Chapter 3: Talismanic Arts

The dawn broke suddenly, the chill lingered, and the air in March still carried a bite of cold. Beneath the peach tree, seated on a stone bench, Jiang Chen gazed at the spread before him: braised pork, stir-fried greens, seaweed and egg soup, and steamed buns. His lips pressed together; after a moment's hesitation, he picked up his chopsticks and placed a piece of braised pork in his mouth.

He chewed slowly. The tender texture and just the right touch of sweetness rendered him speechless, and in this small courtyard, only the whisper of the wind through the treetops broke the silence.

“Not bad,” he finally said.

The meat slid down, its flavor lingering, and Jiang Chen gave his verdict. To be truthful, the braised pork brought by Shi Tou was merely ordinary, though generous in portion. The bandits of Dangjiang had limited resources, after all. But Jiang Chen had come from an apocalypse, and it had been ages since he’d tasted such normal food. It recalled his childhood, or at least the flavors preserved in his memory. To eat it now was a kind of nostalgia.

He ladled out a bowl of soup and savored the simple meal—a meat, a vegetable, and a soup—slowly, as if he wished to carve the taste of each dish into his memory.

After a long while, satisfied and full, Jiang Chen finally set down his chopsticks.

His predecessor had been a prominent leader among the Dangjiang Bandits, with a status just below the three chiefs, so naturally he ate well. If Jiang Chen wanted better meals here, he would have to rise further. According to Jiang Wang’s memories, each of the three chiefs had their own personal chef.

Especially the chief, Ironman Tu—his head chef had once presided over a grand restaurant, and his ancestors were said to have served as imperial chefs. In culinary skill, none in Qinghe County could rival him. Ironman Tu had once boasted, drunk, that even the county magistrate did not eat as well as he did, and it was likely not mere empty talk.

Jiang Chen’s thoughts wandered from the meal to the structure of the Dangjiang Bandits.

Dangjiang was a formidable force entrenched in Qinghe County, with hundreds of men and considerable strength. Many had trained in martial arts; to become a minor leader, one had to have at least mastered some basic techniques. The six major leaders each had a specialty, having brought a martial art to proficiency—enough to be considered second-rate in the martial world, a true expert.

As for the three chiefs, each had brought a martial art to its pinnacle. They could shatter stone and split tablets with ease, true top-tier figures. Their presence enabled Dangjiang to stand firm on Muyu Island, unafraid of wind or rain.

Jiang Chen reflected further. The three chiefs: Zhao Meng, master of the Seven Wounds Fist; Zhou Quan, expert in the Eagle Claw; and Ironman Tu, the chief. With his current strength, the first two posed little threat. He had begun to temper his body, and while his physical strength alone might not match theirs, he possessed supernatural abilities of the soul. If he truly wished to kill them, it would be no difficulty.

The only one worth caution was Ironman Tu. His origins were mysterious, his real name unknown. Most crucially, he was not simply a top-tier martial artist; he was rumored to have mastered a form of talismanic magic, making his body as hard as iron, impervious to blades, and endowed with tremendous strength.

Jiang Chen’s thoughts dwelled on Ironman Tu, plunging him into deeper contemplation.

Cultivation in this world was peculiar. True magical arts could only be wielded after advancing to the Qi Refining stage, opening the sea of Qi and condensing vital energy. Those at the Inspiration stage could not command such mystic arts and relied solely on physical strength.

Yet, some had dissected and simplified magical arts, making it possible for those at the Inspiration stage to wield extraordinary power—these were talismanic techniques. Some could even be trained by ordinary martial artists, the only caveat being the great price they exacted.

From ancient times, those who forced themselves to wield cultivation arts in mortal bodies rarely met good ends. Still, the pursuit of talismanic arts never ceased; some sought greater power, others hoped to find a path to true cultivation.

“I’ve only just arrived, and know the outside world solely through Jiang Wang’s memories. Though Dangjiang is a den of wolves and tigers, compared to the darkness and uncertainty beyond, it’s a rare safe haven for me. I know it best, and with my current strength, I’m at least a crouching tiger here. Who devours whom remains to be seen.”

Weighing pros and cons, Jiang Chen made his decision: to temporarily settle in this bandit’s lair. It might not be the best place, but from Jiang Wang’s scattered memories, nowhere else seemed much better.

Most importantly, compared to the apocalypse he’d endured, the atmosphere among Dangjiang was actually rather decent.

“Tigers bear no ill will, but men harbor malice toward tigers. Since I’ve decided to stay, the white deer must be hunted soon. Its heart’s blood is essential for cultivating the Talisman of Blood Flame.”

“As long as I master this technique, I’ll be more confident confronting Ironman Tu. There is no truly safe place in this world, but if one is strong enough, everywhere becomes safe.”

Forged by the apocalypse, Jiang Chen trusted only his own strength. With his plan set, he wasted no time, gathering antidote pills, wound medicine, and an iron-bellied bow.

Once prepared, Jiang Chen summoned Shi Tou, gave him some instructions, then ventured alone into the mountains behind Muyu Island.

“Chicken Crow Mountain.”

Light as drifting willow fluff, graceful and agile, Jiang Chen paused atop a large stone. An epiphany had allowed him to internalize the Willow Body Nurturing technique to his very bones.

Previously, Jiang Wang had spent years refining the Willow Body Nurturing technique, eventually developing a set of palms—earning the name Heart-Stirring Palm. Now, Jiang Chen used the willow technique as his foundation, elevating the palm technique and even creating a movement skill: body like willow fluff, moving with the wind.

“Truly, these are wild mountains and wicked waters.”

His gaze swept forward, meeting the gloomy forest whose canopy blocked out the light. After observing for only a moment, he discerned several dangers: venomous snakes lurking beneath dead leaves, poisonous insects settled among branches, and predators watching from the shadows.

“Rumor has it that Chicken Crow Mountain harbors a rare venomous snake, three feet long, scales black as night, with a crimson comb atop its head, deadly poison—one bite, and not even immortals could save you. I wonder if I’ll encounter one.”

With that thought, he pressed on, carrying his bow, moving like willow fluff, and disappeared into the dense forest, swallowed by darkness.

As Jiang Chen ventured alone into Chicken Crow Mountain, eyes within Muyu Island turned toward the mountain as well.

“He truly cares about the white deer—so eager, he set out as soon as he heard the news.”

In the faint dawn, a figure stood watching Chicken Crow Mountain, eyes full of malice.