028 Cultivation Begins with Stretching

The path of martial arts is undoubtedly shrouded in mystery for modern people, especially when it comes to the term 'internal energy.' Nowadays, it has become something exclusive to novels; who has ever truly seen it in real life?

Li Daniao had watched some videos before, though he couldn’t recall where they had come from. In them, masters dressed in traditional attire would simply push their palms and send opponents flying several meters. There were even more incredible displays, such as a qigong performance in which a master stomped his foot and over twenty people surrounding him collapsed instantly.

Most modern viewers wouldn’t bother investigating—their immediate conclusion was that it was fake. Li Daniao was no exception. For the first twenty-some years of his life, internal energy, or qigong, was nothing but pseudo-science to him, a scam for performers to make money.

But when something as impossible as time travel happened to Li Daniao, all impossibilities suddenly became possible—including internal energy.

Li Daniao had witnessed firsthand, and felt for himself, the power of internal energy—the chilling resonance of the Xuanming elders’ Ghostly Wails, which allowed him to understand what a sonic weapon truly was, and Zhang Sanfeng’s lightness skill that was almost indistinguishable from short-distance flight.

Not only the top masters—even Mo Shenggu’s apprentice, the Daoist boy who taught Li Daniao martial arts, had cultivated internal energy. Li Daniao saw it with his own eyes: that smooth, callus-free palm shattered six stacked blue bricks with a single strike. The Daoist boy’s running speed, supposedly the most ordinary Eight-Step Cicada Pursuit in the martial world, could easily allow him to let Bolt start thirty meters ahead and still reach the finish line first.

So, with the chance to learn such abilities that transcend reality, Li Daniao certainly wouldn’t let it slip by.

The way of internal energy begins with breathing and meditation.

The breathing method of the Wudang Sect wasn’t the kind Li Daniao had dreamed of, where one could practice lying down. You had to adopt the 'five hearts facing the sky' posture to train.

Li Daniao sincerely didn’t understand what 'five hearts facing the sky' had to do with breathing and meditation.

“It’s true that ‘five hearts facing the sky’ isn’t a necessary posture for learning breathing or internal energy, but it is indeed the most suitable and effective stance,” the Daoist boy explained to Li Daniao. “I understand your confusion—I felt the same way. My master’s original words were these:”

“When practicing internal energy, the mind must remain pure in order to guide internal energy along fixed meridians. The primary prerequisite for purity of mind is stillness. All bodily movements are controlled by the mind; the moment you move, your mind is occupied with the motion and is no longer pure. There are countless still postures—standing, lying, prone, sitting, and so on. Since internal energy practice often requires remaining motionless for an hour or two, the choice of posture becomes crucial.”

“After countless experiments since the invention of internal energy, it was finally determined that ‘five hearts facing the sky’ is the best posture for meditation. It purifies the mind most swiftly and prevents drowsiness. Moreover, regardless of the internal energy method, using this posture yields better results.”

“In ancient times, when Pan Gu created the world, pure air rose to form the heavens, while turbid air sank to form the earth. Although internal energy practice focuses on moving internal energy to strengthen oneself, environmental factors are vital. Pure air greatly promotes cultivation, while turbid air is too dense to benefit mortals. Thus, ‘five hearts facing the sky’ allows more effective absorption of the pure air above.”

Is this ancient man giving me a science lesson? Li Daniao listened with partial comprehension, but one thing was clear—the posture was beneficial, and if it helped, why not stick to it?

And so, Li Daniao’s journey into martial arts began with the miserable task of stretching.

Li Daniao never considered himself a perseverant person, nor someone with great willpower. Lack of self-discipline is a common weakness.

You know perfectly well that using gaming time to study will improve your abilities. You know that daily exercise will enhance your physical fitness. You know that going to bed early and rising early lengthens your lifespan compared to those who stay up late.

Yet temptation always leads you away from good habits. It boils down to two reasons: insufficient motivation and consequences too far removed.

If you got ten thousand dollars every time you went to bed early, you’d do it. If one night of staying up late meant you’d get sick the next day, you’d never do it.

Li Daniao was that type—he wouldn’t persist without enough motivation. He always felt he was young, that pulling one late night wouldn’t matter, his body could handle it. Barring any accidents, he’d surely regret his lack of self-control when he grew old.

But why would such a person willingly let others help him stretch, just to achieve the 'five hearts facing the sky' posture?

For Li Daniao, personal safety was paramount. Only afterward came material comfort.

After crossing worlds, although the inheritance he received wasn’t vast, if he lived contentedly, he would never lack food or clothing.

But who could have known that upon accepting the throne, he would gain a system considered essential for any transmigrator? This system, like those in other transmigrator stories, offered the chance to become stronger—even invincible. But it also brought ever-present danger: the fall of Tuvalu, or sudden transport to deadly movie worlds he couldn’t handle.

Fear of death isn’t shameful. Li Daniao was always candid about his fear of death. He believed there were virtually no people in the world who didn’t fear it.

