Chapter Twelve: The Storm

The Splendid Water Robe tea lived up to its reputation, plucked from the heights of Tianshan. When the boiling water slid down his throat, it left behind a trace of coolness. Or perhaps it was only his imagination, but after drinking the tea, the emotions that had been stirred up seemed to settle. A refreshing breeze rose under his arms, as if he were lounging in the courtyard, lazy and utterly comfortable.

Such exquisite tea.

“Brother, what brings you here today?” Luo Yanzong asked with a smile.

Kou Li pondered for a moment. He had considered on his way over what excuse would be suitable—he certainly couldn’t say that his standing practice was so intense it left his body lacking nutrition, lest he reveal the secret of the Wordless Diagram. Luckily, he had a ready-made reason.

He set down the porcelain tea bowl, his mouth twitching, and said, “Brother, today I drank some Bone Broth assigned by the martial hall. Suddenly, I found my kidney weakness and cold constitution much improved; even my Foundation Strengthening stance has reached its second form. The effects are astonishing—I never thought I could still…”

In short: cures kidney weakness, sugar-free, three hundred years, Bone Broth.

He had no legitimate reason to request more broth from the martial hall. But if it was for treating his ‘kidney deficiency,’ the matter would be easier. Seeing Lu Zhixiong’s odd expression, Kou Li’s old face flushed. Damn it, would he now earn the nickname ‘Kidney Weakling’ in the martial hall? It felt like a loss—no, not a loss!

Luo Yanzong, however, didn’t mind in the least. His eyes brightened. “This is excellent news! Tomorrow I’ll instruct the broth master to—”

“Hold on, Brother,” Lu Zhixiong suddenly interjected. “Sorry, little brother. If this were any other time, it wouldn’t be an issue. But Brother has just broken through the Bone Refinement stage and is undergoing the hundred-day bone renewal. His bones are fracturing and regenerating, and he urgently needs tiger bone broth for nourishment. The martial hall is already poor. If you take another share, someone else will have less. Now that both brothers need extra broth, the apprentices may not have enough.”

Kou Li frowned, glancing at the troubled Luo Yanzong. What unfortunate timing. He wasn’t someone who lacked understanding; in this martial hall, only this eldest brother truly treated him with sincerity.

A thought struck him, and he offered, “How about this, Brother? I’ll pay for the Bone Broth’s ingredients, including labor costs. I only ask the martial hall’s master to prepare it for me.”

He still had a thousand taels of silver extorted from Zhou Xinxin, enough to last a while.

Luo Yanzong smiled, “Since you’ve said so, how can I refuse? Lingnan is rich in deep forests and wild beasts; the mountain bones won’t be scarce. But for the deep-sea shark bone to flavor the broth, Sixth Brother, you’ll need to pay special attention. That’s the most crucial ingredient. You may not know, but your ugly-looking Brother Lu is the leader of nearly a thousand Dragon Households in Guangcheng. Our martial hall relies on his local reputation…”

“Brother, you’re always teasing. I’m nothing special, just a humble man, raised by my fellow villagers.”

Dragon Households?

That was the Egg People.

Kou Li recalled records he’d seen in the county annals: In Qin times, General Tu Ju led five armies to Yue, committing atrocities. The Yue people resisted and fled to the sea, living on boats for generations, dwelling with fish and turtles, not farming, relying only on fishing and transport, and called themselves the Egg Clan.

Egg People were skilled in water, their faces tattooed to resemble dragons. They could swim thirty or forty miles without harm and were called Dragon Households, often diving with knives and spears to battle giant fish.

Kou Li’s gaze swept over, catching through the gaps in Lu Zhixiong’s shirt a vicious, writhing tattoo—half carp, half dragon, its colors dazzling, as if it might leap from his body.

Was it an illusion? The bulging fish eye seemed to emit a bloody aura.

“Little brother, you’re family. Don’t mention helping again,” Lu Zhixiong said, though his face showed difficulty. “But Brother, you know, when August arrives, storms will rage offshore—clouds roiling, terror sweeping through. Every year hundreds of lives are lost. My clansmen may not dare venture out now. I can only promise to try.”

With Lu Zhixiong’s words, Luo Yanzong could say no more. He was an honest man, unwilling to risk others’ lives for his brother’s medicine. The tea had run dry, and the gathering dispersed.

“Brother, the sea storm is coming,” Lu Zhixiong said with a ferocious grin as he reached the door, his ugly face eerily menacing, like the tattooed fish ready to pounce.

The storm truly arrived.

