Martial Dao: I Can Enhance My Talents

The heavy iron door let out a dull CREAK as it was pushed open from the outside.

Yang Yuan strode in.

Today, she had changed into a set of dark, close-fitting attire. The pair of silver-white claws she usually wore at her waist were gone. Her black hair was tied up with a simple silver hairpin, and a few loose strands fell beside her cheeks, casting faint shadows under the dim lamplight.

Her lovely face was expressionless, but her eyes held a chill deeper than usual.

"The Tiejiang Gang..."

The Iron Fist Sect Elder on the far left lifted his head, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper.

"What in the world do you want?"

The Tiejiang Gang had captured them but not killed them, which gave him a vague sense of unease.

Yang Yuan didn’t answer.

She walked slowly to the Elder and raised her right hand, placing it on top of his head.

Her slender, fair palm was a stark contrast to the Elder’s withered complexion.

The Elder’s body shuddered violently.

"You—!"

He hissed, his voice filled with uncontrollable terror.

Before he could finish, his body began to wither at a visible rate.

His full muscles shriveled and collapsed inch by inch, like soil drained of its water. His bronze skin lost its luster, turning dry and sallow as it clung tightly to his bones.

His eyes, once wide with anger, gradually lost focus as the light within them faded.

In just a moment, a Third Grade Martial Artist had been reduced to a weightless, desiccated corpse.

Yang Yuan withdrew her hand and closed her eyes.

A thick, blood-colored Essence Qi surged up her arm and into her body, rushing through her meridians.

She could clearly feel her Cultivation growing at an incredible speed.

The bottleneck at the peak of the Late Stage of Third Grade teetered on the verge of collapse under the assault of this Essence Qi.

She opened her eyes and turned toward the second Iron Fist Sect Elder.

"A Dem... Demon Skill..."

The Elder’s lips trembled, his voice shaking so badly he could barely form a coherent sentence.

"..."

Yang Yuan said nothing, merely raising her right hand and placing it on his head.

The same scene from moments before played out again—withering, shriveling, collapsing. A living face turned into a dried-out husk in an instant.

The third. The fourth.

When the last Iron Fist Sect Elder’s body slumped onto the iron rack, Yang Yuan withdrew her hand and stood in the center of the cell.

She closed her eyes, and the aura around her began to fluctuate violently.

The fluctuation was fierce and rapid, like a long-suppressed volcano that had finally found an outlet to erupt.

Inside her, the Essence Qi she had devoured from the four Iron Fist Sect Elders was being refined and absorbed at an unprecedented rate. It converted into her own Cultivation, flowed into her Qi Sea, and then poured toward a bottleneck.

OMM—

A soft hum that only she could perceive resonated from deep within her body.

The Second Grade bottleneck that had blocked her from advancing another inch shattered at that moment.

Her aura skyrocketed.

It was countless times stronger than that of the Late Stage of Third Grade, kicking up an invisible wave of air in the narrow cell.

The flame of the oil lamp on the wall flickered violently, almost going out, before returning to its normal dance.

"Early Stage of Second Grade."

Yang Yuan slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her hands.

Beneath her skin, a faint silver sheen seemed to flow—the afterglow of her Inner Qi naturally overflowing after her Cultivation breakthrough.

She gently clenched her fist, and her knuckles let out a series of sharp CRACKS. A faint smile touched her lips as she felt the unprecedentedly vast Inner Qi within her.

She turned and walked out of the cell.

Behind her, four desiccated corpses hung from the iron racks by their chains. Their empty eye sockets stared at the dim ceiling, mouths agape, as if they were still screaming silently in death.

The lamp flame flickered in the draft, casting the withered shadows onto the rough stone walls, making them look twisted and grotesque.

In a secret chamber, candlelight danced on a bronze lampstand.

Yan Wuji sat on the stone chair at the head of the room. His gray cloth robe had a dull sheen in the firelight, and his archaic face was unreadable.

Qi Zhen stood by his side, hands hanging at his sides in a respectful posture.

Yang Yuan pushed the door open, walked forward, and knelt on one knee.

"Supreme Elder, Gang Leader."

Her voice was clear, carrying an irrepressible hint of joy.

Yan Wuji raised his eyes, his murky yet profound gaze landing on Yang Yuan.

After a moment, he nodded slightly, his voice aged and flat.

"Early Stage of Second Grade. Not bad."

Yang Yuan looked up, meeting Yan Wuji’s gaze.

"This disciple owes all of my current success to the Supreme Elder’s guidance."

"Rise and speak."

Yan Wuji waved his hand.

Yang Yuan stood up, standing at the bottom of the steps with her hands at her sides.

Yan Wuji’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he spoke slowly.

"Do not waste the Sect’s investment in you. Next time, you must defeat Fang Han, take first place on the Celestial Pride List, and bring glory to the name of our Tiejiang Gang."

"Yes."

Yang Yuan bowed and replied, her voice solemn and firm.

...

The afternoon sun filtered through the window lattice of the side hall, casting bright patterns of light and shadow on the blue-brick floor.

Fang Han sat at the dining table.

In the center was a large celadon bowl filled with braised pork knuckle, its color a glossy red. It was stewed so tender that the meat fell off the bone with a gentle nudge of his chopsticks.

Beside it was a dish of stir-fried seasonal vegetables, glistening and green, with the fragrant aroma of garlic.

Another dish held a cold salad of wood ear mushrooms—sour, spicy, crisp, and quite appetizing.

The soup was made from an old hen, its broth a golden yellow with a thin layer of chicken fat floating on top, steaming hot.

