Chapter Thirty-One: The Aftermath Lingers, Bamboo Shadows Knock at the Door

The battle at Ghost Sorrow Cliff was like a massive boulder cast into a tranquil deep pool—the ripples it stirred spread far wider than anyone could have imagined.

Within the military, it caused a tremendous uproar. The achievements of "Dragon Fang" were classified as top secret, and the performance of all participants, especially that earth-shattering strike by Shi Lei, was repeatedly studied and analyzed. Ultimately, every conclusion pointed to a single source—the mysterious "Master." From that day on, my codename in the military archives changed from "Master" to "Divine Master," my clearance was elevated to the highest level, and my very existence became a national treasure.

On another level, in a hidden martial world unknown to ordinary people, these ripples caused just as much of a stir.

"Inner force! True, orthodox internal energy!"

"Who could this eminent figure be, willing to impart such forbidden secrets to the military?"

"Is this a blessing or a curse? Are the rules of our reclusive clans to be broken?"

Speculation and discussion surged beneath the surface among those ancient families whose legacies stretched back hundreds or even thousands of years. Like whales lurking in the deep sea, they were acutely sensitive to the slightest disturbance on the surface.

Of all this, I knew nothing, nor did I care.

My life returned to its familiar peace. By day, I was Doctor Jiang at "Anhe Hall," saving lives with my humble skills; by night, I was an ordinary father, watching cartoons and telling stories with my daughter. The iron and bloodshed of Ghost Sorrow Cliff felt like events from a previous lifetime.

That afternoon, I was in the backyard with Yi Yi, using spiritual energy to make an orchid bloom—her favorite game.

Suddenly, I felt a subtle shift, looked up, and gazed toward the clinic’s front gate.

A pure, cool presence, tinged with sharpness and pride, appeared at the door. This aura was unlike the forceful strength of "Dragon Fang" or the profound calm of Xiao Jingtian. It was more like a sword sheathed yet unable to conceal its peerless brilliance.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” Yi Yi noticed my distraction and looked up at me.

“It’s nothing. We have a visitor.” I smiled, tousling her hair. “Play by yourself for a bit. I’ll be right back.”

When I entered the front hall, I saw a woman standing quietly, surveying my modest clinic.

She seemed about twenty-four or twenty-five, dressed in a plain white martial arts uniform tailored to fit her slender, upright form—like a bamboo shoot standing tall in the wind. She wore no makeup, but her beauty was striking and her phoenix-shaped eyes held a natural pride and scrutiny. Most striking of all was the long sword wrapped in cloth upon her back.

“Excuse me, is this the clinic of Mr. Jiang Xiuyuan?” she asked. Her voice was clear and cold, like jade striking stone, pleasant to the ear.

I nodded. “I am he. Are you here for a consultation, or...?”

She did not answer my question but instead fixed her gaze on me, a flicker of surprise and doubt in her bright eyes. She seemed to be probing my aura with some secret technique, but what she found clearly disappointed her.

In her perception, there was not the slightest fluctuation of internal energy about me—my presence was as calm as that of an ordinary man who had never practiced martial arts, with only a faint herbal fragrance clinging from years spent among medicinal plants.

“Impossible...” she murmured, her brows knitting.

Then she lifted her head, her gaze becoming sharper. “My name is Ling Qingzhu, of the Shushan Sword Sect. I am here to ask you a question, Mr. Jiang.”

Shushan Sword Sect?

“Please, go ahead.” My tone was calm, as though I had never heard the name before.

A trace of displeasure flashed through Ling Qingzhu’s eyes. In her world, the name “Shushan Sword Sect” would be enough to make anyone sit up and take notice. My indifference, to her, was either ignorance or deliberate affectation.

Suppressing her emotion, she went straight to the point. “Three months ago, on the southwestern border, a special unit of the Huaxia military employed a long-lost form of true internal energy. According to the investigation by the Ling family, the origin of this technique points to Haishi, and to you, Mr. Jiang.”

She paused, her gaze intense. “I only wish to know: who are you really? Why would you impart the martial world’s forbidden arts to the mundane military?”

Her tone was lofty, almost accusatory.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned away and poured her a cup of tea.

“Cold tea is bad for the stomach,” I said, pushing the cup toward her. “You seem agitated—perhaps you’ve hit a bottleneck in your cultivation, and your liver fire is overabundant, leaving your mind restless?”