Kou Li, in both his lives, had never settled by the sea, and this was his first time experiencing the roaring wind that could sweep away children, the waves crashing like serpents and dragons, pounding day and night like endless firecrackers.

During these days, fewer apprentices came to train at the martial hall. Most were descendants of coastal fishermen, living in shacks along the shore. When the sea unleashed its fury, disaster awaited—ruined homes, lost lives.

Even the usually irritable and strict Yue Wu Huo refrained from scolding those distracted apprentices. Half had seen their homes destroyed by the waves; some had lost entire families to the disaster.

No matter how skilled, fishermen could not survive such violent seas.

“Kou brother, the window’s been broken again,” Zheng Bao’er cried in panic as the wind and rain surged, torrents pounding down. The paper windows stood no chance.

Watching Bao’er, awkwardly holding a basin to block the window, only to be soaked from head to toe, Kou Li shook his head, grabbed his bed sheet, and stuffed it into the gap.

“Kou brother, how will you sleep tonight?” Bao’er fretted.

“It’s only for a couple days, don’t worry.”

But the deluge lasted half a month, showing no signs of stopping. Even the coastal district was at risk of flooding, and Kou Li grew restless.

He’d lost nearly twenty pounds during this period; beneath his clothes, he was almost skin and bones. To stop training and standing practice was impossible—but without nutritional supplements, his body’s reserves were depleted instead.

Lu Zhixiong had vanished without a trace. With the storm so fierce, Kou Li wondered whether it was intentional or simply helplessness. He sensed, though, that his Sixth Brother harbored a subtle hostility toward him.

With a creak, Kou Li stepped out into the storm. The rain struck him like pebbles, stinging painfully. Under such disaster, humans were truly insignificant.

Fortunately, after only a few steps, he dashed into a two-story wooden house, stripped off his soaked clothing. Though gaunt, a skin stretched over bone, the protruding muscles and sinews were hard as iron, like rough, unyielding edges.

A tiger just out of winter, thin and mottled, eyes glowing green, baring its teeth, ready to devour—this was Kou Li.

He felt as if a fire burned within, searing his flesh and sinews, akin to days without water. He knew his body was at its limit; any more standing practice would lead to bloody urine and muscle atrophy—not something sheer willpower could withstand.

Thus, he spent his days holed up in the library.

The library was the only cultural relic in the martial hall, favored by Master Lin Xianshi. It held at least five hundred volumes, though they varied widely: classics, miscellaneous essays, medical and Daoist texts, even dozens of public bulletins, the most recent dated half a year ago.

Across two lifetimes, Kou Li had read for over twenty years and was quite tired of it. Still, he reasoned that since Master Lin liked this place, there might be books on boxing theory and body refinement. If he couldn’t concoct a Bone Broth-like tonic, he could at least devise some recipes to nourish himself without harm.

Once the rain eased, he planned to travel fifty miles to Yuezhou City to buy medicinal herbs and experiment with making his own tonics.

“Deer antler bone, cooling, non-toxic, promotes circulation, strengthens the stomach, incompatible with seaweed; Polygonum multiflorum, red and white varieties, red for medicine, replenishes essence, stops depletion, can…”

He was reading a book called “Method of Decoction and Tonics,” which catalogued medicinal herbs for body strengthening, their preparation, contraindications, and combinations. It was enlightening. With his keen insight, he could ‘see’ what his body lacked, making supplementation straightforward. He had already devised several formulas, awaiting trial.

Martial artists, through standing practice, developed robust bodies and strong qi and blood, able to withstand more than ordinary people. Common tonics were useless; they often had to research their own nourishing recipes. Medicine and martial arts were inseparable—otherwise, even the best doctor couldn’t brew the medicine you needed.

He had read a dozen books, but this one was the most useful. On the last page, his brow rose; something was tucked in the back cover. He pulled it out—three pages of body-refining recipes, including the Bone Broth formula.

“So it really is—”

Such recipes were the martial hall’s secret transmissions, second only to boxing manuals, known only to masters and their successors. How could they be so casually left here?

Kou Li felt both joy and shock, glancing around, gradually understanding.

With the low literacy rate of ancient times, the divide between literature and martial arts, and the poverty of the coastal district, he was certain the number of literate people in the martial hall could be counted on one hand.

Given the hall’s tradition of hand-to-hand instruction and absence of secret manuals like in martial novels, there was nothing to attract outsiders. Aside from Master Lin, no one else would come here.

With so many books obscuring it, the recipe was safe here.

But now, it was no longer safe.