Ning Que did not know that he had once again passed by a great Lucky Chance, nor did he know that he tore a piece of account book paper in the brothel and was seen by a Divine Talisman Master, which led to the creation of the two famous Chicken Soup Calligraphy and the woodcut rubbings of the Yan family. Now he was still the unknown young boss of the Lin 47th Street, the ordinary student who studied hard in the Academy.
When he woke up the next morning, he frowned and drank the bowl of chicken soup with great difficulty. Then he stopped Sangsang who was about to clean up the stove. Looking at the little handmaiden's black face, he said very seriously, "I drank too much last night because I was too happy. But I got drunk when I came back, so I didn't have time to tell you."
Sangsang raised her little face, raised her thin eyebrows, and looked at him curiously with her bright eyes. She asked, "Young master, what made you so happy? I really rarely see you drink so much. "
"In the old library of the Academy, I seem to have found a way to understand those books."
Ning Que smiled and held out a finger, shaking it in front of her little nose. He said, "Although it may only be a glimmer of hope, it is still hope. I think if possible, I must seize it."
The so-called hope was just an occasional denial of despair. Because it was only occasionally, it could not last long. As a guy who had been toyed with by fate for more than ten years, Ning Que knew better than anyone else that the end of hope would often turn into disappointment and then despair. The greater the hope, the deeper the regret and regret in the end.
Whether it was the cultivator in the mountains of the Yan territory, the examination officer of the Military Ministry, the gentle old man Lyu Qingchen on the journey, or the magic skills selection of the Academy, he had endured the painful process of hope being extinguished again and again. So he became calmer and even more numb. Even so, he seemed not to care much about stepping into that magical world of cultivation, but deep in his heart, he had never given up hope.
Because he knew that if he wanted to survive in this world, to live well, to complete his revenge, to write his name on the fertile black soil of the Great Tang, he had to enter that world. If he gave up all hope, then the result would not be disappointment, but despair.
In order to grasp the faint glimmer of hope, Ning Que adjusted his mental state to the most passionate and sunny state. Every morning, he would leave Chang 'an City by car before dawn and return to Lin 47th Street in the middle of the night. In the morning, he would often feel sleepy when he studied the six classics. When the bell rang for the third time, he would jump up energetically as if he had been choked by Nandinese tobacco. He would rush out of the study room and into the kitchen. He would chew the lunch for two slowly and take a few laps around the lake. Then, he would climb the stairs again and again, holding the book in his hand.
Under the sun, he read the ink characters under the west window. He used the Eight Strokes Calligraphy of Yong to disassemble all the characters in the thin book into individual strokes. Then, he would carefully experience the direction and meaning of those strokes and deliberately forget their meaning.
The female professor was still quietly writing the Hairpin-style Small Regular Script by the east window. He did not know when she untied her hair bun, but the soft short hair above her ears reflected the growing spring scenery outside the window. She was extremely gentle and also extremely silent. No matter how sincere Ning Que's attitude was, she refused to give any advice.
After a few days in the afternoon, he finally flipped to the middle part of the book "A Preliminary Exploration of Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow". The ink characters reflected in his eyes were disassembled into thousands of strokes, and then reassembled into thousands of different shapes and inexplicable meanings of "Yong". It almost completely exhausted his mental and physical strength.
Ning Que rubbed his sore eyes and silently turned his head to look at the increasingly fat green leaves outside the window. He knew that it was meaningless to force himself to continue reading. Even if he continued to squeeze out the last of his mental perseverance, it would only help him to understand more about the meaning of the Talisman Master who copied the book. It would not provide any help to him to step into the Initial State.
What disappointed him the most was that on the piece of paper in the middle of the thin book, there were no more notes left behind by that mysterious teacher. There wasn't even a word or two, as if that person had disappeared.
The cicadas that had troubled the students of the Academy for thousands of years began their cycle of reincarnation without warning in this afternoon. Ning Que quietly listened to the noisy cicadas outside the window. After a long time, he suddenly turned his head and closed the thin book on his knees. Then, he closed his eyes and began to meditate.
He used the Eight Strokes Calligraphy Method of "Yong" to compose the meaning of the strokes, and then forcibly dispersed his mind to forget the meaning of the words. Therefore, although there were many strokes and they could barely stay in a corner of the spiritual world, once he began to meditate on these strokes, the complicated strokes would become dangerous.
On the first day, when Ning Que felt that the Psyche Power in his chest and abdomen had no way forward, he knew that it would be very dangerous to forcibly meditate on it. Therefore, he did not try it again these days. He only hoped that it was right in front of him in the human world. If he watched it slip away to the netherworld and the horizon, it was absolutely unacceptable to him. Therefore, he had to try again at this moment.
He closed his eyes and sat cross-legged by the window, motionless for a long time like a statue. A warm spring breeze blew in from the west window and blew on his light green robe, causing ripples. Those traces slowly protruded on the surface of the green robe outside his chest and abdomen, and then calmed down. They protruded again and calmed down again, as if they had some kind of spirituality, or as if some wonderful life had come to life. It was a pity that those traces could not be connected after all. They were isolated in a corner and could not be touched no matter which direction they went. Their spirituality was blocked and life had no foundation.