Does fearing death mean you should hurry and die, to spare yourself anxiety?

Of course not. Everyone, when faced with death, will experience a powerful urge to survive. While it’s often futile, sometimes this desire brings about miracles.

And the reason for the urge to survive? Simply put, it’s the wish not to die.

Li Daniao didn’t want to die. So, faced with mortal danger, he cherished every opportunity to improve himself.

“Ah, ah, ah…” Li Daniao’s screams sent chills through everyone in the servant’s quarters.

“Should we take a break?” The boys helping Li Daniao stretch were startled by his cries. They were all twelve or thirteen, their bodies still supple, and could easily do the splits. They had never imagined that stretching could cause such agony.

“No!” Li Daniao roared, eyes bloodshot. “Don’t stop—ah, ah, ah…”

At that moment, Li Daniao sat atop the communal bed, his legs spread at a hundred and twenty degrees by two servant boys, pressed firmly against the mattress. Another servant pressed his back, forcing him toward his legs, reducing the angle between his torso and the bed to less than forty degrees.

“Brother, I’m scared,” one servant pulling his leg whimpered.

“Scared of what? You’re not the one in pain—ah, ah…” Li Daniao’s face was drenched in sweat.

“I’m afraid we might kill you and the sect would make us pay with our lives,” the servant finally confessed. It wasn’t Li Daniao’s pain he feared, but being held responsible for his death.

“Nonsense! How could I die? Ah, ah…” Li Daniao couldn’t even educate the boy—he really was in agony. As long as stretching isn’t too extreme, it's impossible to get hurt trying to force flexibility in one go. The limit is determined by how much it hurts. Li Daniao recalled a joke that perfectly explained the maximum effective way to stretch:

When you feel you can’t bear the pain any longer, when you feel like dying, push it just a little further—it’s just right, maximizing the effect without injury.

Li Daniao was in this exact state, screaming in pain, which made the servants fear he might die.

I will never die, not ever, Li Daniao vowed fiercely. Being ruthless to oneself is true ruthlessness.

It was the end of a day’s labor, just after dinner. In previous days, Li Daniao had never worked so hard, so he would instantly fall asleep after returning to bed.

Though he still felt exhausted after work today, the thought of his unreliable system—how the next world might send him to a dead-end like '2012'—kept him awake.

Clenching his teeth, he dragged several servants over to help him stretch. As an adult among a group of twelve- and thirteen-year-old children, with experiences far beyond anything in this world, it was no trouble for Li Daniao to become their leader.

“Brother… when will this end? I want to practice,” another boy pulling his leg wasn’t afraid of killing Li Daniao, but watching everyone else meditate made him eager—who didn’t want to be a master?

“One hundred more counts—ah, ah…” Li Daniao mentally counted. He’d been stretched for nineteen minutes already, and his counting was slower than a clock, so the actual time was certainly even longer.

“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!” The three helping servants finally finished counting, cheered, and the two holding his legs quickly let go, rushing to meditate.

Li Daniao collapsed onto the bed, drenched in sweat, gasping for air, feeling as if his legs didn’t belong to him anymore. After a brief rest, he looked around at the other servants in the room, seeing them all effortlessly assume the 'five hearts facing the sky' posture. He cursed himself for never practicing splits as a child—if he had, by now he could already begin training internal energy.

He’d have to stretch for a few more days, Li Daniao sighed, but he wasn’t too discouraged. At least he had this opportunity.

“Brother, are you back to yourself?” The servant who had pressed his back didn’t meditate like the others, but waited by Li Daniao’s side. Seeing his breathing calm, he hurried to ask.

“More or less,” Li Daniao smacked his lips, feeling hungry.

“So Brother, today you should tell the story of Sun Wukong fighting the White Bone Demon, right? Monk Tang has been captured for days now—do you think he’s been eaten?” The servant spoke with innocent anticipation.

“Gu Xu, you shouldn’t always think about stories. Look at your brothers—they’re all practicing diligently,” Li Daniao scolded, not out of genuine concern for Gu Xu, but because he was exhausted and hungry, hardly in the mood for storytelling.

“Brother, I don’t want to become a martial arts master anyway. Missing a day or two doesn’t matter,” Gu Xu replied quietly.

“Nonsense. Let me tell you: any servant who doesn’t aspire to be the Wudang Sect leader isn’t a qualified servant. Go practice. I’ll tell the story when you’re done,” Li Daniao, older and skilled at inventing tales, assumed the role of senior brother. All he wanted now was to sleep and wait for breakfast the next morning, so he brushed Gu Xu off.

“Oh, then I’ll practice, Brother!” Gu Xu, thrilled at the promise, hurried to meditate.

After a while, Gu Xu finished his practice and opened his eyes, ready to hear the story, only to find Li Daniao already asleep.

“Brother tricked me again…” Gu Xu didn’t dare wake him, so he lay down helplessly and suddenly recalled Li Daniao’s words.

“Could I become the Wudang Sect leader?”

...

...

ps: Does any reader know who Gu Xu is?