Chapter Sixty-One: The Origin

In truth, the reason he was able to kill Tang Mingwu, a formidable warrior at the ninth stage, was primarily because he had seized the initiative, wounding him once with a poisoned dagger. Moreover, Tang Mingwu had already been injured beforehand, which made his defeat possible. In addition, he possessed several secret techniques for movement, allowing him to maneuver deftly during the fight.

“Reflecting on my battle with Tang Mingwu, it’s clear that I still can’t compare my offensive prowess to that of a ninth-stage martial artist; at best, I’m at the eighth stage,” Qin Yi concluded to himself, having reviewed the recent confrontation. Even with Tang Mingwu already wounded, a head-on clash had left Qin Yi injured as well, highlighting the gulf between them.

“However, in terms of footwork and speed, I’ve reached the standard of a ninth-stage practitioner—perhaps even more!” If not for his nimble movement, which allowed him to evade Tang Mingwu’s initial assaults and exacerbate his wounds, he would never have succeeded.

“It seems my next step must be to cultivate a martial art with stronger offensive capabilities, to enhance my attack power,” Qin Yi mused inwardly. “But the issues with my body remain unresolved. Learning a new martial art rashly…” After repeated use of secret techniques, he now felt a faint stinging pain throughout his body.

…

In the separate residence, the county governor and the chief constable had all assembled. The sight of Tang Mingwu’s lifeless corpse left everyone grim-faced. The county governor, in particular, was at a loss as to how he would explain this to Guo Hu.

Before long, Guo Hu returned to the residence with eight armed guards, his face clouded with fury. He had been played for a fool—having gone to the farewell pavilion outside the city, he had found not even a shadow of a soul. Despite his caution, wary of an ambush, all his efforts had been for nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Guo Hu demanded, frowning as he entered and saw the gathered crowd in the courtyard.

“Inspector Guo, Inspector Tang was killed by an unknown assassin,” Pang Jiuling replied, taking a deep breath.

They all knew Tang Mingwu had been injured, yet even so, he was still a ninth-stage martial artist. Who dared to assassinate such a figure? The audacity was astounding! Inwardly, several deputy constables, including Huo Boru, were secretly pleased—after all, recent disputes with Tang Mingwu had left bad blood.

“What? Tang Mingwu is dead?” Guo Hu exclaimed, stunned. He pushed through the crowd and saw Tang Mingwu’s body on the ground.

“He died from a slashed throat, and it looks like he was poisoned as well,” Guo Hu said darkly, scanning the faces in the courtyard, lingering especially on Huo Boru and Liang Yu, who had lost an arm. Both, however, appeared calm and gave nothing away.

“What exactly happened?” Guo Hu had been lured away deliberately—someone had wanted to kill Tang Mingwu!

“Our constables heard cries for help and came to investigate. They saw a shadow fleeing at great speed, and upon entering, found Inspector Tang already dead…”

…

The following evening.

At the Chasing Moon Martial Hall, Qin Yi had just finished practicing the Golden Snake Thrust when he turned to ask Master Gao, “Master Gao, have you ever seen anyone master more than five second- or third-tier martial arts to a profound level?”

“More than five?” Gao Li stroked his chin. “I haven’t seen it myself, but my father once told me that, fifty years ago, someone in Jiangning County mastered four sixth-stage martial arts and one fifth-stage art to great heights, even comprehending secret techniques in four of them. He was an absolute prodigy, his strength rivaling the ninth stage!”

“Incredible! So, as long as one is exceptionally gifted, even without first-tier martial arts, one can still become very powerful?” Qin Yi asked.

“Exactly, that’s correct. But my father said that while one’s strength could reach the ninth stage, it would come at great harm to the body. Frequent use of secret techniques would even shorten one’s lifespan,” Gao Li replied gravely.

“Shorten one’s lifespan?” Qin Yi’s heart skipped a beat. Could the stinging pain in his body be due to having practiced too many low-level martial arts?

“Yes, as you know, the essence of martial cultivation is enhancing one’s physique, coupled with lethal techniques; that’s what sets a warrior apart from ordinary people,” Gao Li explained.

Qin Yi nodded. In this world, martial cultivation strengthened the blood, sinews, and bones, much like physical training in his previous life, only with a far greater ceiling for improvement.

That was why Senior Brother Zhao had once said that the foundation of a warrior’s strength lay in speed and power. Without these, even the deadliest techniques were mere show.

“Why do third-tier martial arts only go up to the third stage, and second-tier ones to the sixth?” Qin Yi asked.

“The reason is that second- and third-tier arts can’t fully enhance the entire body. At first, they may strengthen the whole body, but beyond a certain point, they only focus on one part or direction, limiting their potential,” Gao Li explained patiently.

Qin Yi understood. For example, when he first practiced the Five Qi Towards Origin Fist to proficiency, his strength barely increased, but his endurance improved. When he reached minor mastery, his overall strength rose. But upon reaching mastery or perfection, the increase was focused only on his fists—he could channel all his power into his punches, but not into his kicks.

So, in the end, the Five Qi Towards Origin Fist primarily reinforced his fists.

“You mean some low-tier martial arts strengthen the hands, some the legs, some the head, arms, abdomen, or even internal organs—and that’s why problems arise?” Qin Yi ventured.

“That’s the gist of it. Imagine you’ve learned five or six martial arts, each strengthening a different area, but there are still parts of your body left unenhanced. When you use secret techniques, those neglected areas are forced to operate beyond their limits, leading to hidden injuries or even failure. Over time, your body will inevitably suffer,” Gao Li replied with a shrug.

Qin Yi suddenly understood—the source of his body’s pain was likely this very issue. It was much like in his previous life, where workers who often bent over would suffer herniated discs, and weightlifters would injure their spines and knees. Using secret techniques was akin to forcing the body to overexert.

“Then, what if someone mastered a dozen second- and third-tier martial arts, strengthening every part of their body? Wouldn’t that solve the problem?” Qin Yi speculated.

“Leaving aside talent, even with it, who has the time to master a dozen arts? That would take two or three centuries! Besides, some areas would be over-reinforced—like palms and fists, or overlapping footwork. Some parts simply can’t be enhanced by second- or third-tier arts. In the end, the same problems arise—that’s what my father told me,” Gao Li said, shaking his head.

“I see,” Qin Yi muttered, frowning. For instance, of the arts he practiced—Heaven’s Pivot Palm, Five Qi Towards Origin Fist, and Heaven’s Authority Claw—all focused on the upper limbs, leading to excessive overlap. The more low-level martial arts one learned, the more this overlap occurred.

Meanwhile, many parts of the body only received basic enhancement, so the disparity grew ever larger. The greater that disparity, the more secret techniques would trigger hidden dangers—magnifying physical injuries and hastening one’s demise.