In a small pond in the Academy, the lake water was gently disturbed by the wind, and the slight waves pushed a few small round duckweed on the surface to swing around. But no matter which direction the duckweed swayed to, it would eventually touch the wall of the pond and fall back.
In a deep mountain somewhere in the world, a famous scholar went through the dense forest to visit a famous monastery. He knocked on the wooden door of a small temple, only to find that the Great Virtue Eminent Monk had already traveled around the world. The famous scholar could only shake his head and climb up the stairs to retreat. He looked back at the broken road in the forest, feeling very resentful.
In Ning Que's spiritual world at this moment, those extremely complicated strokes, those partial radicals that had been decomposed into no specific meaning, and those horizontal and vertical lines and ink spots, suddenly became vivid as he tried to meditate on them. The ink marks had sharp metal edges and became the frightening saber array of the Golden Tribe of the barbarians on the grassland. The tip of the brush was infinitely wet and became the cold rain outside the Spring Breeze Pavilion. It began to fall. When it fell, countless heads were chopped off, and when it fell, it became a rainstorm. It was majestic and endless, only endless conflicts.
All of a sudden, the whole world stopped. He suddenly opened his eyes and left the state of meditation. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and could not help but lower his head to cough. The slightly hoarse cough instantly broke the silence on the second floor of the old library. He hurriedly lifted his sleeve to cover his mouth, only to find that the sleeve was stained with some scarlet blood spots.
"The Headmaster of the Academy once said that doing things by force is a very boring thing. Your body is not suitable for cultivation. Although you have amazing perseverance and even found a very interesting way, but … since it is impossible, don't persist. "
Unknowingly, the female professor had already walked to Ning Que and said softly while looking at him with gentle eyes.
Ning Que looked up and found that the female professor was extremely small, with thin eyebrows and clear eyes. He could not tell how old she was. He knew that in the previous dangerous moment, she must have used some method to forcibly call him out of meditation. He could not help laughing at himself, stood up, wiped the blood stains on the corner of his mouth, and sincerely bowed to her.
The female professor smiled and shook her head, indicating that he did not need to be so serious. After slightly nodding, she walked to the depth of the bookshelf with the Hairpin-style Small Regular Script, and somehow got out of the old library.
Unconsciously, Ning Que spent a lot of time meditating. It was already dusk outside the building. When the night was about to come, he did not hurry to leave, but quietly stood under the west window, listening to the intermittent chirping of cicadas due to lack of practice. Then he walked to the desk, ground the ink, and wrote a paragraph on the paper.
…
…
Late at night, the talisman on the bookshelf in the depth of the second floor of the old library shone again, and then quietly slid to both sides. Accompanied by heavy gasps, Chen Pipi squeezed out with great difficulty, and his fat face was very funny with trembling flesh.
After leaving those words that night, he had been concerned about Ning Que's progress. However, because Ning Que had asked for sick leave, he did not get a reply for several days, which made him angry and more curious. Unfortunately, Second Brother, who had given him the most headache and fear these days, suddenly asked his classmates to collectively learn the ancient ritual procedures. Under the continuous bombardment of fatigue, he had no time and energy to come over.
Finally, Chen Pipi had some free time today. Without taking a bath and resting, he hurried to the old library, just to see if there was any reply from the poor and hateful guy.
Walking to the bookshelf, Chen Pipi took out the thin Primary Exploration of Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow. He raised his thick eyebrows and made a slight sound. After reading it for a while, he could not help but shake his head and praise, "This guy is really bold and ambitious. He actually came up with such a stupid method, and can actually understand it?"
What he read was naturally Ning Que's first reply, and then he saw Ning Que's latest message today. His thick lips could not help but smack more loudly. He frowned and said in distress, "You don't even know this, and you still want to play cultivation? I really don't know whether you are a genius or an idiot! "
After a moment of silence, Chen Pipi sat at the desk by the west window, ground the ink, and began to reply. In the second exchange between him and Ning Que, this genius student from West-Hill wrote, "Are you a child? Don't you even know such a basic truth? Since you don't know anything, you naturally can't resonate with the Breath of Heaven and Earth. There is no other way. If you want to know the specific reason, I can only give you an analogy. Our body is like a musical instrument, such as a flute. Psyche Power is the Breath of Heaven and Earth in the flute. Beautiful music can't be played with the flute and the Breath, because the sound comes from the holes of the flute. "
"If there are no holes on your flute, how can you play? Heaven and Earth can't hear your music, how can you sense it? There are so many acupoints in your Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow that are blocked. How do you still want to play? "
…
…
(The computer network of the Austrian hotel is as bad as that of the German hotel. I tried my best to write it last night, but I just couldn't send it. Fortunately, I can now … Also, dear readers, it's going to be a long-distance flight back home soon. If I can write it on the plane, I won't stop updating tomorrow. If I can't write it on the plane, it will be terrible. I will confirm whether there is an update before 8 o 'clock on the 19th and report to you by then.) (To be continued. If you like this work, please come to Qidian.Com to vote for me. Your support is my greatest motivation.)
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