"Morning."
"Morning."
"Have you finished copying the three teaching plans for today's calligraphy course?"
"Not yet. I'm in a hurry."
"Then you guys have to hurry up. I heard that the teacher will give marks during the class. The marks will take up a large proportion of the semester exam. If we can't pass the exam, no one will be able to help us."
"The semester exam even counts the daily grades?"
"I heard from my uncle that he was like that at that time. If Professor Wu wants to check who can memorize the 3,748 words of the declaration of war against Yan, I'm sure I can't recite it. You'd better remind me of the beginning of the sentence."
"Of course. My problem is that I can't recite it even if you remind me of the words."
In the early morning in front of the Academy, the students came down from the horse carriages and greeted each other.
The sun was shining in the sky, and birds were singing in the woods behind the courtyard. As the spring deepened and the summer approached, the temperature became higher and higher. The young students had already changed into the summer clothes of the Academy. The clothes were soft and breathable, and their sleeves fluttered in the morning breeze, which made them look more free and fresh than usual. As usual, they began their daily life in this way. They seemed to be complaining and nervous, but secretly they were full of youthful confidence.
Ning Que stood among his schoolmates and answered them with a warm smile. Looking at the excited expressions on their faces that had been forcibly wiped away, he could not help but feel that it was funny. He thought to himself that although the stars and moon were no longer here, some things were always so similar.
The annual semester exam was one of the most important teaching ceremonies in the Academy. Its importance was second only to the internship exam for Tang students and the final final exam of the Academy. How could the young and competitive students not take it seriously? Maybe those guys who complained last night that they had no time to review the teaching plans had stayed up until the early morning and only slept for a short while. Now they could recite the words fluently, but they had to deliberately show that they were relaxed and even lazy.
The ordinary morning study began with Wu Chentian, the Academy's Professor of Literature, reading with a strong Jiaozhou accent. Although Wu Chentian was so impassioned when he read Wang Chongren's war declaration against Yan in the Chenghua period, the students could not understand his accent, so the atmosphere in the school inevitably seemed a bit dull. In the end, the old professor wetted three handkerchiefs and half of his green sleeves, but all he got in return was the students' silent yawns.
Fortunately, the old man did not ask his students to stand up and recite the denunciation against Yan at the last minute. He probably knew that he could still recite this extremely long denunciation after forty years, but it was not suitable for him to use this standard to ask his students.
When the bell rang for the third time, Ning Que finally felt relieved. He hastily packed his stationery and books and rushed out of Classroom Three. He crossed the clear alley and stepped on the stone path along the edge of the wetland to the old library. Now that he used the Eight Strokes Calligraphy of Yong to read books and forget the meaning, it was no longer like before when he would faint while reading. Therefore, he did not need to be so strict on food and rest. More importantly, he was very curious, or rather, looking forward to the question he left yesterday. He wanted to know how the mysterious messenger would answer.
"Thump, thump, thump, thump." Ning Que went upstairs, brushed his clothes with his sleeves, and bowed respectfully to the gentle female professor by the east window. He quickly walked back to the bookshelf, took out the thin book A Preliminary Exploration of Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow, and opened it as fast as he could. Pulling out the paper with dense handwriting, Ning Que suppressed his excitement and looked at it, and then fell into a long silence.
"Our bodies are like musical instruments. For example, if it's a flute, Psyche Power is the Qi that recovers in the flute. With the flute and the Qi, it doesn't mean that beautiful music can be played, because the sound comes from the flute holes."
"If there are no holes on your flute, how can you play? Heaven and Earth can't hear your music, how can you feel it? There are so many acupoints in your Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow that are blocked. What else do you want to do? "
Ning Que looked at the message on the paper and raised his head after a long time. He shook his head and looked at the dense forest outside the window with a helpless smile. Listening to the sound of cicadas outside the window, he let out a very slight sigh and said, "It turns out that this is the truth. It turns out that … I am a flute that can't be played."
Then he looked down at his chest and abdomen. His eyes fell on the thin green academy uniform, and he imagined the Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow in his flesh and bones under the cloth. He seemed to see a lot of clumsy stone mountains that had no acupoints, no rugged paths, and no sound no matter how the waves beat or how the lake wind blew.
"The person who can write such words is really a genius!" He couldn't help but look at the handwriting on the paper again and silently praised in his heart, "Using pushing down a woman to talk about the principle of reading books and forgetting the meaning, and then coming up with such a wonderful metaphor of playing a flute. If this person is an instructor, he must be the top instructor in the Academy."
While praising, Ning Que inevitably felt a little gloomy when he thought of the lakeside stone mountain without acupoints in his body and himself, a stupid piece of wood that couldn't find a hole. He sighed and put the Primary Exploration of the Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow back on the bookshelf and began to walk among the bookshelves.
Knowing the relationship between the acupoints in the Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow, Psyche Power and the Breath of Heaven and Earth, and knowing that the congenital body constitution was limited, Ning Que couldn't really step into that world even if he could use some stupid methods to look at the world and fulfill some wishes. Ning Que felt that it was meaningless to continue reading books by reading words and forgetting the meaning, because for him, walking into that world was far more important than having a glimpse of that world from afar.
