Seeing his accomplices get exposed, Zhu San immediately dropped his pretense and barked, "I don't care about them, but my brother got sick from drinking your tea, and that's a fact. Unless you pay us a thousand taels as compensation, we'll smash up your restaurant!"
Jiang Ming frowned slightly. In such a public place, he couldn't very well summon Chong Heihu or Daji without drawing unwanted attention, though it was tempting to teach this thug a lesson.
In the corner, Ma Liang also felt indignant. Maybe I should mask up, beat this scoundrel, and throw him out? While both he and Zhu San were of the ninth rank in martial arts, the gap between them was as vast as the difference between a person and a pig. Zhu San's aura was erratic, a clear sign that he'd used some kind of impure demon blood to barely scrape his way into the ninth rank. Ma could easily crush him with one hand.
But someone else moved faster.
A shadow flashed—it was Fu Bo, the elderly steward.
Despite his old age, his body seemed to roar with the force of a tiger, his robes billowing as he struck at Zhu San.
"What?! This old man is also ninth rank!" Zhu San was horrified and quickly threw a punch to counter.
*Smack! Crack!*
In less than one exchange, Zhu San was on his knees, his face pale, his arm grotesquely twisted. Sweat poured down his face, but he bit his lip, refusing to cry out in pain.
"Big brother!" the other thugs froze in terror. They were used to dealing with ordinary folks, but facing a ranked martial artist was a whole different game.
Fu Bo stood with his hands calmly behind his back and said coldly, "Get lost! If you come causing trouble again, I'll break your legs."
With Zhu San's scam exposed, Jiang Ming had cleared his name and safeguarded the tea house's reputation. Now, there were no more reservations about using force. The gang quickly helped Zhu San up and fled in disgrace.
"Well, Fu Bo, you've still got it!" Jiang Ming smiled, pulling out a "Fengshen Card" and tossing it out the window, where it dissolved into a gust of wind. After dealing with the rabble, he returned behind the screen and resumed storytelling.
The wooden board slammed down, and the crowd was soon once again engrossed in the tale.
"The young shopkeeper handled that quite cleverly," remarked a young man in the audience.
An elder beside him chuckled. "Indeed. Far from scaring off customers, this may win him a few loyal patrons."
Meanwhile, Zhu San and his cronies hobbled into a nearby clinic to set his broken arm.
"You're lucky," the doctor told him. "Had the old man not held back, your arm would've been shattered beyond repair. As it is, you'll need three months to fully recover."
The treatment cost more than twenty taels of silver, making Zhu San seethe with rage. "Damn it! That little punk ruined everything."
Just then, a fragrant breeze wafted by, and a seductive figure appeared at the alley's entrance.
"Well, where are you fine gentlemen off to?" Her voice was honeyed, her demeanor enticing.
The men's eyes lit up. What a saucy little lady! Zhu San, despite his injury, leered and swaggered over.
Daji, eyes glinting with hidden malice, kept up her flirtatious chatter, coaxing every detail from the thugs, even down to the color of their undergarments.
Suddenly, a puff of black smoke blew into their faces, and they all collapsed, unconscious.
"Ah, it's been so long since I've had a decent snack!" Daji licked her lips, but remembering Jiang Ming's instructions, she pouted and reluctantly walked away.
Back at the tea house, Jiang Ming finished two chapters of his story. He apologized to the remaining audience, explaining that the earlier disturbance had soured his mood for storytelling, and they understood. Most of the guests, except a few who lingered for tea, soon departed.
Jiang Ming returned to his room to wait for Daji.
Not long after, a gust of wind blew in through the window, and Daji appeared.
"Master, those hooligans didn't know much, but they did remember that their employer had a tiger's head tattooed on his hand."
Jiang Ming nodded. "Good work. You didn't... eat anyone, did you?"
Daji playfully licked her lips, "Just one. He was a bit foul, but I finally got a taste of human flesh."
Jiang Ming waved his hand, and Daji instantly transformed back into a card and returned to his hand. As if she could fool him.
Next, he summoned Chong Heihu.
"Chong Hou, I'll need your guidance on refining the Iron-Beaked Eagle."
Jiang Ming had no intention of hiding the fact that he could acquire divine powers from others; it wasn't something he could conceal anyway. In fact, he could even ask for help—far more efficient than figuring things out on his own.
Just knowing a cultivation method didn't mean one could master it, just like understanding a textbook doesn't guarantee passing the exam. With Chong Heihu's expertise, Jiang Ming's progress was much smoother. Aside from the incantations and sigils, he needed two key items: a large gourd and a group of eagles or hawks—the more, the better, and the more spiritual, the better.
Chong Heihu stretched and asked, "Master, that old man earlier—his cultivation seems different from ours."
Jiang Ming nodded. "In this world, they practice the Martial Path. Fu Bo is ninth rank, but how do you think he compares to you?"
Chong Heihu pondered for a moment, "At my peak, I could defeat him with a flick of the wrist. If I had my Iron-Beaked Eagle, I'd take him down in one move. But with my current limited power, I might only have a slight edge over him in physical combat."
Jiang Ming nodded thoughtfully. The two were on completely different paths. Chong Heihu relied primarily on mystical and Daoist arts. By martial standards, he might not even be ranked, but he still had enough skill to deal with a ninth-rank martial artist.
Curious, Jiang Ming shared the basic principles of martial cultivation that he'd overheard from Fu Bo.
Chong Heihu listened intently. "Do you know anything about the cultivation methods of the Three Sects?" Jiang Ming asked.
In *The Investiture of the Gods*, there wasn't a clear division of cultivation ranks, so Jiang Ming was unsure. But since Chong Heihu had once studied under a master from the Jie Sect, he might know something.
Chong Heihu nodded. "My master once told me that we are all Qi Refiners, and our methods vary greatly. But broadly speaking, we cultivate the energy of heaven and earth to refine ourselves. Those like me, who possess divine abilities but remain in a mortal body, are called *Renxian* (Human Immortals)."
"Those who shed their mortal form and extend their lifespans are called *Dixian* (Earth Immortals). Beyond that are *Tianxian* (Heavenly Immortals), *Jinxian* (Golden Immortals), and even *Da Luo*—but that is beyond my knowledge."
Jiang Ming wasn't sure if the Martial Path could lead to immortality, but Daoism valued life, and this seemed like a path to longevity. His heart stirred with excitement. Yet, for now, he had no method to achieve immortality, so he refrained from asking Chong Heihu to teach him.
Oddly enough, Chong Heihu was quite interested in this world's Martial Path. He felt that it suited him better than some of the fringe techniques his master had taught him.
Jiang Ming couldn't help but wonder. Though Daji and Chong Heihu had been summoned from a storybook, they were flesh and blood, with fully formed meridians. Their powers were only a fraction of what they had been, due to being revived by the collective will of the people. But what if they trained in the Martial Path? However, without a suitable cultivation method, he set the idea aside for now. He could always exchange techniques later.
After a brief rest, Jiang Ming changed his clothes and left the tea house to buy a gourd and some eagles for refining the Iron-Beaked Eagle.
He headed for Wenxin Street, a bustling area of the city known for its oddities. There, one could find everything from exotic birds and fierce dogs to ancient paintings. It was the playground of the city's wealthy young men.
After searching most of the street, Jiang Ming finally found a shop selling antiques. Hanging on the wall was a three-foot-tall white gourd.