Chapter Ten: Caging the Fierce Tiger

After Zhou Qian consumed the celestial apricot from the Ghost Matron, a surge of vital energy flooded his entire body. It was only natural—this crimson apricot was meant for immortals to purify their blood, and if it could benefit even a true immortal, how much more potent would it be for a mere mortal like himself? Had the yellow-eyed tiger not tainted the apricot’s spiritual essence with its own blood, diminishing some of its medicinal power, Zhou Qian would have likely perished on the spot, his body unable to withstand the surge.

He felt strength pouring forth from every part of him, his bones and flesh creaking and groaning as if being torn apart by a thousand blades. The pain was so excruciating that he wished for death, yet his mind grew only clearer, his senses sharper. Blood-red energy surged through his skin, and as he caught sight of the yellow-eyed tiger approaching, a savage urge welled up within him, compelling him to tear the beast limb from limb.

With a sudden lunge, Zhou Qian launched himself at the tiger. The creature, not expecting such audacity from a human, hesitated for a moment, allowing Zhou Qian to close the distance and swing his fist at its head. The tiger dodged with ease, its massive tail whipping around like an iron whip and striking Zhou Qian in the waist, sending him flying ten yards away. Any ordinary man would have met his end from such a blow, bones shattered, life snuffed out—but Zhou Qian, overflowing with vital blood, was unscathed, even finding himself oddly invigorated.

He charged at the tiger again and again, each time sent flying by that iron tail, yet each time he rose unhurt, his surging energy slowly settling within him. The yellow-eyed tiger, possessed of no small cunning, bared its fangs in a gaping maw and pounced at him.

A fetid wind rushed at Zhou Qian’s face. In that moment between life and death, his mind was preternaturally clear. He realized the tiger would aim for his head and knew he could never outmatch such a demonic beast in raw power. Yet, the tiger, for all its size, was not as tall as he, and to seize him, it would need to leap. As the beast’s stinking jaws closed in, Zhou Qian suddenly ducked and dove forward, arms looping around the tiger’s waist, sending both man and beast tumbling to the ground. In ordinary circumstances, he could never have pulled off such a feat, but with the apricot’s strange power, his strength, spirit, and essence had reached an unimaginable level.

The tiger rolled and sprang upright, but Zhou Qian, seizing the chance, clambered atop its back, wrapping both arms around its thick waist, burying his face in the dense fur. The beast, infuriated, thrashed and leapt, doing everything it could to throw him off. Zhou Qian nearly lost his grip several times, but he knew letting go meant certain death. Yet, he could not last much longer—the world spun, his vision blurred, and nausea threatened to overtake him.

Desperation lent him resolve. Amid the chaos, he freed his right hand and, recalling the “inch force” technique taught by Liu the Slapper, marshaled his vital energy and struck the tiger’s skull with all his might. There was a resounding crack; the tiger shuddered violently, while the flesh of Zhou Qian’s hand split open, exposing bone and spilling blood.

Ferocious as the yellow-eyed tiger was, it shared the weakness of all beasts: once a man managed to stay astride its back, unable to be thrown off, it was doomed. Zhou Qian felt as though his overflowing vital blood had finally found an outlet; the oppressive sensation vanished, replaced by an exhilarating sense of relief. He ignored his wounded hand, focusing solely on hammering the tiger’s head with every ounce of strength. The inch force technique relied on the precise use of blood and energy, but the human body has limits—Liu the Slapper, a master, could manage only a dozen blows before succumbing. Yet with Zhou Qian’s blood so abundant, his fists fell like rain, the technique growing more fluent with each strike, even the opening and closing of acupoints becoming second nature. For a youth just beginning in the martial arts, this was unimaginable. Of course, by this time, Zhou Qian had lost all conscious awareness, acting on pure instinct. At last, the tiger could endure no more; with a final thunderous blow, it collapsed, and Zhou Qian fell unconscious atop its body.

