Volume One: Into the World as a Youth Chapter Thirteen: Guidance

In the middle of the night, parched and unable to sleep, Fang Tian threw off his quilt and sat up. His eyes were hazy, the effects of the wine still lingering. He shook his head, but the dizziness persisted. Muttering to himself, he complained, “This wine is really something. I can’t drink like that again or I’ll end up drinking myself to death. My mouth is so dry. I’d better find some water first.”

He got out of bed, sat down at the table, grabbed the kettle, and poured the water straight into his mouth, gulping it down. In no time, the whole kettle was empty. He shook it—nothing, not a single drop. Licking his lips, he sat in a daze by the table, waiting for the drunkenness to pass, his mind drifting back over the night’s events.

He tried to recall how he’d gotten back, but couldn’t remember a thing—only that someone had brought him home. The details were lost in a fog. Vaguely, he remembered something soft and comforting pressing against him, but what exactly it was, he couldn’t say. The sensation lingered pleasantly in his mind. As sleepiness crept over him, Fang Tian yawned, returned to bed, and soon fell asleep again.

Elsewhere, when Zhou Xiaodie had finished seeing Fang Tian safely back to his room, she returned to her own chambers. Sitting at her dressing table, she absentmindedly played with her long, dark hair, not noticing her own reflection in the mirror. Her thoughts were entirely preoccupied with Fang Tian.

She wondered why such a young man would shed tears in his sleep—was there some deep sorrow in his heart? Yet, by day, he seemed so cheerful and bright. Her mind drifted to his striking features, and at once her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“Ugh, what am I thinking?” she scolded herself. “That scoundrel! Even in sleep, he doesn’t forget to take advantage of me. I regret not slapping him right then and there. Just thinking about it makes me angry!”

But she couldn’t help but admit, “Still, Fang Tian is quite handsome—there’s a heroic spirit between his brows, and a gentleness on his face.” The more she thought of it, the more bashful she became, her lips curling into a smile as she leaned on her hands, lost in her reverie.

Her maid, watching her mistress talk to herself and sit dreamily with her chin in her hands, suddenly seemed to understand. She solemnly said, “Miss, have you fallen in love? This won’t do! It’s only your first meeting, and you’re already like this. What will happen in the future?”

At the maid’s words, Zhou Xiaodie jumped up. “You wretched girl! What nonsense are you spouting? I wasn’t thinking about him at all! Don’t talk rubbish, or I’ll make you pay for it.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t say another word,” the maid replied, though she muttered under her breath, “You obviously were thinking about him. Who are you fooling?”

“What was that?” Zhou Xiaodie demanded.

“Nothing, miss, I didn’t say anything.”

“Good. Now come and help me get ready for bed.”

“Yes, miss.”

Once the maid had helped her undress and settle in for the night, she quietly closed the door and left. Zhou Xiaodie leaned against her bed, unable to sleep. The feelings Fang Tian had stirred in her were unlike anything she’d experienced before. She didn’t know what was wrong with her—why she couldn’t get him out of her mind after just one meeting. Her cheeks were still burning. She touched her face, and a silly smile crept over her lips.

But as the night deepened, she told herself it was time to sleep, and forced her mind to quiet. Lying down, she closed her eyes and drifted away, taking with her a new and peculiar feeling for Fang Tian.

Morning came. Fang Tian was already awake. He roused his spiritual energy, dispelling all traces of fatigue, and in an instant, he was fully alert. After stretching, he stepped outside, intending to take a walk. Unknowingly, his feet carried him to the martial training grounds. Realizing where he was, he turned to leave, but it was too late—he’d been spotted by Zhou Quan.

“Brother Fang Tian, good morning!” Zhou Quan called, halting his own training.

Fang Tian’s face changed. He hadn’t expected to be seen, so it seemed he wouldn’t escape easily. He forced a smile and replied, “Good morning, Brother Zhou Quan!”

“Come over here! Why are you standing so far away? Last night at dinner, we didn’t get a chance to talk before you were carried off—what a shame.”

“And I ought to thank you for not mentioning our earlier misunderstanding,” Fang Tian replied.

“Don’t just stand there—come here, I need a word with you.”

Resigned, Fang Tian answered, “Alright, I’m coming.”

As soon as Fang Tian approached, Zhou Quan threw an arm around his shoulders and addressed the gathered younger members: “From now on, Fang Tian is my brother. Treat him as you would treat me. Understood?”

“Yes!” they responded.

