Chapter 23: The Zen of Killing Intent, The Greater the Talent, the Deeper the Inner Demon (Part I)

"Old Minister, I truly apologize for disturbing your peace. A young master of 'Sanctification of the Physical Body' has recently appeared in Wencheng, Han Province. There are some matters I wish to report to you in person," Zhao Ping said with a highly respectful attitude.

"You, oh you. I am already aware of this matter. Come to the farmland outside Bowang Village in the northern suburbs of the capital." A soft chuckle came from the other end of the line.

Nearly an hour later, Zhao Ping's car pulled up beside the fields outside Bowang Village.

At a glance, the farmland seemed to stretch on endlessly. In the fields, two or three dozen figures—men and women alike—were working with their backs to the sky and faces to the soil. They held hoes, tilling the earth, their bodies drenched in sweat. Some of the men were shirtless, revealing robust muscles that were not merely the chiseled kind seen in bodybuilding, but rather appeared fused into one solid, powerful mass.

*Hoo! Hah! Hoo! Hah!*

No sooner had Zhao Ping stepped out of the car than he heard the sound of breathing like rolling thunder. The tools they held were not ordinary wooden-handled iron hoes, but solid black metal, with handles of varying thicknesses. Their movements were vastly different from those of typical farmers; while ordinary farmers focused on speed and efficiency to conserve energy, these people moved with a constant, uniform velocity. Even as the hoe descended, they maintained precise control, their entire bodies moving as one unit, fluid yet heavy. It felt as if they were constantly coiled with tension. Just watching them, without even practicing, was enough to make one’s scalp tingle and one’s body ache.

They moved as if wading through mud, their breath like thunder, their exertion continuous and unyielding, flowing like waves, mountains, and the vast earth itself.

In a corner of the field stood a thatched shed. An old man, dressed like a simple farmer with a straw hat, lay on a rattan chair, fanning himself and eating watermelon. On a wooden rack behind him rested a row of hoes of varying sizes.

Zhao Ping gestured for his subordinates to wait and not approach, then hurried toward the shed.

"Old Minister," Zhao Ping said, bowing.

The old man had short, silver-white hair, a slightly protruding crown, neat eyebrows, and full, rounded cheeks. His upper body was bare, his skin a faint bronze that, in a fleeting glance, almost shimmered with a golden hue. He was neither muscular nor thin, but possessed a rounded, robust physique, with the flesh on his hands, feet, shoulders, and neck appearing remarkably full.

"Little Zhao has arrived," the old man said casually, revealing white teeth that were more uniform and refined than an average person's. His voice was clear and resonant, devoid of any scent of old age; in fact, as he spoke, Zhao Ping could detect a faint, exotic fragrance.

A protrusion on the crown of the head, forty teeth, the ability to taste the finest flavors, a full and robust body... If a master of Buddhist cultivation were to see this man, they would likely fall to their knees, believing they had encountered a living Buddha. According to legend, the Buddha possessed thirty-two physical marks representing perfect enlightenment and infinite supernatural power. For a commoner, possessing even one would bring wealth and status, but this old man clearly possessed far more than a few.

"Old Minister, your cultivation has deepened once again. Regarding that master of the Sanctification of the Physical Body..." Zhao Ping wanted to report immediately. After all, Ma Changping was still lying in the Wencheng Special Security Bureau branch. Given the man's status, if something truly went wrong, it would be difficult for him to answer for it.

"No rush, Little Zhao. Since you became the Director General, it’s been some years since you’ve held a hoe, hasn't it? Busy with affairs and neglecting your practice—that is not a good thing. Go and till an acre of land first. Pick the largest hoe." The old man waved a hand, cutting Zhao Ping off.

"Old Minister, I... I’ll take a smaller one," Zhao Ping said, sweat already beading on his forehead. He had practiced here in his youth; the very skills that allowed him to 'seize souls and capture spirits' were forged in this field. How could he not know the difficulty? These hoes were specially crafted, with the largest weighing a full eighty jin. This was not ordinary farming; every strike required focused intent and total control. Having held a high position for years, he had grown lax. Even for a master of his caliber, tilling an entire acre would be exhausting.

