Early morning.A lone figure sped down the mountainside.
Zhu Siqi was actually not moving very fast. This was his first time going down the mountain, and his heart was filled with indescribable delight. He wanted to take a good look at the scenery below and memorize the road carefully—after all, it would be a huge joke if he couldn't find his way back by nightfall.
After passing through the primeval forest, he walked along the woodland path, finding everything fresh and novel. Whenever he saw a stone-paved road or a flight of steps, he would stop to examine them closely. But after walking for over an hour, the scenery began to look much the same, and his interest gradually waned. His pace quickened, and as he walked he recalled what Master Liaofan had instructed him the night before.
"Disciple," Liaofan had said, "in these twelve years, I have taught you nearly everything that can be taught. What remains will depend on your own cultivation and insight in the future. You have also read many kinds of books, and with your memory, you should remember most of them. But a person cannot live on this alone. Society today is unlike any era of the past—there is no longer such a thing as the martial world. If your martial arts were to be displayed in public, it would bring you unforeseen trouble. The state and the government might even take notice of you, and then it would be very difficult for you to act freely in the future.
"So here I lay down your first rule for descending the mountain: never reveal your profound martial skills in front of others. Especially your ability to sense your surroundings—this must never be told to anyone. In the future, it may very well be the means by which you save your life. If someone were to learn that you possess such an ability, then based on my decades of experience in the world, I can tell you this: not only forces within our own country, but even foreign powers would try every means to recruit you. They may not want your life, but the life you'd be forced to live could be even lonelier than your days here on the mountain. Would you be willing to accept that?"
As Liaofan spoke, his tone grew increasingly stern.
"I will remember it, Master," Zhu Siqi replied solemnly. "I will never reveal my inner strength, lightness skill, hidden weapons, or sensing abilities in front of others. But may I use them secretly, or after disguising myself?"
Zhu Siqi understood his master's reasoning, and he silently engraved it in his heart: hiding oneself was indeed the first rule. If everyone knew how formidable he was, where would the fun be? Still, learning martial arts without ever using them—what would be the point? So he tried to negotiate.
"That would be acceptable," Liaofan nodded, "but you must never use them frequently. And before using them, you must circulate the Yijin Yiyuan Art to sense your surroundings and ensure your own safety. As for your disguises, I am quite at ease about those."
At this point, Liaofan smiled.
Here, some explanation of Zhu Siqi's so-called disguise is necessary. In truth, it was a byproduct of cultivating the Yijin Yiyuan Art. When he practiced alone on the mountain, he would sometimes let his true qi circulate freely throughout his body in order to train his control over it. When the qi flowed to his face, he suddenly thought: facial features are controlled by facial muscles—if he could alter the degree of muscle control, shorten what should be shortened, straighten what should be straightened, wouldn't he be able to become another person? It sounded fun.
With little entertainment on the mountain, he immediately tried it. Holding a mirror, he experimented on his own face. At first, because he couldn't control the strength well—and because there were dozens of muscles on the face—his appearance became downright horrifying, with one side bulging and another sunken. But as he gradually mastered the control of qi, his face began to look more and more normal.
Eventually, one day when his master had just returned to the mountain, Zhu Siqi changed his face and went to greet him, giving Liaofan quite a fright. Though Liaofan soon recognized him—after all, they had lived together for over ten years, and his footsteps, clothes, scent, posture, build, and eyes were unmistakable—it still startled him.
Such disguises were of limited use against close acquaintances, but with training and the conscious alteration of certain habits, they would suffice when traveling outside. There was only one drawback: he couldn't maintain the altered appearance for very long. With his Yijin Yiyuan Art at the fifth level, he could hold it for only a little over ten minutes. The demand on qi control was simply too high—one lapse, and the features would distort.
"Although you've learned all the martial skills," Liaofan continued, "there is still much to learn in society. For instance, how to speak with people, how to associate with them—this too is a form of learning. And there's also money. You've lived on the mountain all this time and have no real concept of it. This time when you go down, besides seeing the world below, your task is to buy two packets of salt and ten jin of rice."
With that, Liaofan handed him a ten-yuan bill.
