9 Bald Man Saves the Day

So, some descendant of a mythical beast had died in this pond?

Van crouched down and put his hand in the water. At first, it felt like ordinary pond water, but within seconds, a dark, cold energy penetrated his palm. Shocked, he withdrew his hand, which stung with a needle-like pain.

"I'll be training in that?"

[How far you push yourself is up to your willpower and your comprehension.]

[Those at the peak forge their own way there. Though I can give you cultivation techniques, and advise you, you walk the hero's path alone.]

[That is what my creator felt.] With that, Jet concluded his speech, feeling a little exhausted.

Van contemplated this with solemnity writ in the stance of his body and the set of his jaw.

If Van had confidence in anything, it was his own willpower. This was coupled by a strong faith in himself – not due to arrogance, but due to a deep-set stubbornness and belief that whatever others could do, he could do too! Whether that would be in a year's time, or ten years' time, didn't matter!

He had decided to become strong. He had decided to grasp his fate into his own hands. Therefore, he would not be scared off by this puny little pond. He stared it, almost glaring. [You are my stepping stone], he told it firmly in his mind, [You're the bathwater collecting the dust from my body!]

In his mind, Jet emitted a weak glow of approval.

[For some reason I…I feel more faint by the second… I think… I think I need to go into deep meditation… for a while. Take care, Van.]

The ring dimmed.

"Jet!?"

There was no response. Van was worried, but tried not to show it. That strange, idiotic, condescending teacher of his was his ticket out of this village. If any of his concern stemmed from a strange, faint feeling of camaraderie had started to form, Van would rather swallow his tongue than admit it.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The first time Van attempted to submerge himself fully, he nearly drowned.

The previous day, he had spent his time around the shallow edges of the pond, acclimatising various parts of his body with the bone-piercing, dark, cold waters. Each time, he endured the pain - like thousands of needles pricking his skin - and by the end of an hour-long session, that body part had become somewhat more resistant. What allowed him to keep enduring, however, was the strange feeling that each pulse of pain was followed by a slight sting of warmth, as if his skin were being forged anew.

By the time the sun had set, Van went from yanking his hand back in pain from one second of contact with the icy qi within the pond, to being able to endure a full minute. Of course, this was a miraculous speed, and only achievable because he had an expert's records of cultivation by his side as a guide.

Naturally, Van's attitude towards the water became more relaxed. Throwing all caution to the wind, he closed his eyes, and waded into the water in the middle of the pond, where it was deepest. Below his foot, something soft and slimy gave way. He fell, and there was nothing below him.

Immediately, he knew he had made a terrible mistake that could cost him his life.

Having your whole body exposed to the dark, icy energy of the pondwater, without the sun's energy to balance it was a vastly different matter.

The pond water's dark iciness seemed to penetrate through his skin and pierce into his muscles and bones. The cold pressure that stabbed into him was relentless. Sharp, it hammered against his fragile skin and muscles and left Van in agonizing pain.

Underwater, he struggled soundlessly, muscles spasming and mind numb from the excruciating hurt. His body grew heavier, continuously sinking into the deep, dark depths of the pond. The chilling water flowed up into his nose and mouth.

The outside world had been blocked off, his every heart beat echoed in his ears like a death knell. This one is the last one, each squeeze of his heart said, growing colder and colder.

His consciousness grew faint, he was suffocating, and accompanying that feeling of suffocation was a terror that uncontrollably arose. He tried to calm himself. Suppressing the fear, he tried to recall the Thousand Saint Sacrifice manual. But like slippery beans, the words were hard to grasp, and jumbled up in his mind.

Fear swelling again, he was completely unaware of the fast that his legs were instinctively moving, trying to rise out of the water. But he was now too far from the surface.

[Think, Van, think!]

It was no use, the only thing that stuck in his brain was how the crazy creator was bedridden for half a year trying to comprehend his method under a waterfall… and those stupid shitty drawings of that bald, naked man.

But maybe…?

Van, out of ideas, pushed himself to the limit, and moved his limbs into the same pose as the first crudely drawn figure. One hand in a prayer position in front of his chest, and the other hand in a lotus position, resting on his knee.

Suddenly, everything seemed more manageable. The water less cold. His mind became sharper, and he suddenly noticed something he had been too panicked too see before!