"Go," the old man said, offering no further explanation, just a slight wave of his hand.

Zhao Ping understood: this was a punishment for his failure to handle the situation well, and perhaps the old man had seen through his petty schemes. Helpless, the middle-aged man in his dress slacks and white shirt obediently picked up the largest hoe from the rack and began to toil in the field.

"Qianyuan," the old man called out in a normal tone. Two hundred meters away, a giant of a young man, tall and sturdy, immediately stopped tilling and ran toward the old man, carrying his hoe.

He was alert to everything around him. With every step he took, the soil beneath him sank deep. Standing nearly two point two meters tall, he had rugged features and eyes like copper bells, yet his gaze was incredibly pure. His hands were as large as fans, and the iron hoe he carried was even more terrifying—the handle alone was as thick as a bowl. The largest hoe in the old man's collection was only eighty jin, but the one this man held exceeded that; it was custom-made for him.

Standing before the old man, the young man looked like a guardian deity from under the Buddha's throne brought to life.

"Master, what are your orders?" Meng Qianyuan asked respectfully.

"Go watch your senior brother. If he tries to slack off or cut corners, kick him in the backside," the old man said with a chuckle.

"Yes, Master." Meng Qianyuan nodded, set down his own hoe, and walked to Zhao Ping's side to faithfully carry out the order. In his eyes, there was no 'Director General'; all things in the world were equal. The idea of him showing leniency was impossible. With his bell-like eyes glaring, Zhao Ping felt as if he were being pierced by needles, and his physical exertion intensified.

Flustered, Zhao Ping’s form faltered several times, and he was kicked in the backside by Meng Qianyuan, ending up with a mouthful of dirt.

Several hours later, Zhao Ping’s shirt was covered in mud, and he was panting, utterly exhausted.

"Speak. What is the specific situation?" The old man watched Zhao Ping’s disheveled state and handed him a towel. Zhao Ping wiped his face and hurriedly reported the events in detail.

"He compares himself to the Monkey King who wreaked havoc in Heaven. I had no choice but to come and ask for the help of a true Buddha like yourself," Zhao Ping said helplessly.

"Hahaha! Good, good, good! A young man should have such spirit and audacity. Otherwise, how could he achieve the Sanctification of the Physical Body at twenty-seven? I like it! Each generation produces its own talents. The era belonging to the young is coming." After hearing the full story, the old man clapped his hands and laughed, feeling deeply gratified.

"You lot still haven't changed your thinking. The world is vast; how can it be only black and white? How can one hand cover the sky? You should understand this. The global situation is at a critical juncture, and such figures are vital. I have already reached a consensus with Mr. Zhao, Old Gu, and the major sects of the Sanctification of the Physical Body to hold the 'Wuying Discussion' to cultivate such masters. If you keep this mindset, how can I trust the Special Security Bureau to you?" After his laughter, the old man’s expression shifted, his tone becoming sharp. Cold sweat instantly broke out on Zhao Ping's back.

He knew the old man's character well: a Buddhist visage concealing a murderous heart, though years of self-cultivation had tempered his temper. If he truly became angry, the very mountains and rivers would change color.

"Old Minister, I was wrong. But it is also because there are disagreements within our ranks, and there are suspicious aspects to this man's identity..." Zhao Ping tried to explain.

"Hong Datong, the 'Wandering Immortal.' I know of him," the old man said, waving his hand.

"You know his background?" Zhao Ping’s expression shifted, and he quickly inquired.

"During the war, we crossed paths a few times. To wake from a thousand-year dream—is he a man to be taken lightly? He is not our enemy. You do not need to concern yourselves too much with this matter."

"Very well. I will take a trip to Wencheng, this old bag of bones that I am. Qianyuan, come with me. See for yourself what kind of person it is who can achieve the Sanctification of the Physical Body at your age," the old man said with a chuckle.

"Yes, Master." A spark of light flashed in Meng Qianyuan’s eyes.