Chapter Six: Training

Ye Feng and his companions climbed the mountain, only to find no houses or courtyards upon its slopes, so they had no choice but to camp beneath the open sky that night.

The next day, the young woman directed everyone to fell trees, cut grass, and build shelters. In strategic locations, she oversaw the construction of fortifications, making preparations for a drawn-out struggle. They cleared wasteland, dug for water, and in the intervals between training, planted grains and vegetables, striving for self-sufficiency. She also instructed Ye Feng to write a proclamation to reassure the people, posting it throughout the nearby villages.

So many matters, yet the young woman organized them all with perfect order, leaving Ye Feng sincerely impressed. Life on the mountain was something Ye Feng could adapt to, but whenever it came to training, he always lagged behind. Born frail and sickly, Ye Feng had never endured hardship or heavy labor, growing up in a well-off family. Suddenly thrust into this harsh regimen, how could he possibly cope?

What he hated most was that most of these soldiers had been forced up the mountain against their will, their anger simmering with nowhere to vent—seeing Ye Feng only fueled their irritation. They often played tricks on him in secret, setting traps to make his training even harder.

The training was overseen by the young woman's elder brother. Only in these past few days did Ye Feng learn their names: Murong Bao and Murong Yan. Murong Bao was hot-tempered, his method of training soldiers being either fists or lashes. Seeing Ye Feng fall behind, he would not hesitate to crack the whip, making Ye Feng gasp in pain. Yet Ye Feng clenched his teeth and bore it, not uttering a sound.

After several such beatings, Murong Bao found himself admiring Ye Feng’s fortitude and gradually eased his hand. Moreover, though Ye Feng always lagged at the rear, he persisted and stuck to his training, which earned Murong Bao’s growing respect. When he did use the whip again, his strikes were lighter, and he would merely scold, “Boy, pay attention! Steady your breath and pick up your pace!”

Still, how could such a frail scholar endure this? Within a few days, Ye Feng developed a high fever. Yet, stubborn as ever, he refused to yield. Early one morning, without a word to anyone, he dragged himself to the training ground. That day was a ten-kilometer weighted cross-country run. At the signal, Ye Feng hoisted over thirty jin of wood, just like the others, and started running.

He soon felt his strength draining, falling behind. The further back he fell, the more anxious he became, desperate to catch up. But in straining himself, his head swam, the world spun, and he collapsed to the ground.

Murong Bao, who was close behind, saw Ye Feng fall and hurriedly carried him back to the camp. He brought Ye Feng before Murong Yan, dropped him on the ground, and grumbled, “Sister, what use is this weakling? See, just a few days of training and he’s already collapsed—useless!”

Murong Yan snapped, “Nonsense! Brother, move aside!” Before Murong Bao could react, she pushed him away, knelt beside Ye Feng, and examined his condition. She found his teeth clenched and his forehead burning hot.

“Quick, bring a bowl of ginger water!”

Soon the water arrived, and Murong Yan helped Ye Feng drink it. He slowly regained consciousness. Seeing Murong Yan supporting him, Ye Feng’s anger flared; he pushed her away and tried to walk outside. But after only two steps, his head spun, and he nearly collapsed again, saved only by grabbing hold of the wall.

Murong Yan was not angered by this. She waved a hand and ordered two subordinates, “Hurry, Young Master Ye is unwell—help him back and take good care of him. If anything happens to him, you’ll answer for it!”

The two men quickly helped Ye Feng back to his room to rest. On the other side, Murong Bao grew impatient. “Sister, this boy doesn’t know what’s good for him. If he wants to go down the mountain and join Meng Lianshan, let him! We don’t need him.”

Murong Yan’s face darkened. She retorted, “Nonsense! How many literate people do we have on this mountain? If everyone is as reckless and impulsive as you, how long can our stronghold endure?”

Her reproach left Murong Bao speechless for a long while. Seeing her brother still puzzled, Murong Yan patiently explained, “Brother, you may think this boy is stubborn, but he has knowledge and a strong will. With proper guidance, he could cultivate powerful spiritual force and become an outstanding Demon-Slayer. Then, we would have another comrade.”

Murong Bao remained unconvinced but dared not argue, muttering, “I don’t believe it,” in a voice so low even he could barely hear it.

Meanwhile, Ye Feng, after resting a day, was restored by the following morning. As he slept, he was roused by a persistent knocking at the door.

“Young Master Ye, are you awake?”

Hearing Murong Yan’s voice, Ye Feng feigned sleep in annoyance, remaining silent. After more knocking, the footsteps faded away. He was relieved she hadn’t entered when suddenly, the footsteps returned.

