The Six Harmonies Technique.
The term "Six Harmonies" embodies the concept of unity—the harmony between heaven and earth, and the four cardinal directions: east, west, south, and north. Together, they form the Six Harmonies, representing the world itself.
Chung Myung scoffed.
Grand words, aren't they? But what kind of martial art is this Six Harmonies Technique, really?
A cheap manual sold for five pennies in the market.
It wasn't just inexpensive for a martial manual—it was cheaper than most ordinary books. The lowest of the low, a bargain-bin technique. Street rufflings and layabouts who dreamed of becoming martial artists often bought this manual first, thinking they could master it alone without joining a sect or enduring strict discipline.
In Chung Myung's past life, the Six Harmonies Technique, along with the Six Harmonies Fist and Three Talents Sword, were mockingly called the "Three Great Street Arts." By the time he'd earned his title as one of the Three Great Swordsmen, even those street arts had been replaced by the Tai Chi Fist. Not that he cared—those fools could do as they pleased.
But why would he practice such a lowly technique?
Because it wasn't lowly at all.
The Six Harmonies Technique was Hua Shan Sect's foundational art. Every disciple began their training with it. Centuries ago, a Hua Shan elder had publicly released the manual, claiming that "nurturing the body" should benefit all people, not just sect disciples.
Yet the world scorned it. Without proper guidance, practitioners saw no tangible strength gains—only slight improvements in health. Critics accused Hua Shan of withholding the true essence, and even new sect recruits protested when forced to learn it.
But Chung Myung knew the truth.
The Six Harmonies was no garbage. If it were, Hua Shan wouldn't have preserved it as their foundation for centuries.
"Everything has its purpose," he muttered.
The technique couldn't rapidly amplify internal energy. In fact, its efficiency in gathering qi paled compared to basic manuals of other sects. But its true value lay elsewhere:
It purified the body.
Like building an indestructible foundation for a towering pagoda, the Six Harmonies refined the dantian and physique to perfection. But while others sprinted ahead, focusing on flashy techniques, Hua Shan disciples were left夯实ing their foundations—a painstaking process with no visible rewards.
No wonder they abandoned it.
Even Hua Shan eventually skimmed over the Six Harmonies, rushing disciples to the Minor Pure Qi Art. Chung Myung, too, had once dismissed it, believing his time better spent on advanced methods.
A decision he now bitterly regretted.
Had he mastered the Six Harmonies completely in his past life, he'd have been twice as strong. But once a pagoda is built, its foundation cannot be rebuilt. Now, reborn, he had a second chance.
No rushing this time.
Cross-legged, Chung Myung closed his eyes and recited the Six Harmonies口诀. Breath by breath, external qi seeped into his body. Novices typically took months to sense this energy, but Chung Myung's experience bypassed such hurdles.
The qi cycled through his meridians, guided by the technique, and settled in his lower dantian—a space so minuscule it was almost laughable.
This is where it begins.
He focused, filtering impurities from the gathered qi like plucking flawed threads from fabric. What remained was a speck of pristine energy, smaller than an ant's eye booger.
But it was perfect.
Sweat drenched his tattered robes as he opened his eyes, exhaustion mingling with exhilaration. His dantian was the weakest in martial history, yet he grinned.
This speck will grow into an avalanche.
Memories of the Heavenly Demon—the monster who'd single-handedly fought the entire martial world—flashed in his mind.
This time… I might reach him.
But first, survival.
Chung Myung staggered to his feet—only to crumple. His limbs trembled like winter branches in a storm.
"W-What's this?!"
His flawless dantian held energy too minuscule to empower his body.
"Damn it all! This does nothing for me right now!"
He clawed at his hair. Think, you idiot! A phantom voice—his past elder's—scolded him: "Must you act first and think never?"
Worse yet, hunger gnawed at his guts. Hua Shan's discipline had accustomed him to fasting, but choosing to starve and having to starve were worlds apart.
"Two thousand li to Hua Shan… in this body?"
A normal person struggled to walk 50 li a day. Chung Myung, a malnourished child, could barely crawl.
"Screw this life!"
Yet he lurched forward, teeth gritted.
"Grit conquers all!"
☯ ☯ ☯
Thud!
He faceplanted into dirt.
…Grit has limits.
His legs screamed. His stomach felt hollow enough to swallow the heavens.
Dying of starvation after rebirth? How absurd.
He'd pushed himself to the market's edge, but vendors' laughter mocked him. No money, no food. No strength to work.
Is this how it ends?
Then—
Clang!
A clear metallic chime pierced the air.
Chung Myung's head snapped up. Somewhere, salvation rang.