He didn't want to disturb the female professor who was writing words in the east window, so he deliberately slowed down and lightened his steps when walking back and forth among the bookshelves. The expression on his face had become very calm, or it should be said that he seemed to be calm. His calm eyes gently swept over the densely packed cultivation books on the bookshelves. The titles on the spines of the books, which he felt were incomparably mysterious at first glance, were still a great temptation for him at this time, but also a very annoying torture.
Suddenly, he saw a book at the bottom corner of the second row of bookshelves. He subconsciously raised his eyebrows and looked a little surprised. There were countless precious and mysterious cultivation books hidden on this floor, but this book was definitely not the most remarkable one among them. But the name of this book reminded him of some past events.
The name of this book was Wu Zhanyang's Theory on Haoran Sword. It was the words "Haoran Sword" that reminded Ning Que of the first cultivator he met on the battlefield in his life — the Great Sword Master in a green robe who intended to kill Princess Lee Yu at the entrance of Northern Mountain Road. That Great Sword Master was an abandoned disciple of the Academy, and he cultivated in Haoran Sword.
He squatted down and pulled out the book of Haoran Sword. After hesitating for a moment, he walked back to the wooden floor where he usually sat, and sat in the warm spring sunshine. After calming down for a moment, he opened the book.
The cicadas outside the window were even louder, and the forest seemed more quiet. The rest of the students downstairs were either drowsy because of the cicadas, or they were all licking the tips of their pens to prepare for the semester exam in a month. Ning Que sat alone on the floor, sitting between the cicadas and the silence.
All of a sudden, his face suddenly turned pale. He clenched his right hand into a fist and hit hard on his chest, forcibly shaking himself out of the state of meditation. He dared not look at the pages of the book again.
He was still reading the book in the way of Eight Strokes Calligraphy of Yong. Similarly, he also faintly felt that there was some kind of aura in his body, which flowed slowly in his chest and abdomen along with the strokes, and then disappointedly met the lake wall. But he did not expect that the words and strokes in this book of Wu Zhanyang's Theory on Haoran Sword were so sharp that they did not turn back when they met the lake wall. Instead, they coldly and mercilessly stabbed forward with the aura in his body!
It was this stab that made Ning Que feel as if a real cold sword was formed inside his body and then pierced through his heart. The pain was so horrible that even he, who had been between life and death countless times and had been seriously injured many times, could not bear it when he was unprepared!
If he were an ordinary person, he might scream at this moment and then fall to the ground with a pale face. Then he would be sent into the real world by the Emptiness Realm, twitching all over and fainting.
But Ning Que was not an ordinary person. He had many similar or even more painful experiences than this one.
When he was eleven years old, he took Sangsang through the vast Min Mountain for the umpteenth time. Once he lost his footing and fell off the cliff. Fortunately, he was stopped by a hard tree sticking out of the cliff, so he did not fall to his death. However, the tree's sword-like branches that stretched towards the sky directly pierced through his chest and back. Even with such heavy injuries, he still survived. Moreover, from that day onwards, there was no pain that could make him feel fear and despair.
Ning Que, who was hanging from the branches on the cliff, was not dead. Ning Que, who was sitting on the floor under the sunlight, would not have any problems. He did not even let out a groan. He only panted a few times and then calmed down. He looked at the closed book again with a complicated expression on his face. He murmured in a low voice,
"Pain leads to impassability, and the passage leads to no pain. This is really an everlasting truth that has been passed down since ancient times."
He shook his head and leaned back against the bookshelf. He raised his sleeve to cover his mouth and coughed twice, guessing that his lungs might have been injured by the Haoran Sword hidden in the pages of the book. But strangely, he did not look depressed at all at this moment. Instead, there was a faint excitement.
Pain leads to impassability. So if I endure the pain and force my way through, naturally it will not hurt anymore, right?
At this moment, Ning Que thought of the waterfall that seemed to be the Milky Way falling from the Ninth Heaven. He thought of the black oil gushing out from the wilderness. He thought of the broken fire hydrant and the beautiful bare-legged girl in a flowery skirt beside the fire hydrant. She looked nervous but was actually excited. He also thought of countless sages and sages in martial arts novels.
Those fellows whose blocked meridians would be cleared after a nap; those who lost all their power and slept in a tomb for a few years wrapped in unfinished silk; those who became invincible after cutting themselves with a knife and severing their conception and governing vessels; those who turned themselves into a Great Grandmaster of the One Meridian after their meridians were all severed; those who turned themselves into a Great Grandmaster of the One Meridian.
If those old guys and little guys could do it, why couldn't he? If those guys could succeed in the end because they all had some kind of stubbornness in their temperament, then would his stubbornness be less than theirs?
Determination and arrogance flashed in Ning Que's clean eyes. He struggled to stand up with the help of the bookshelf and walked to the desk beside the west window. He ground the ink and moistened the brush. He left a message for that guy, "I do understand the importance of impassability. If Haotian is destined to make me impassability for the rest of my life, then I have to … do it myself."
…
…
(I finally came out before 12 o 'clock. What's even better is that this chapter doesn't seem to need any major repairs. Excellent! I'll bow down and go to sleep. The day after tomorrow, it's going to be midnight. Dear, I'm going to die. Oh, dear …) If you like this work, please come to Qidian.Com to vote for me. Your support is my biggest motivation.)
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