"Ah… where do I buy those things?" Zhu Siqi asked. He had eaten salt and rice, but had never bought them.
"At Shantang Market, the one I pointed out to you," Liaofan said. "As for how you buy them, that's your own business." With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and returned to his room.
When Zhu Siqi reached the foot of the mountain, he saw people walking in the distance. He immediately slowed down, keeping to an ordinary person's pace.
Before long, he arrived at Shantang Market. It happened to be a market day. On days ending in five or ten each month, people from villages all around would gather here to buy goods for their homes. Small traders brought in all kinds of wares early in the morning. On such days, the crowds were thick—arrive too late, and it was hard even to move, let alone set up a stall.
By the time Zhu Siqi reached Shantang Market, it was nearly noon. As he approached the street entrance, he saw a dense flow of people, like fish crossing a river. It was difficult to squeeze straight in, so he followed the crowd, slowly moving forward.
The street was not wide—only four or five meters across—and only a few hundred meters long. On both sides, vendors displayed their goods. Some used shoulder poles with baskets, setting the two baskets together as makeshift counters. Others simply spread a sheet of plastic on the ground and laid out their wares. Some sold local produce straight from the earth. Those with carts sold directly from them, parking at the roadside—mostly handcarts, wheelbarrows, or bicycles; motor vehicles were rare.
Moving slowly with the crowd, Zhu Siqi found everything novel. Since he couldn't move fast anyway, he examined every stall, picking things up and looking them over. He didn't buy anything, though—he knew he had to buy the salt and rice first, or he might end up without enough money. Being scolded by his master would be a small matter; botching his very first errand would be far more embarrassing.
After walking several dozen meters, he noticed some permanent shops at the edge of the street. These didn't disappear when the market ended. There were snack shops, barbers, herbal medicine stores, and various general and cloth shops. Ahead, he spotted one called "Shantang Grain and Oil Shop."
Such shops usually kept their doorways clear, leaving one or two meters of space so customers could enter. Otherwise, in the bustle of market day, no one would be able to get inside.
Zhu Siqi entered the grain shop. Inside, goods were neatly categorized: rice, corn, wheat, flour, salt, lard, rapeseed oil, noodles, sauces, cured meats, and other seasonings. At the front was a counter, behind which stood two people—a young man and a middle-aged man. Zhu Siqi walked to the rice section and said directly:
"I want ten… jin… of rice."
Speaking to a stranger for the first time made him nervous; the words even felt a little difficult to get out.
Seeing a customer, the young man came over. "Sure thing. Early-season rice or late-season rice?"
"There are two kinds?"
"Yes. Early-season rice is cheaper. Late-season rice costs more, but tastes better."
"Then ten jin of late-season rice," Zhu Siqi said.
"Got it." The young man weighed out ten jin of late-season rice and packed it into a woven bag.
"Anything else?" he asked out of habit.
"Two packets of salt."
The young man added two packets of salt to the bag, then looked at Zhu Siqi expectantly.
Zhu Siqi didn't understand what he meant and just stood there.
After a moment, the young man couldn't help himself. "You need to pay."
"Oh!" Zhu Siqi suddenly remembered. Buying things required money. He hurriedly handed over the ten-yuan bill.
The young man chuckled inwardly—this boy was clearly buying things for the first time. He didn't comment, and after making change, returned four yuan and two mao to Zhu Siqi.
Carrying the woven bag and the change, Zhu Siqi returned to the street. Feeling a bit hungry, he went to a snack shop and ate a bowl of noodles. This time he didn't embarrass himself—he asked the price first: one yuan a bowl. After paying, he checked the sky. It was time to head back up the mountain; if he waited any longer, it might be dark before he got home.
After noon, the crowd thinned, and people walked faster. Along the way, he bought one and a half jin of roasted melon seeds, two jin of locally brewed rice wine, and a few pieces of candy he had never tasted before. Then he left the market.
By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, it was already late. He circulated the Yijin Yiyuan Art to check that no one was nearby, then activated his Treading Snow Without Trace lightness skill and sped swiftly back up the mountain.