Chapter 38: 3D Pinball Mini-game

A short while later, in the inn's backyard.

"A technique to retain true energy?" Su Xinghe pondered for a moment before raising his arm and beginning to circulate his inner strength. After some time, a look of realization dawned on him, followed by a hint of astonishment. "As expected of the renowned Qiao Feng of the North; this is indeed a viable path."

He proceeded to explain the practical application to the others. Qiao Feng’s description had been vague—he was in a hurry, after all, and could not detail every nuance—but for a master as well-versed in martial arts as Su Xinghe, it was enough.

The "specific movements" were not meant to use muscles, bones, or skin to physically block the true energy scattered throughout the limbs; rather, they utilized the true energy within the meridians to create a barrier. It was somewhat like playing ping-pong inside one's own body: as the scattered energy attempted to dissipate, one used contorted movements to align meridians and acupoints, actively circulating energy to create gentle collisions. By not reabsorbing the energy but instead containing it, one could indeed lock the true energy within the muscles and bones.

As for the specific movements, they were quite arbitrary and depended on personal preference. Theoretically, if one’s control was refined enough, the energy could be kept locked within the muscles and bones indefinitely. However, such micro-management required profound martial arts cultivation and exquisite control over internal power, making it an excellent metric for gauging one's level of skill.

The six remaining members of the Eight Friends of Hangu attempted it, with varying degrees of success. Wu Lingjun, being of a taciturn nature, managed to hold the energy for a full half-hour while sitting in meditation. The others managed anywhere from ten to twenty minutes. The worst performer was Xue Muhua; despite his obsession with collecting martial arts techniques—often trading his medical services for them—he could barely sustain the technique for ten minutes before failing. Of course, it was not particularly embarrassing for him, as a formidable master was present whose initial, minor attempt left everyone awestruck.

Zhang Chengyi, however, had failed to lock it at all on his first try.

Initially, they had all been inclined to mock Xue Muhua, but the presence of such a supreme expert made everyone shift from a playful, competitive mindset to a much more serious one. Zhang Chengyi himself didn't think much of it. He had only been learning martial arts for two or three months; if internal cultivation were a standard nine-year compulsory education system, he hadn't even finished preschool. Attempting high-end, complex techniques without ending up with internal injuries was already a testament to his own rugged constitution.

He tried repeatedly, finding it a useful exercise for improving his control over internal power, though it was a luxury for others. Coordinating his own true energy to collide back and forth required precise force, and the body's posture had to be maintained perfectly. The scattered energy behaved like a three-dimensional pinball, darting everywhere; a moment's lapse would see it leak out of the body. No matter how well one positioned themselves, gaps always remained between the meridians. He quickly realized that merely blocking was insufficient; one had to actively apply pressure, using movements to guide the scattered energy, much like hitting a tennis ball against a wall—the "ball" had to be controlled. Of course, since true energy is "gas," some of it would inevitably go astray after a collision, so it was "as much control as possible." The actual reality was far more complex.

Zhang Chengyi simply treated it as an in-game 3D pinball mini-game and threw himself into it.

By evening, Qiao Feng returned alone. His proficiency had improved rapidly, breaking the one-minute mark, though he had wasted over a hundred points of internal energy in the process—a truly extravagant expenditure. The awkward part was that everyone else was improving faster than him. Su Xinghe could easily maintain the energy for two hours without half of it dissipating, and he had already begun summarizing which postures best exercised the muscles and bones while minimizing leakage. Six of the Eight Friends of Hangu could now hold it for over half an hour, and Wu Lingjun, thanks to his steady temperament, was hot on his master’s heels, joining in the effort to refine the techniques.

Zhang Chengyi felt a bit dejected. The others didn't know how to praise him; while going from zero to one was encouraging, his level was so low that any compliment would feel like a veiled insult. He stopped not because Qiao Feng had returned, but simply because he had been at it too long and made too many mistakes, resulting in meridian pain. Because his retention time was so short and his constitution so high, he hadn't seen any tangible results after a whole day of effort. His only gain was a visible improvement in his control over internal power. To reach a normal standard—let alone Su Xinghe’s level—would likely take the Eight Friends of Hangu months, if not a year.

*I feel like I’ve taken the wrong track,* he thought. *Is it really worth torturing myself like this for a martial arts world?*

Zhang Chengyi had been enjoying the ease of his "cheat," so the sudden need for grueling hard work created a significant mental gap. *Should I keep trying? Or should I wait until they perfect it and then learn from them?*

While he contemplated his life as a game-modifier user, Su Xinghe and Qiao Feng were chatting happily, practicing and discussing the technique as if they were kindred spirits.

"That's enough for now, let’s eat."

Zhang Chengyi decisively abandoned his thoughts. Let the subordinates work hard so the boss can eventually afford a Maybach. The whole point of hiring people to do the work was to make his own life easier. He just needed to provide the funds (the internal energy) and stop overthinking it; why dwell on such things while playing a game? He didn't have high expectations for this world's power system anyway; as long as he was having fun, it was enough.

***

A few days later, at noon, on the second floor of the inn.

"What's going on?"

Zhang Chengyi was eating when he heard a commotion outside. He leaned out the window and saw Wu Lingjun, who had been tasked with selling their carriage, surrounded by several men. After a brief exchange, they all left together.

"Those are people from the Salt Gang," Qiao Feng observed from across the table, frowning.

The influence of the Salt Gang in Yangzhou went without saying. The Beggar Sect was spread throughout the world and frequently dealt with the water-transport-dependent Salt Gang. As the former leader, Qiao Feng was very familiar with them. With his sharp mind and keen eye, he could easily identify them by their mannerisms, attire, and speech.

But why would the Salt Gang want to buy a carriage?

They were selling the carriage because they intended to travel by water from Yangzhou to Lake Tai. In the Jiangnan region, where "all the land is water-logged and uncultivated," the landscape was a series of shallow wetlands. It wouldn't be until the Southern Song Dynasty that these would slowly connect into large lakes. Given such geography, traveling by carriage was grueling, and horses were rarely used; most people traveled by boat, and even the poorest had a small skiff. That was why they were selling the carriage.

Since the Salt Gang lived by the water, why would they buy a carriage?

Qiao Feng sensed something was wrong, but Zhang Chengyi didn't care at all. Seeing that his own man hadn't been harmed, he pulled back from the window and continued eating. "Let's set off once Old Wu returns."