As the sun set and the moon rose, the wound on Zhou Qian’s hand, once deep enough to expose bone, had scabbed over under the mysterious effect of the celestial apricot. He woke in a daze to find himself lying on something soft and furry. Glancing down, cold sweat broke out—he was atop the yellow-eyed tiger’s corpse. Its skull was split wide, brain matter scattered—a grisly testament to his own handiwork. When had he become so formidable?

Testing his limbs, Zhou Qian was amazed to sense the blood coursing audibly through his veins, his strength vastly increased—as if he could split a brick with a single chop. Remembering how he had pummeled the tiger’s head, he sought out a poplar tree as thick as his wrist, exhaled sharply, and struck it with a punch imbued with inch force. The energy flowed smoothly, his acupoints opening and closing with precision, as if he had practiced the technique a thousand times.

There was a sharp tearing sound, then a crack—the tree, as thick as his wrist, snapped in two. Still a youth at heart, Zhou Qian mimicked Liu the Slapper’s gruff tone: “Ha! That’s a fist the size of a clay pot! Ever seen one? I bet you haven’t!” He waved his slender fist, unaware that only by fully mastering such force could one generate a sound by splitting the air itself—martial artists called it “thunderous yang force,” fists and muscles rumbling like thunder at noonday, the very embodiment of pure, blazing energy. Zhou Qian had not yet reached such heights, but he was on the threshold.

After his grueling battle with the tiger, the celestial apricot’s effects left him still brimming with energy, but his mind was spent. His eyelids drooped after that punch, and not caring for filth, he curled up against the tiger’s plush corpse and drifted into a deep sleep.

He knew not how long he slept, but when he awoke, the sun was blazing, and even the shade of the trees could not fend off the heat. A foul odor reached his nose. Looking himself over, he found his skin covered in a sticky black grime. He hurried to wash in the pond, and, gazing at his reflection, found his complexion had grown fairer.

Zhou Qian had always been a handsome youth. Now, with the celestial apricot expelling impurities from his body, it was as if a dusty jade had been washed clean, the finishing touch added by a divine hand—his features now shone with a flawless, sculpted beauty.

“My second brother will be green with envy!” Zhou Qian laughed to himself. He glanced out across the lake and murmured, “Time to go home.”

In the Bright Moon Pavilion in Changzhou’s bustling city, business was thriving, but Li Sanshan looked like death warmed over as he slumped by the window, fanning himself. “Who knows if Third Bro is dead or alive? That boy’s always causing trouble. Five days now with no word—does he want me to die of worry? If he’s been carried off by tigers or wolves, I’ll end up the youngest! Bah! What a jinx! Third Bro, you’d better come back soon! Your second brother still wants your noodles!”

Sister Yan’er, the leader of the Rouge Troupe, was rushing about, busy as ever, and seeing the little turtle of a servant idling by the window, she was furious. “Li Sanshan, you little bastard! I’m working myself to death here and you’re taking it easy? Do you even want this job?”

Li Sanshan shot her a weary glance. “Yes, yes... You weren’t calling me names that night, were you? That night you were all ‘my little darling, my treasure’—but as soon as you need something, I’m just the little bastard again? That night, this little bastard served you very well, didn’t he?”

Yan’er’s cheeks flushed bright red. The owner of the silk shop couldn’t resist teasing, “Sister Yan’er, so you really are an old cow dining on young grass?”

Li Sanshan put on a wounded look. “That’s right, Manager Li. And to make matters worse, after devouring this tender youth, Sister Yan’er didn’t even give me a red packet. Isn’t that just shameless?”

Master Wang, a wealthy patron, laughed, “Li, you told us last time your Lady Ju was your first, and now you say you’re still a novice?”

Yan’er’s anger mounted, her pretty teeth nearly gritted to pieces. Sensing danger, Li Sanshan heard a commotion outside and seized the chance to escape, exclaiming, “Something’s happening outside! I’ll go take a look!”