After washing up, Aunt Chun, filled with worry, fed Lin Ning his breakfast spoonful by spoonful.
With the mentality of a man who had lived two lives, Lin Ning originally couldn't stand being taken care of like a child like this.
However, Aunt Chun's gentle yet firm manner left him unable to refuse.
"I specially asked Wu Niang for this Dragon Blood Rice. It's the best for nourishing the body. Ning'er, eat a bit more..."
Dragon Blood Rice was twice as long as ordinary rice grains, entirely crimson and crystalline, giving off an unusual fragrance when smelled.
From Lin Xiaoning's memories, Lin Ning learned that in this world, Dragon Blood Rice was worth more than gold.
Through unofficial channels, an equal weight of Dragon Blood Rice was even more expensive than an equal amount of gold.
Because second-rate martial artists in this world who wanted to advance further needed to eat Dragon Blood Rice to nourish their blood and essence—something Lin Ning had never heard of in his previous life, despite reading many wuxia novels.
Even for an ordinary martial artist, eating Dragon Blood Rice would greatly help with consolidating the foundation and cultivating the origin, strengthening tendons and bones.
It could be said that Dragon Blood Rice was one of the necessary conditions for becoming a first-rate expert—utterly indispensable!
However, the cultivation of Dragon Blood Rice could only be mastered by the three great dynasties of Qin, Chu, and Qi.
Aside from these three, if any other power dared to interfere in this matter, the three great dynasties would join forces to wipe them out.
However, it was also thanks to this that the world need not worry about "martial heroes disrupting the law with their strength."
But for outlaw factions like Qingyun Village, wanting to survive and grow strong meant paying an extremely heavy price.
The wealth hunted down through blood, sweat, and risked lives over the course of a whole year was basically all given to others in exchange for the costly Dragon Blood Rice.
Yet if they didn't want to be bullied or wiped out at someone else's whim, they absolutely had to guarantee strong military strength, which made Dragon Blood Rice indispensable as well.
First-rate experts like Lin Long and Tian Hu had, in the end, died for the sake of this Dragon Blood Rice.
"Aunt Chun, I don't even qualify as a third-rate expert. There's no need to get Dragon Blood Rice for me anymore—it's a waste to eat it, and it even makes my nose bleed easily..."
After running through the origins and course of this Dragon Blood Rice in his mind, Lin Ning marveled at the wonders of creation while speaking to Aunt Chun.
Aunt Chun ignored this remark and only asked, "After eating this porridge, do you feel any better?"
Lin Ning laughed and said, "It couldn't work that fast... I just feel a warmth in my stomach."
Aunt Chun looked at Lin Ning with doting affection and said, "As long as it's warm, that's good. Your body will recover quickly. I'll have Doctor An come take a look at you again later..." Seeing that Lin Ning still wanted to say something, Aunt Chun continued, "It's not that I don't understand Wu Niang's hard work and don't sympathize with her hardships. It's just that this mountain stronghold originally belonged to the Lin Family—it was the Great Leader's. You are the Great Leader's only son. No matter what happens, no one must ever be allowed to forget that!"
Lin Ning: "..."
He hadn't expected there to be such deep meaning behind it, and he'd underestimated her.
Seeing that she had persuaded Lin Ning, Aunt Chun smiled gently and said, "Ning'er, you just focus on recuperating your body properly, and don't think too much about the rest. I'll bring you some books later so you can read to pass the time... You should also read more of the martial arts manual your father left you. If you'd mastered even one-tenth of it, you wouldn't have ended up hurt this badly, would you? What a pity it's a bit too late now..."
After Lin Ning finished eating, Aunt Chun wiped the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief, tucked the blanket in around him, and only then gathered the bowls and chopsticks and left.
.....
Ten days later.
The mountain stronghold's conference hall, the Hall of Gathering Righteousness.
The Great Leader, Tian Wuniang, sat upright in the center on the tiger skin armchair, her face devoid of joy or sorrow, silent and taciturn.
The hall, too, was utterly silent.
Over the past year or so, the authority she had accumulated through her ruthless, iron-fisted methods had made people so awed that they'd nearly forgotten her age, and that picturesque face of hers.
Two rows of chairs lined the hall, where the other leaders sat.
In the center of the hall stood a white-haired old man. He was not one of the stronghold's leaders, but rather the Great Manager of the Mountain Stronghold.
When Lin Ning's grandfather had been the Mountain Stronghold Leader, this old man surnamed Sun had already been in charge of the stronghold's miscellaneous affairs.
By now, it had already been over fifty years.
He had worked diligently and conscientiously, never once making a mistake, and was therefore held in high respect by everyone in the stronghold.
Though the old man wasn't one of the leaders, everyone in the stronghold, high and low, called him Uncle Sun.
