"Just a minor breathing technique," Chen Fan replied, his expression calm and indifferent. "Nothing worth mentioning."
To him, it truly was no feat to flaunt.
In fact, the old man in the Tang suit possessed a slightly higher cultivation than Chen Fan at this moment. Theoretically, he should be able to perform a similar technique. But as previously stated—the difference between a martial artist's inner energy and a cultivator's true essence was as vast as that between tofu and a steel blade. A blade could sever branches with the lightest touch, while tofu, no matter how much force it applied, would only shatter upon impact.
Thus, though Chen Fan was merely at the early Foundation Establishment stage, he could infuse even a fragile willow leaf with true essence, making it sharp as steel and swift as a bullet. That same leaf sliced past Ziqing's cheek and embedded into the tree with force. Meanwhile, the old man's internal energy would likely dissipate within a few inches of his body—such was the difference in quality.
"What you call trivial is divine to us," the old man said respectfully, no longer calling him "young friend" but rather "sir," a mark of reverence.
Though he had weathered decades of storms and once stood atop wealth and power, his heart had always yearned for the martial path. Alas, his talents were average at best.
Even in all of vast China, martial grandmasters were as rare as phoenix feathers. Despite his influence, the old man had never managed to obtain guidance from one. To meet a figure like Chen Fan—so young, and yet already at such a level—felt like a lifetime of living in vain.
Chen Fan was struck by a thought and asked, "The grandmasters you mentioned—are they capable of feats like what I just demonstrated?"
"Naturally," the old man nodded. "A grandmaster at the realm of transformation stands at the pinnacle of the martial world, having already transcended the mortal plane. Projecting internal energy to strike down an enemy from ten steps away is but a small matter."
Then a strange expression crossed his face. "But… if you are truly a grandmaster, why are you unfamiliar with this? These are common truths within the martial world."
Chen Fan mused inwardly, So they call it 'internal force'? Not internal energy?
To project such loose, diluted energy outward to cause real harm… that would require at least entry into the Tongxuan realm.
In other words, these so-called "transformational grandmasters" were equivalent to Tongxuan-level martial experts. Judging from the old man's tone, they were exceedingly rare.
Understandably so. On a planet as barren of spiritual energy as Earth, with techniques so crude and archaic, it would take nothing short of a genius to forcefully break through into that realm.
Still, knowing of their existence didn't faze Chen Fan.
Not only was his own cultivation advancing at lightning speed—likely to reach Tongxuan within half a year—but unlike these martial artists who relied solely on brute force, he also wielded true spells. The kind that grandmasters of martial arts could not begin to comprehend.
He shook his head lightly. "As I said, I'm merely a Daoist cultivator. That was simply a breathing exercise. I've never heard of this 'inner force' or 'grandmaster' you speak of. Perhaps you've mistaken me for someone else."
"A cultivator?" The old man frowned, perplexed. He had heard of reclusive masters and eccentric sages, each with strange talents—but this leaf-flicking technique was the hallmark of a true grandmaster.
Could it be… he wasn't a grandmaster?
But the old man soon dismissed the thought. Whatever this young man was, his skill was enough to place him shoulder-to-shoulder with the greatest martial figures of the age.
Besides, he was so young. His future was boundless.
And… his granddaughter was quite the beauty. An old man's thoughts began to stir.
Suddenly, his demeanor shifted. He smiled warmly and said, "Whether or not you're a grandmaster matters little. Let's set that aside. Judging from your accent, sir, are you by chance from C Province?"
"Indeed. I'm from Z County. Lived there seventeen years. I came to C City for my final year of high school," Chen Fan nodded. Then, as if remembering something, he added: "My name is Chen Fan, but you can also call me Chen Beixuan. 'Beixuan' is the Daoist name given to me by my teacher."
This old man, though not a true cultivator, had at least brushed against the world of cultivation. It felt more natural to address him with his Daoist title.
"Z County… Chen Fan, or Chen Beixuan?" The old man and his granddaughter exchanged glances—they'd never heard of this name.
The elder turned back and asked curiously, "We'll address you respectfully as Mr. Chen. May I ask, where is your teacher? Did he accompany you to C City?"
"My master… is no longer on this planet," Chen Fan said quietly, shaking his head.
His teacher, the Cangqing Immortal, was likely wandering the stars, worlds apart. It could be decades—or never—before he returned to Earth.
But the old man misinterpreted his words, sighing emotionally: "Life and death are but natural. Still, for him to have taught a student like you, he must have passed with pride. I myself am nearly ninety. Most of my old friends are gone. Though internal force has extended my years, I never reached grandmaster level. I likely won't be around much longer either."
