With his plan settled, Yin Zhiping stopped hurrying.
If he couldn't shake the man anyway, then let him tag along.
Better yet—since completing his martial arts, this was the first Innate-realm martial artist Yin Zhiping had ever encountered. And since they'd met, well then...
***
Come daybreak, Yin Zhiping washed up and coaxed Ouyang Feng into feeding him moves—dressed up under the flattering name of "testing his progress."
After the Quanzhen Inner Art, the Golden Goose Art was the skill Yin Zhiping used most fluently.
What boy could ever resist that kind of soaring, rooftop-skimming lightness skill?
Who hadn't dreamed of running up walls and across eaves?
After the Golden Goose Art came the Quanzhen Swordplay.
To roam the world, sword in hand—that too had been every young man's dream.
With such a rare sparring partner on tap, Yin Zhiping naturally went all out.
The proficiency panel had smoothed his path to mastery: at 100, every technique of an art lived in his bones, ready the instant he wanted it.
But that did not mean his combat experience was rich.
Quite the opposite. He had rarely left the mountain, and his only sparring partners had been his fellow disciples.
In Yin Zhiping's eyes, whichever junior brother came at him with whatever technique, they were nothing but openings head to toe.
After each bout, Yin Zhiping could point out every one of their shortcomings.
That impartial, meticulous guidance was one more reason the Quanzhen disciples adored him.
The price was that Yin Zhiping badly lacked experience against opponents of his own level.
He had originally thought to seek out Guo Jing—or some Innate expert among the Mongols.
Now a perfectly good one had delivered himself. No need to trek far for what stood near.
Yin Zhiping's request landed squarely in Ouyang Feng's wishes. He had finally found his son; he had no intention of letting the boy run off. What better than to display his prowess and get his precious son training at his side?
Even a mad Ouyang Feng kept some wits about him. He was not entirely gone.
One willing to strike, one willing to take the blows—the toad had met the mung bean, and they were made for each other.
For three days straight, Yin Zhiping and Ouyang Feng stayed rooted to that spot. Hungry, they took some game; thirsty, the stream ran right beside them.
Yin Zhiping even wove two hammocks out of rattan so he could sleep comfortably at night.
All three days, Yin Zhiping fought him with Quanzhen Swordplay.
At first his inexperience showed. His techniques flowed smoothly enough—but against Ouyang Feng's offensive, he often couldn't find the right answer, the fitting counter, in the moment it was needed.
Which meant that whenever Ouyang Feng seized the upper hand, Yin Zhiping got pressed flat to the bottom and pinned there, with no hope of a counterattack.
After every bout, Yin Zhiping replayed it in his mind: when should he have used which technique; where exactly had he gone wrong.
That was experience—battle sense. No amount of solitary training could complete it.
Three days later, Yin Zhiping could trade blows with Ouyang Feng using Quanzhen Swordplay and hold his own, his progress visible to the naked eye—a new man by the day.
Watching his fine son improve by such strides, Ouyang Feng shook out praise like it cost nothing, and it all boiled down to one sentiment: that's my seed, what talent!!!
It made Yin Zhiping want to leap up and put a sword through him.
He had actually been weighing whether to tell Ouyang Feng the truth about his reversed Nine Yin Manual.
But these few days of sparring had taught Yin Zhiping that a real gap still lay between him and these long-established old jianghu hands.
He had underestimated the world. He'd assumed that within the same realm, any gap would be small. Pure frog-at-the-bottom-of-a-well thinking.
At the same time, his once-still heart had begun to stir again.
Because these days of sparring had also shown him, with painful clarity, the weight a true martial arts manual carried.
Ouyang Feng used one thing, over and over: the Toad Skill.
Yin Zhiping had long since read every pattern of it—and still could not win.
Part of that was his own lack of experience. Another part was that the Toad Skill was simply stronger than the Quanzhen arts.
The old Yin Zhiping had considered the Quanzhen arts sufficient. Then Ouyang Feng, squatting in the dirt doing his croaking toad impression, had slapped him across the face with reality and told him plainly: insufficient!
So now Yin Zhiping turned the problem over: which divine manuals in this world could he actually get his hands on?
Ouyang Feng's Toad Skill and Nine Yin Manual, he didn't want to learn.
The Toad Skill was too ugly—and far too recognizable. The Nine Yin Manual was a fine choice in itself, but he refused to owe Ouyang Feng that debt.
The Nine Yin Manual in the Ancient Tomb?
Yin Zhiping would have you know he was a model disciple who honored his sect's rules: that place was forbidden ground.
The Nine Yang Divine Art?
Now that had real potential. It should still be at Shaolin.
The Dugu Nine Swords?
That required the great Condor's willingness to teach—and Yin Zhiping wasn't sure he'd pass the bird's inspection.
The Numinous Vulture Palace of the Tianshan Mountains?
No telling what state it was in—derelict or withdrawn from the world entirely. And it was far. Troublesome.
Round and round, the Nine Yang Divine Art still looked the most reliable.
And with that settled, he finally remembered he still had a mission. He was still expected in Xiangyang...
Elder Ouyang—hide-and-seek, care for a round?
You'll play?
Then come...
***
Five days later. Xiangyang.
Guo Jing and Huang Rong, deep in military council, heard the report—disciples of the Quanzhen Sect had arrived—and lit up with joy.
They had long since received Qiu Chuji's message by carrier pigeon: the Quanzhen Sect was sending disciples to reinforce them.
The letter had also hinted at a great surprise—while refusing, of course, to say what the surprise was...
The small mischief of a man getting on in years: he simply wanted to picture their astonished faces, even if he'd never see them.
Guo Jing and Huang Rong rose and went out to welcome them personally.
The two had received no end of kindness from the Quanzhen Sect over the years; their bond with the sect went without saying.
"Taoist Master Yin! It has been many days—I trust you've been well."
Seeing the man at the head of the column, imposing and bright-spirited, Guo Jing took him for the expedition's leader, Yin Zhiping, and greeted him first to show his regard.
Having once received the teaching kindness of Ma Yu, Guo Jing could fairly be said to share incense-and-lamp ties with the Quanzhen Sect.
He had met Yin Zhiping once, years ago—a hurried glance, nothing more.
True, the man before him didn't quite match his memory of that figure. Still, the leader had to be Yin Zhiping. Surely...
Li Zhichang looked at the beaming Guo Jing, at the smiling Huang Rong... and wore the face of a man asking: Who am I? Where am I?
I'm... Senior Brother Yin?
"Hero Guo, I am Li Zhichang. Senior Brother Yin's whereabouts are currently unknown."
Li Zhichang shook his head and explained.
The brothers had pushed hard on the road precisely because they hoped to reach Xiangyang quickly and reunite with Senior Brother Yin.
Senior Brother Yin was an Innate too—but they worried all the same. That was Ouyang Feng out there. A master whose name had been made decades ago.
Even within the same realm, gaps yawned wide. Hadn't their own Grandmaster Wang Chongyang defeated the other four of the Five Greats to claim the title of number one under heaven—and the Nine Yin Manual with it?