He picked up a piece of pork knuckle and put it in his mouth. The meat was tender and rich but not greasy, its savory flavor laced with a hint of sweetness that made his mouth water as it melted on his tongue.

He took another sip of the chicken soup. The rich, warm broth dispelled some of the fatigue that had built up from days of Cultivation.

He didn’t eat quickly, but he savored every bite.

Qiu Lan stood by with her hands at her sides. Seeing Fang Han put down his chopsticks and take a small sip of tea, she took a step forward and said softly,

"Senior Brother, you instructed me to go to Tingyu Hall to gather information a few days ago. I went there yesterday and heard a few things."

Fang Han set down his teacup and looked up at Qiu Lan.

"Speak."

"Just a few days ago, the Tiejiang Gang made a move against the Iron Fist Sect, another major power."

Qiu Lan said.

A flicker of movement in Fang Han’s eyes, but he remained silent.

Qiu Lan continued,

"Their Grandmaster, Yan Wuji, did not act, but the Tiejiang Gang still annihilated the Iron Fist Sect in a crushing victory."

She paused, her voice turning grave.

"The people at Tingyu Hall say that the overall strength the Tiejiang Gang displayed this time far surpassed that of a major power like the Iron Fist Sect. They said it’s approaching the level of the Seven Sects."

"Approaching the Seven Sects?"

Fang Han’s brow furrowed slightly.

He was both surprised and not surprised by this.

He wasn’t surprised because the Tiejiang Gang now had a Grandmaster.

Once a power had a Grandmaster presiding over it, it had the confidence and capital to expand into the surrounding territories.

Annexing neighboring powers to strengthen oneself was a perfectly normal course of action.

What surprised him was that the Tiejiang Gang had destroyed the Iron Fist Sect *without* Grandmaster Yan Wuji making a move.

Although the Iron Fist Sect was not on par with the Seven Sects, it was still a major power of repute within the county.

It had numerous disciples, over ten Elders in the Upper Three Grades, and its Sect Leader was a First Grade Martial Artist.

For such a power to be completely helpless before the Tiejiang Gang...

It wasn’t normal.

The Tiejiang Gang’s Grandmaster could be explained by their good fortune in obtaining a Grandmaster Technique from the Grandmaster’s Tomb in Songquan County, which they luckily used to break through to the Grandmaster realm.

But their overall strength approaching that of the Seven Sects could not be explained away by the word ’luck’.

’Either the Tiejiang Gang has been hiding its true strength...’

’Or its overall strength has surged in a short period of time.’

Fang Han was silent for a moment before asking,

"What is the Qingxuan Sect’s stance on this matter?"

"The Sect has not made any official statement."

Qiu Lan said.

"What about the other six Sects?"

"They haven’t made any statements either."

Qiu Lan replied.

Fang Han picked up his teacup and took another sip.

He wasn’t surprised by the attitude of the Qingxuan Sect and the other six Sects.

The Tiejiang Gang wasn’t an ordinary power; it was one with a Grandmaster in its ranks.

The weight of a single Grandmaster was enough to make the Seven Sects repeatedly weigh the pros and cons before making any decision.

The cost of rashly clashing with the Tiejiang Gang was too great.

Moreover, the Seven Sects were already engaged in open and secret struggles amongst themselves. None of them wanted to antagonize the Tiejiang Gang and gain a powerful enemy, only to benefit the other six.

Silence had become the safest option.

"Continue to keep an eye on the Tiejiang Gang."

Fang Han set down his cup.

"Yes, Senior Brother."

Qiu Lan bowed in acknowledgment.

Fang Han stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the bamboo forest rustled in the autumn wind. A few yellowing bamboo leaves twirled down, carpeting the ground in a thin layer.

The distant mountains stretched on, shimmering with a faint golden glow in the afternoon sun.

’Tiejiang Gang...’

Whenever he thought of the Tiejiang Gang, a sense of unease lingered in his heart, though he couldn’t pinpoint its source.

The afternoon sun slanted across the courtyard, stretching the shadows of the bamboo grove long and thin.

After lunch, Fang Han was in the rear courtyard’s Cultivation Field practicing his Swordsmanship. The Wind Sword Intent clung to his Cloud Splitting Sword, releasing a dangerous aura.

The Cloud Splitting Sword became streaks of pale green light in his hands. Wherever the blade passed, the air silently split with fine, web-like cracks.

New marks were added to the crisscrossing sword gashes on the Obsidian floor. They varied in depth, some as fine as a hair, others an inch wide.

After completing a full set of his Swordsmanship, he sheathed his sword and stood still, slowly exhaling a breath of turbid air.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the courtyard gate, followed by a Maid’s voice:

"Senior Brother Fang, a servant disciple has come to report that a woman with the surname Lan is asking to see you outside the Sect. She says she’s an old acquaintance of yours."

Fang Han paused, realizing who it must be. He sheathed his sword and turned to walk toward the front courtyard.

"Go to the Sect entrance and bring her in."

He instructed the Maid, who bowed and hurried toward the courtyard gate.

Before long, a graceful figure glided in from outside the moon gate.

Lan Yuexin was dressed in a water-blue long dress today, with a matching sheer shawl draped over it. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, adorned with a single, slanted jade step-shaker hairpin.

As she walked, the hem of her dress swayed and the hairpin trembled slightly, accentuating her already stunning face and giving her an ethereal beauty.

"Young Master Fang Han."

Lan Yuexin walked closer, curtsied slightly, and her bright eyes lingered on Fang Han’s face for a moment as she spoke.

"Miss Yuexin."

Fang Han clasped his hands in return and gestured for her to follow.