Standing beside Uncle Sun was Aunt Chun, silently shedding tears.
After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, unable to withstand Aunt Chun's "divine skill of tears" any longer, Uncle Sun sighed and said with difficulty, "Girl Chun, even in front of several of the leaders here, this old man still cannot agree to your request again. To be honest, you're an old hand in this stronghold too, so you should know how hard-won Dragon Blood Rice is. We only get about a hundred-some catties a year in total. It's only June now, just past the halfway point of the year, and already sixty-five percent of the storeroom's stock has been used up! The crux of it is that Ning Ge'er hasn't succeeded in cultivating martial arts at all, yet he's eaten such a heavenly rare treasure year after year. By rights, with how much he's eaten, it should have piled up into a first-rate expert by now, but Ning Ge'er has eaten so much with not even the slightest effect—what's the point? It's not easy for the Great Leader and the others, you know..."
Hearing this, Aunt Chun's tears fell even harder, and she said, "Uncle Sun, Ning'er is the only flesh and blood of the Old Leader and Madam. He was injured so badly, and it's only by eating Dragon Blood Rice that his injuries have been barely kept in check. If he doesn't have Dragon Blood Rice to recuperate his body, and something happens to him, then even if I died right now, I wouldn't have the face to see the Old Leader and Madam in the afterlife..."
"You..."
Old Uncle Sun was so angered by Aunt Chun's words that he was rendered speechless.
If Lin Ning's life truly hung by a thread, or if he were gravely wounded and needed Dragon Blood Rice to keep him alive, this old wretch wouldn't act like some stingy miser about it.
But Lin Ning's body had clearly already nearly fully recovered. He'd eaten that precious Dragon Blood Rice continuously for ten days—something not even several generations of Great Leaders had ever been so extravagant about. How could they possibly keep wasting such a precious thing!
Dragon Blood Rice was said to be irrigated with dragon's blood, but it was clearly irrigated with the blood and sweat of everyone in the stronghold.
A whole year of robbing travelers on the road, suffering countless injuries, shedding so much blood, even losing so many lives—all just to exchange for that mere hundred-some catties of Dragon Blood Rice on the black market?
Not to mention anything else, just look at the current Great Leader—clearly still just a young girl, yet after her father Tian Hu was fatally wounded last year, she had led the stronghold's people in fighting off wave after wave of invading enemies, striking such fear into their foes that she established her authority, and only barely managed to keep the family honor of Qingyun Village, one of the Thirteen Greats of Canglan, from collapsing.
She had also personally led people out to rob travelers in all directions, and only in this way had she managed to scrape together enough for a year's expenses.
How difficult and perilous this process had been—others might not know, but did the stronghold's own people not know?
How many injuries had Wu Niang suffered, how much blood had she shed?
Even if Lin Ning was the Old Leader's only bloodline, that still didn't mean they could squander such hard-won Dragon Blood Rice like this!
Uncle Sun's face darkened, and he wanted to say more, when he heard Tian Wuniang, who had remained silent all this while, suddenly speak from above: "Uncle Sun, give Aunt Chun whatever she wants. Don't worry about the Dragon Blood Rice—in a few days, I'll go get some more."
Wu Niang's voice was different from Jiu Niang's crisp and sweet one—hers carried a slight rasp, and within its cool, severe edge was an inherent authority that made people unable to look down on her.
Hearing her say this, Uncle Sun opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing more, letting out a long sigh and nodding in agreement.
Beside him, Aunt Chun's face flushed red. After hesitating a moment, she gritted her teeth and said, "Just two more liang, that's all. Starting tomorrow, I'll cook Ning'er's porridge with plain white rice, and only give him this once every ten days from now on. If that's still not good enough, then it's simply his fate—who told him, at his age, to still be fooling around with Jiu Niang like that..."
Hearing her say this, the expressions of everyone in the conference hall turned complicated.
These days, in the whole stronghold, probably only Aunt Chun and Jiu Niang still believed that Lin Ning and Jiu Niang were merely playing around together...
Hearing this, Tian Wuniang, seated on the tiger skin armchair, narrowed her slender phoenix eyes slightly and said flatly, "Aunt Chun, there's no need for that. Just take good care of him. Whatever you need, simply ask Uncle Sun for it. I'll figure out the rest."
Hearing this, Aunt Chun looked at Wu Niang's calm yet commanding face, then at the other leaders' gloomy expressions, and slowly began to weep, saying, "Great Leader, I know it isn't easy for you. When Madam was alive, she doted on you the most, even more dearly than on Ning'er. If she could see how difficult things are for you now, she would surely be heartbroken, and would scold Ning'er for being so useless. The Old Leader would feel the same way... I'm old now, and who knows how many more days I'll be able to take care of Ning'er? If I should close my eyes one day, I only hope that the Great Leader and the other leaders, for the sake of the Old Leader and Madam, will at least give Ning'er a way out. He may be a bit hot-tempered, but his heart isn't bad..."