A violent coughing fit followed.
"Grandfather!" Ziqing's cold face melted into concern, her eyes reddening as she gently patted his back.
"It's nothing, just an old ailment," he waved her off, forcing a smile.
Chen Fan watched for a moment, then suddenly interjected: "You injured your lungs by forcefully using inner energy in your youth, didn't you?"
"You practice medicine too?" The old man was stunned.
Ziqing's eyes lit up as she quickly explained:
"When he was younger, my grandfather was badly hurt protecting our family. He pushed his inner force beyond control, damaging his lungs. It became chronic—untreatable by either Western or traditional medicine. It can only be managed with drugs."
Then she looked straight at Chen Fan, her voice tinged with hope:
"Since you're a Daoist cultivator, and could diagnose his condition at a glance… is there any way you can heal him?"
Ziqing knew the pain her grandfather endured during every flare-up.
Modern medicine was powerless. Even famed traditional doctors had given up, saying the window for healing had passed.
But seeing Chen Fan's supernatural prowess, her heart clung to a fragile hope.
"Mr. Chen," she said earnestly, "our Wei family is not without resources. If you can heal my grandfather, no matter your request—we will meet it."
Chen Fan paused for a moment, then slowly said:
"Healing this... is not difficult for me. Since fate has brought us together, I shall offer my help."
He saw their eyes brighten and added, "Allow me a couple of days to prepare. Then I'll visit your home and treat him. Is that acceptable?"
"Of course!" The sharp-eyed young man beside them nearly leapt with excitement, while Ziqing's frosty expression finally softened into a smile.
Chen Fan's gaze lingered a moment longer. So the cold beauty can smile after all—and she's stunning when she does.
"Thank you, Mr. Chen," the old man said, his joy hidden behind years of composure. He turned to the young man beside him:
"Xiao Qi, take down Mr. Chen's number. Drive him home afterward."
Then, addressing Chen Fan again, he said:
"When the time comes, just call Xiao Qi and he'll pick you up. And if you encounter any trouble in C City, feel free to call upon us. The Wei family still holds some sway here."
"Very well," Chen Fan nodded quietly.
—
Chen Fan returned to the lakeside neighborhood in Xiao Qi's high-end SUV.
With one glance, he could tell it was a top-spec Range Rover, easily worth over two million yuan. In 2007, anyone driving such a vehicle in C City was far from ordinary.
But that wasn't the reason he accepted the ride.
"That man Wei Fu may speak gently, but he carries the bearing of someone born to privilege. He wasn't a simple man in his youth." Chen Fan shook his head.
It was mere chance they met. And since they had inner force—albeit crude—it meant they'd stepped one foot into the world of cultivation. Helping them was, in a way, sowing karmic seeds.
At the gate of the neighborhood, Chen Fan exchanged numbers with Xiao Qi before strolling in.
He knew no medicine—but a cultivator needn't know acupuncture or massage.
A single pill could cure all ills.
He hadn't agreed on the spot because he needed to prepare some medicinal pills.
Wei Fu's technique also had flaws that damaged the lungs. Chen Fan planned to optimize it.
Though the man hadn't shared his exact inner force method, Chen Fan—once a Nascent Soul-stage cultivator—could see through the simplified martial arts with ease.
It was like a Nobel laureate watching a child solve a math puzzle—novel at first glance, but ultimately elementary.
"Ugh. My allowance is about to shrink again," he groaned.
Wei Fu's medicine didn't require rare herbs, but Chen Fan still ordered a batch from the pharmacy.
The pill he planned to make?
"Minor Essence-Nurturing Pill."
It was the most basic healing pill from the cultivation world. Whether the patient was sick, injured, or frail—it could be used.
Even for mortals, it could extend life by a few years.
The "minor" prefix was necessary—because the real Essence-Nurturing Pill required herbs Earth didn't have. Even substitutes would have to be century-old ginseng, which cost more than Chen Fan's net worth.
"Hopefully the minor version is enough. If not—he can pay for the good herbs himself."
Chen Fan sighed and spent the following days cooped up refining the pills and adjusting Wei Fu's technique.
He even turned down several dinner invites from Aunt Tang, making excuses each time.
That afternoon, when the pills were complete and the technique perfected, he finally informed Wei Fu he would visit that evening.
Just then, Aunt Tang called again. Chen Fan, having run out of excuses, decided at last to accept.
She'd probably started thinking he was avoiding her.