief history hall.

It was the quietest side hall in the martial arts school, with a mottled lintel and three powerful characters carved on a black lacquered wooden plaque—Jian Shi Tang (Hall of Simple History).

Chu Ning pushed open the door and entered, and the hall fell silent for a moment.

One after another, murals come into view, all painted with light ink and color, in a simple yet powerful style. On the main wall, a horizontal scroll stands out most prominently, detailing the development of the Benlei Martial Arts School since its reopening:

"Within three years, halls will be set up in four prefectures and five locations, where ordinary people can learn."

The "Thunderbolt Entry Stone" is used to assess bone structure, not destiny; even those from humble backgrounds can rise to prominence.
"Now, there are twenty-seven halls across eight states, with over ten thousand disciples, and nearly a thousand who have just achieved the initial stage of Soul Mastery..."

Every stroke is based on the old teachings of Qingyang.

Chu Ning's gaze shifted slightly as he slowly moved forward, walking along the timeline. The scenes unfolded like a reflection of the past: the first instructors carrying equipment on their shoulders, trekking into mountain villages to establish schools and teach; young people whose soul imprints were just beginning to solidify, kneeling in gratitude on the stone steps before their schools; and children from various regions returning home with their skills, guarding the dangers of their villages...

He watched very slowly, his fingertips tracing the rubbings on the wooden boards on the wall inch by inch, as if through these scenes he could touch the lifeblood that had been conceived in his mind and had now flourished.

He quietly walked around the museum again.

On the training ground, newly initiated disciples are doing their morning refresher training.

In front of the side hall, instructors were copying the martial arts rankings for the month, while young disciples, carrying weapons, bustled about, creating a well-ordered scene.

Many young disciples bowed hastily as he passed by, but their eyes showed no surprise—they did not know who he was, but simply performed the proper bowing.

Although the deacons in the hall noticed his unusual attire, they did not ask any further questions.

After just one close look, they went about their duties as if they had never suspected anything.

He stood on the outer corridor, watching everything proceed in an orderly and efficient manner, and a secret sense of satisfaction welled up in his heart.

"Very good," he thought to himself.

This is the Thunder Martial Arts School I wanted.

Do not fear power or be obsequious for titles.

—A place of true independence, freedom, and equality.

He went into the back room.

That is where the former martial arts training hall used to be. The hall has been renovated, with new pine wood replacing the beams and pillars, and the walls newly covered with light gray paint, but the overall layout remains unchanged.

At the very center, the Soul Stele still stands upright, engraved with the Three Principles and Ten Laws of the Thunder Martial Arts School, with a Soul Fire Offering Platform and a Soul Master's Sacrifice Tablet beside it.

He walked forward step by step, stroking the old knife mark on the side of the monument.

That was the seal of the oath he made here years ago.

"If I climb to a high place, I will surely return a lamp to this place."

At that time, he knew nothing of the future; he was alone, barefoot, and filled with unwavering determination. Now, touching the stone tablet again, he is already the master of the realm, adorned with five markings, and revered by all the other pavilions.

The hall fell silent instantly.

The lecturers and students who were unaware of his identity suddenly stopped and looked in his direction. Some frowned slightly, some seemed lost in thought, and others stared blankly at the man with an ancient air and simple attire.

As if a thought had arisen in my mind—this person standing in front of the monument seemed to have some inexplicable connection with this martial arts school.

(End of this chapter)