A storm raged in Ling Qingzhu’s heart.

She had, indeed, hit a bottleneck. As the greatest prodigy of Shushan in three centuries, she had mastered internal energy by twenty and was a peerless swordswoman, praised as the “Celestial Bamboo Maiden.” Yet for a year now, her progress had stalled; no matter how hard she trained, she could not break through to the grandmaster realm of “sword control by spirit.” Only she and her master, the head of Shushan, knew of this.

And yet this man, without even examining her meridians, had diagnosed her root problem at a glance—overabundant liver fire, restless mind.

Such insight was extraordinary!

In that instant, much of her pride as a scion of a great clan melted away, replaced by deep wariness and shock.

“You...” She opened her mouth, but could not find the words.

“Your style is light and ethereal, valuing unity of mind and spirit, tranquility like still water.” I spoke as though commenting on a painting. “But your desire to win is too strong, your competitive spirit excessive. This makes your ‘qi’ forceful but lacking in agility. Forcing your cultivation only causes your internal energy to crash through your meridians, doing you harm. Do you not feel a swelling pain in your flanks each afternoon, and struggle to sleep at night?”

Ling Qingzhu’s face flushed, then paled. Every word I spoke struck precisely at her symptoms.

She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing her shock, and for the first time, set aside her pride. Bowing with cupped fists, she said solemnly, “Your insight is profound, sir. I am enlightened. Please, guide me further.”

Her change in attitude was swift—proof of her ability to yield when needed.

I pointed at the teacup before her. “The knot in your heart can only be undone by yourself. Your problem is not in your technique, but your mind. Drink this tea, calm yourself for a moment, and then we’ll speak of other matters.”

Ling Qingzhu gazed at the clear tea, hesitating. The martial world was perilous, and drinking a stranger’s tea was a basic taboo. But meeting my calm, fathomless eyes, she was moved by some inexplicable impulse. She nodded, picked up the cup, and drank it down.

As the tea entered her body, a gentle, harmonious energy instantly spread through her limbs and bones. The restless internal energy, agitated by her impatience, gradually calmed under its soothing influence. Even her aching meridians felt relief and ease.

This was no ordinary tea! It was clearly some profound spiritual medicine!

Ling Qingzhu closed her eyes, quietly savoring the changes within. After a long moment, she opened her eyes, the shock in them beyond words.

She rose and bowed deeply to me once more.

“Sir, I will never forget your immense kindness.”

This time, her respect was genuine.

I accepted her salute without fuss. “Now, perhaps we can discuss your true purpose with calm hearts.”

Ling Qingzhu composed herself and spoke respectfully. “Sir, I have no ill intent in coming here. The sudden emergence of internal energy masters in the military has shaken the hidden martial world. All the great families fear it may upset the centuries-old balance between the martial and mundane realms. As one of the leading sects, the Shushan Sword Sect sent me to investigate, to prevent any misunderstandings or unnecessary conflict.”

“Balance?” I laughed softly. “There is no such thing as true balance in this world—only rules set by the strong for the weak.”

I looked at her and went on: “I taught them not so they could chase fame or dominate the martial world, but so they might better protect this land, and the countless ordinary people who only wish to live in peace upon it.”

My voice was quiet, but each word struck Ling Qingzhu’s heart with the weight of a thousand pounds.

To protect...

Her upbringing had been all about bringing honor to her clan and seeking the pinnacle of martial arts. She had never imagined that such profound skills could be given such a simple yet grand meaning.

“But... to grant such divine skills to commoners—is that not casting pearls before swine? With their limited talent, how much could they truly achieve?” She could not help voicing her doubt.

“Talent?” I shook my head. “True strength is never just about talent. What matters most is the kind of heart one possesses.”

I stood and walked to the back door, lifting the curtain.

“Look.”

Ling Qingzhu followed my gaze. In the sunlight of the backyard, a little girl—delicate, her features like sculpted jade—was carefully using a leaf to rescue an ant about to fall from a flowerpot, returning it to the earth.

Her movements were so earnest and attentive, her face alight with a pure smile.

In that moment, the sunlight poured over the child, as if gilding her in a golden halo.

Ling Qingzhu watched, her heart quietly stirred.