“Louder!”

“Yes!” they shouted louder.

“That’s more like it.” Fang Tian was surprised by Zhou Quan’s authority in the Zhou family, but wondered why Zhou Quan had brought him over.

He asked, “So, Zhou Quan, what did you call me over for?”

Zhou Quan replied, “Nothing much. We sparred before, and I lost fair and square. Your strength is impressive. I was hoping you’d give us some pointers.”

“Pointers?” Fang Tian echoed.

“Exactly. With your talent, just a bit of guidance from you could help us break through to new levels.”

“But I’m not sure how to teach,” Fang Tian protested.

“Just tell us about your training—what you focus on, the details you pay attention to. That’ll help us.”

“Alright, I’ll do my best.”

“No worries, Brother Fang Tian. Just speak your mind.”

After Zhou Quan’s repeated invitations, Fang Tian had no choice but to comply. Soon, the others gathered around, eager to hear his insights. After defeating Zhou Quan, Fang Tian’s standing among them was already high; now, with the promise of his instruction, their anticipation grew.

Fang Tian began, “Cultivation values innate talent, but perception is equally important. The world has its truths, and all beings have spirit. Cultivation isn’t merely absorbing spiritual energy. Your heart must commune with the heavens, your body with the earth—thus uniting yourself with the universe. Blend with the essence of all things, gather spirit into strength, transform strength into technique, integrate technique into the Way, let the Way shape the source, follow the source to the laws, transmute spirit into divinity. Only then does cultivation yield twice the result with half the effort.”

The youths listened in bewilderment, unable to grasp his meaning, but somehow the words moved them. Even if they didn’t fully understand, a faint sense of comprehension dawned—such was Fang Tian’s depth. Next to him, Zhou Quan listened intently, giving Fang Tian a thumbs-up in admiration. Fang Tian nodded in return, amused, for these were the very teachings Old Tian had once given him—teachings he himself barely understood, and which he now recited to impress the others, not expecting anyone to truly comprehend.

Yet, who could have known that in just a few words, he had encompassed the principles of heaven and earth, the essence of all living things?

He went on to explain the training of skills and martial techniques, emphasizing that diligent practice alone was not enough—one must understand and internalize the techniques to become truly powerful.

The others nodded, and soon Fang Tian began pointing out individual weaknesses, having each attack him with their techniques. After each exchange, he would highlight areas for improvement. Those who received his guidance experienced a certain awakening, sensing the shackles of their current level begin to loosen—proof that Fang Tian’s advice was truly valuable. Zhou Quan, watching Fang Tian instruct his family’s younger generation, already regarded him as one of their own.

Fang Tian was simply recreating scenes from his own three years of training under Old Tian, repeating the process, just with new pupils. During this, he noticed something: the Zhou family’s cultivation techniques were only of mid-grade Earth rank, far inferior to his own. He sighed inwardly, knowing that no matter how hard they trained, the limitations of their techniques would always hold them back.

He, on the other hand, had Old Tian, who could provide any technique, of any grade, so long as he was able to learn it. Still, he could help them as best he could, but his own secrets could never be revealed.

As he pondered this, Zhou Quan sidled over and asked, “Brother Fang Tian, may I ask what level you’ve reached in the Spirit Gathering Realm?”

Fang Tian, who had actually reached the second level during his training at the inn, only claimed to have perfected the first level.

Zhou Quan, fearing that Fang Tian would say he’d reached the second, was relieved—after all, even the family head was just at the third level. Still, he was deeply impressed: so young, yet already in the Spirit Gathering Realm. He’d doubted the patriarch’s words at the banquet, but now he believed them. During their sparring, Fang Tian must have held back—if he’d used his full strength, Zhou Quan might not have survived. The thought sent a chill down his spine; he resolved never to challenge Fang Tian again.

Seeing Zhou Quan lost in thought, Fang Tian asked, “What’s wrong? You look shaken.”

“It’s nothing—there are still others who need your guidance. Please continue.”

Puzzled by Zhou Quan’s reaction but seeing no reason to refuse, Fang Tian resumed his instruction. “Come! Let’s continue.”

“Yes, Brother Fang Tian!” the young disciples chorused. They already saw Fang Tian as one of their own, and rushed eagerly to seek his advice.

The warmth of their enthusiasm unsettled Fang Tian a little, but he answered each question, helping them with their cultivation.

So the hours slipped by, and before anyone realized it, dusk had fallen.