"Slap!"
The dark-faced, bushy-bearded man sitting in the first seat on the right, his face full of anger, slammed his right fist into his left palm, and, suppressing his fury, shouted loudly at Aunt Chun, "What kind of talk is that?!"
He was the current Third Leader of the stronghold, named Hu Dashan, nicknamed Bull Head, also nicknamed Great Bull Head.
He was one of the two first-rate experts in the stronghold, fierce in temperament, with powerful, forceful saber techniques.
Seeing him furiously question her, Aunt Chun didn't answer, only wept until she couldn't speak, as if she had suffered some enormous injustice...
Seeing this, Hu Dashan nearly choked on his own rage, but under the frowning, intent stare of the man across from him, he could only suppress his anger. He grabbed the teacup on the wooden table beside him and downed the tea in one gulp, still not satisfied, as if he wanted to chew up and swallow the teacup itself.
The much thinner man seated in the upper seat on the left, holding a folding fan, had an unusual, pockmarked face, but his expression was composed and dignified. He sighed and said to Aunt Chun, "Sister Chun, we've known each other for twenty years, half a lifetime of friendship. Whatever you have to say, can't you say it properly? Why go out of your way to provoke us like this? Even if Xiao Ning... well, no matter what, how could we ever deny him a way out? Speaking like that really does us a great injustice."
He was the Second Leader of Qingyun Village, named Fang Lin, renowned for his outstanding wit and strategy.
Just as the others were about to say more, Wu Niang's calm voice rang out: "Aunt Chun, go on back for now. When he turns sixteen next year, I will marry him."
At these words, everyone's expression changed drastically.
Even though everyone knew that Lin Long and his wife had once doted on Tian Wuniang, and that Lin Long had even died saving Tian Hu, arranging the marriage between the two of them with Tian Hu before he passed.
But after Lin Xiaoning's series of reckless, self-destructive actions—especially harming Tian Hu, and then, just ten days ago, attacking Jiu Niang—everyone in the stronghold had stopped bringing up that marriage at all, Aunt Chun included!
Yet unexpectedly, Wu Niang still acknowledged this marriage arrangement...
Aside from Aunt Chun, who was overjoyed yet also filled with shame, everyone else's expressions showed great surprise.
However, in the end, no one said anything, only feeling that it was hard on Wu Niang, such a fine young lady.
Having witnessed one tragedy after another unfold, they all felt this matter was terribly tangled. One could only imagine how bitter Wu Niang must feel in her heart...
They could only hope that this person would cherish his good fortune, conduct himself properly, and stop causing trouble.
.....
Qingyun Village's Ink Bamboo Courtyard was located halfway up North Mountain, named for the lush, dark bamboo covering the mountain's upper half.
It was the finest courtyard residence in the stronghold, originally the home of Lin Long and his wife.
After the two of them passed away, it became Lin Xiaoning's residence, and Aunt Chun lived there too, to take care of him.
In front of the five large green-brick-and-tile houses was a front courtyard enclosed by a wooden fence. A spring, drawn from deep within the bamboo forest behind the courtyard, converged into a stream that wound through clusters of flowers, circled around a bamboo pavilion to form a shallow pool, and finally flowed down along a cobblestone-paved river channel, passing through the fence and down the mountain.
Unfortunately, this spring was too small—flowing down from North Mountain, it never even reached the foot of the mountain before vanishing without a trace.
Aside from Ink Bamboo Courtyard, the common people of the stronghold had to cross two mountain ridges to fetch water from the Canglan River to the west for their water needs.
Fetching water was also part of the morning routine the stronghold's children practiced daily as they cultivated...
Of course, none of this had anything to do with Lin Ning.
As the stronghold's spoiled young master, the original body had never once fetched water himself. Instead, whenever he was bored, he liked to wander down to the riverside, cracking sunflower seeds while watching those little urchins doing their morning training as they fetched water, a mocking sneer plastered across his gloomy face, thoroughly detestable...
In the afternoon, the sunlight wasn't too harsh. Lin Ning, whose injuries had mostly healed, lounged in the Moon-Gazing Pavilion, reclining in a bamboo chair as it gently rocked back and forth.
In his hands he held an ancient scroll, and on the stone table beside him sat a purple clay teapot, with a teacup beside it filled seventy percent full, fragrant steam curling upward.
It had quite the air of stealing half a day's leisure from a floating life...
Yet this otherwise leisurely and tranquil scene was ruined by the grave expression on Lin Ning's face and the barely concealed wild joy hidden in his eyes.
What matter could it possibly be that would cause someone who had weathered half a lifetime of hardship in his previous life to lose his composure like this...
.....
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