With a creak, the door opened. A graceful figure slipped inside, tiptoed to his bedside, and sat down, coughing deliberately to clear her throat. “Young Master Ye, I must apologize for bringing you up the mountain by force. Please forgive me.”

Ye Feng ignored her, pretending to sleep.

“But we have just formed our righteous army here, and truly need trustworthy people. Your actions toward the refugees that day were most noble and generous—I admire you greatly.”

Ye Feng snorted inwardly, unmoved.

“It’s just that your constitution is naturally frail, and the recent training has been hard on you. Watching from the side, I can only feel regret. At this rate, even after three or five more years of training, it would be in vain.”

At these words, Ye Feng’s eyes flew open and he sat up. Murong Yan smiled faintly and continued, “If you trust me, I am willing to teach you the way of demon-slaying. What do you say?”

“Is this true?” Ye Feng could no longer pretend, crying out in disbelief.

“Of course.” Murong Yan smiled. “But the art of demon-slaying requires diligent practice and cannot be rushed. Above all, it depends on one’s innate talent.”

Ye Feng had witnessed her abilities firsthand and admired her deeply. He thought: As long as you are willing to teach me, no hardship or exhaustion will deter me, even if I learn only a fraction.

He immediately knelt, saying, “Thank you. As long as you are willing to teach me, I shall not fear any hardship or fatigue!”

He poured a cup of tea, respectfully presenting it to her with both hands. “Miss, I am a refugee now, penniless. This cup of tea is but a token of my respect—let it serve as my pledge of apprenticeship.”

He was about to kowtow when Murong Yan took the cup and pulled him up with a laugh, covering her mouth. “No need for such formality! My skills are meager—I dare not accept a disciple. I can only guide you to the threshold; the path beyond depends on you.”

Then, her expression grew stern. “Let me be clear: I can teach you the art, but we are not master and disciple. If you go about claiming to be my student with your current abilities and make a fool of yourself, others will only laugh at me.”

Ye Feng glanced at his own frail form, scratching his head in embarrassment.

That day, the two found a spacious place, and Murong Yan began to teach Ye Feng the art of demon-slaying, guiding him hand in hand.

This art was utterly unlike the martial arts of the jianghu, which rely on internal energy as their foundation. The demon-slaying art depends on spiritual force: the mind follows the will, the will guides the body. In its highest form, one’s very thoughts can command all things.

There are six realms in the cultivation of the art: Accordance, Command, Communion, Division, Dominion, and Sanctity.

At the first realm, Accordance, the mind follows the will, the will guides the body; the practitioner becomes agile and unpredictable, almost impossible to defend against in combat.

At the second realm, Command, one is truly a Demon-Slayer, able to use external objects to kill ordinary soldiers of the Myriad Demons Nation.

At the third realm, Communion, one can communicate with all things, borrowing their power.

At the fourth realm, Division, one becomes a Demon-Slaying Master, able to project true essence outward, using its shifting state to destroy demons.

At the fifth realm, Dominion, the practitioner is transformed, their soul indestructible, impervious to evil, able to command certain spiritual entities, and capable of contending with demon kings cultivated for a thousand years.

At the sixth realm, Sanctity, one is as eternal as heaven and earth, shining with the sun and moon, able to accomplish anything, revered by all things as a Demon-Slaying Immortal.

Each realm is difficult to attain; only one in a hundred can advance from one to the next.

Murong Yan herself, after ten years of arduous practice, had only just reached the third realm—Communion—and could barely be called a Demon-Slayer, not yet a Master.

Moreover, practicing this art requires first a robust body; only then can one endure the pains and trials, focus the mind, and gradually strengthen one’s spiritual force.

Ye Feng, a scholar of many years and little exercise, was weak and at first found it difficult to concentrate while practicing the art. Yet each day, as he trained with a determined heart, though his focus was imperfect, his fatigue lessened, and his body became nimbler and stronger. Soon he ceased to fall behind during training.

These unusual changes did not escape the notice of the other soldiers, who, having long resented Ye Feng, grew all the more envious. They tripped him in secret or kicked him from behind, but Ye Feng dodged their petty attacks with ease.

This only made the soldiers more furious. Among them was an old campaigner, tall and burly, who resolved to teach Ye Feng a harsh lesson. It was the day for solo wrestling practice among the soldiers. The old soldier swaggered up to Ye Feng, grinning, and clapped him on the shoulders in feigned friendliness. Leaning in, he growled, “Sorry, Young Master Ye, but today I must give you a taste of my wrestling skills!”

With that, he gripped Ye Feng forcefully and executed a back throw, intent on slamming him hard to the ground.