In this pose, he could sense the strands of qi within the water. Like sparks of black lightning, they buzzed, suspended within the water. The strands nearest him would attack, resulting in his crippling pain. However, he could now see that – although it seemed that they were piercing to his bones, in fact, they weren't even penetrating the skin! The qi attacks reflected off the thinnest, topmost layer of his dermis and back into the water.

But what was the core of the Thousand Saint Technique? Pain follows the qi, qi follows the pain!

He felt the pain deep into his bones, but the qi was just reflecting of the topmost layer of skin! A feeling of enlightenment sparked through Van. He grew excited. Clenching down on his mental state, he carefully extended his senses throughout his whole body. Consciously, he relaxed his pores.

Recalling, the feeling of moving spiritual energy towards him, he pulled at the dense, icy qi.

Znnn!

Like tiny sharks, the tiny threads of spiritual energy around him aligned and attacked with speed. However, now that Van had been exposed to the pain, he was unafraid. What he was afraid of was the chilling numbness, the suffocation. Now that he vaguely had an idea of what was going on, he had the courage to survive!

The qi struck his skin, but unlike previous times, it didn't stop there. With determination, Van pulled the strands of energy into him. His control weak, the experiment failed, and the chilling energy bounced back of his body, leaving only the painful soul-freezing feeling Van detested.

Not accepting this result, Van repeated the process.

Znnn!

This time, Van timed it so that his pores opened the moment the black qi struck. Success! He felt with excitement as a few strands of black lightning sank into his skin, following the pain, about half a millimetre in. He watched with fascination as the qi tried to escape but was trapped. It bounced about wildly, giving off metallic pinging noises as it did so. Eventually, the qi strand wore down to nothing and dissipated into his flesh, suffusing him with a faint warmth.

He distinctly felt his flesh regain vitality.

So this is tempering the body!

Van's eyes gleamed.

Although it seemed like a long time had passed, in fact, the time it took for the spiritual power to penetrate that half-millimetre into his skin, and for Van to use it to temper his flesh, all happened in less than an instant.

Van repeated the process several times, allowing a few more strands of energy to permeate that first layer of skin and temper it. Warmth was starting to return to his body.

Knowing his limits, Van did not linger, and pushed his way back to the surface of the water.

Collapsing onto the moss on the side of the pond, his gasping breaths causing his sides to heave up and down like a horse that had run a marathon, a wide grin split his face from side to side.

"HAHAHAHA!"

Was what he wanted to shout victoriously.

But what really came out was a weak, choking "H..hh..h…"

He continued to lay there, panting, on the side of the pond like a struggling fish. But Van was beyond gleeful – he was euphoric! He could distinctly feel that his flesh brimmed with the vitality of dragons and tigers, and that the cells in his skin had somehow intrinsically become stronger. Van was filled for a vast new respect for the obsessed bald man who created the Thousand Saint Sacrifice method. He was surely a masochist to the extreme, but the method yielded clear results!

When Van finally recovered his breath and some semblance of sanity, he felt his stomach rumble in hunger. Stumbling over to his rucksack, leg muscles feeling a bit tender, he pulled the pinecone out of his rucksack.

Prying open it open, he extracted over a dozen finger-nail sized pine nuts and devoured them. Suddenly, his face changed.

Newly sensitive to spiritual energy, he could feel a soft, thrumming power release from the pine nuts as he digested them. This was good stuff! The qi was gentle and warm, too faint to be useful in cultivation, but had a nourishing effect. He felt as if his insides had been slightly purified, and the microscopic tears in his skin began to heal at a faster rate.

The Heavens were taking pity on him!

Grinning, Van picked up the sheaf of papers and found the yellowed page with the crude, ugly drawings of the bald man cultivating the Thousand Saint Sacrifice technique. He was tempted to give it a great, big slobbery kiss, but wondered if that would be greatly disrespectful to an ancestor and controlled his urge. Instead, he placed the image of the bald man face up on the grass and knelt down.

Hands together in front of his head, he bowed his head until his forehead reached the ground.

Then, in a flash, he was up again, and thanks to the pine nuts, raring to go for a second round!

"You may have been a maniac, but your technique is pretty effective!" Van gave some sincere praise from the bottom of his heart and went straight back into the pond of water.

If one were watching closely the expression of the crudely drawn bald man laying on the bank of the pond, they would have felt that it was a bit dark and brooding.

[Calling me a maniac!] The three lines of ink that made up his features seemed to say.

[Just take a good look at yourself, brat!]