Chapter 102: The ssage About the Vertical Bamboo Flute of the World
Translator: Transn Editor: Transn
Ning Que did not know that he had missed another huge opportunity, and, of course, he did not know so Divine Talisman Master saw his grass script on a piece of account book ripped by him in the brothel, which produced two famous calligraphy notes, Wooden Rubblings of Yan and Chicken Soup Calligraphy. Today, he still was an unknown young boss in Lin 47th Street, and an ordinary but diligent student in Academy.
He woke from a drunken sleep the next morning and drank the bowl of chicken soup which perhaps was ward up again and again, frowning. Then, he stopped Sangsang who was preparing to wash the pot and bowl. He looked at her black face and said seriously, "Last night, I drank too much because I was so happy. I didn’t have ti to tell you because I passed out."
Sangsang looked up, raised her thin eyebrows, opened her bright eyes, and asked with curiosity, "Young Master, what makes you so happy? I’ve never seen you drink that much."
"I think I’ve discovered a thod to understand those books in the old library of Academy."
Ning Que extended a finger and shook it before her nose on and on, smiling and then said, "Although it’s just a glimr of hope, it’s hope after all. I think if possible, I must seize the chance."
The so-called hope was a casual denial of despair. Because denial was casual, it would not last for a long ti. As a person who was played by destiny, Ning Que knew this better than anyone. Alas, hope tended to beco disappointnt, then despair. The more hope you had, the deeper regret and pity you had as well.
Whether the cultivator in the mountain of the Yan territory, or the examiner from Military Ministry, or the mild old man Lyu Qingchen in the journey, or the selection round for the course of magic skills during the academy entrance exam, he experienced the hope that had been ruthlessly stamped out over and over again. Therefore, he beca calr and calr and even numb. As for entering the magic cultivation world, he never gave up hope in his heart, although he seed to not care too much for outward appearances.
Because he knew if he wanted to survive in the world and live well, serve his revenge, and leave his na in history on this black and fertile land called the Tang, he must enter that world. Once he gave up all hope, his end was not disappointnt, but despair.
To seize the faint hope, Ning Que adjusted his ntal state into the most generous and positive one. He would leave Chang’an by carriage early in the morning and ride the carriage back to Lin 47th Street late at night. In the morning, he always felt sleepy when he learned six courses. After the third bell rang, would he jump from his seat with high spirit, rush out of the study room and into the canteen, chew and swallow two als slowly, take a walk surrounding the lake, then climb up the library over and over and read books without a stop.
He sat near the west window and read calligraphy while enjoying the sunshine. He disassembled every character on the book into strokes with Eight Strokes Calligraphy of Yong, and then he learned the trend and aning of those strokes carefully, and forgot their aning deliberately.
The female professor still wrote the Hairpin-style Small Regular Script quietly near the east window. Her bun was undone, the splendor of Spring reflected on her smooth bob that was just over ears, which made her look gentle and silent. She did not give any directions no matter how sincere Ning Que was.
So afternoon several days later, he read half of the Primary Exploration on Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow. The characters were disassembled into thousands of strokes, and then reorganized into thousands of character Yongs with different shape and aning, which cost almost all his energy.
Ning Que rubbed his fatigued eyes, and then silently turned his head to look at the thickening green leaves out of the window. He knew it was no aning if he forced himself to read. Even if he consud all of his energy, he just could understand more aning from Talisman Master who transcribed books, which provided no help for him to enter into the Initial State.
To his disappointnt, the notes, left by the mysterious instructor, on the paper in the middle of thin book never showed again, not even so words. It seed like he just disappeared.
The chirping of cicada that annoyed students in Academy for a thousand years rang again in this afternoon without any warning. Ning Que quietly listened to the chirping of cicadas out of the window for a long ti, and then he turned around suddenly, closed the thin book on his knees, and began to ditate with eyes closed.
The characters on the book were disassembled into strokes with Eight Strokes Calligraphy of Yong. Then he forced himself to forget the aning of the character. Therefore, even if the number of characters was large, he could manage to stay in the corner of his ntal world quietly. However, once he began to ditate on these strokes, the complex strokes would beco dangerous.
On the first day, when he watched the character and forgot the aning, he felt that his Psyche Power had nowhere to go. He knew if he forced himself to ditate, it would be very dangerous. Therefore, he did not try it again these days. But he could not accept the fact that the hope he had barely just seen was slipping away. As such, he must try it again at the mont.
He closed his eyes and sat near the window with crossed legs. He seed to be like a statue without moving a little bit. A little hot Spring breeze blew from the west window to his thin blue clothes, wrinkling it. The waves on the chest of his turquoise robe slowly rose, and then fell flat, over and over. It seed to have co alive. It was a pity that the waves could not continue, so the life slipped away in defeat.
In a pond sowhere in Academy, wind skimd water, and little waves pushed away several duckweeds in all direction. However, no matter where they went, they would co back after touching the wall.
In so mountain, a famous person walked through the dense forest and visited the famous temple. He knocked on the door, only to find out that the eminent monk had been traveling the world already. He only could leave with disappointnt, shaking his head and looking back to the broken road in the forest.
In Ning Que’s current ntal world, those complex strokes, those deconstructed character components without specific aning, and those lines of characters suddenly beca vivid as his ditated. Each stroke seed to have a tal edge, becoming knives formation of barbarians from grassland. The tip of the writing seed to be more humid, becoming cold rain outside Spring Breeze Pavilion. The rain began to fall, and each fall ant knives that cut nurous people. The rain was unending, bringing unending conflicts.
Suddenly, the cutting and rain stopped. He opened his eyes from ditation at once and felt a sharp pain in his chest. He could not help but cough, lowering his head. His hoarse cough suddenly broke the tranquility of the second floor in the old library. He lifted arm to cover his mouth right away, but he found so blood on his blue sleeve.
"Headmaster of Academy said that to force oneself to do things was boring. You aren’t fit to pursue cultivation. Although you have a stone-forged will, even if you find so interesting thod, you... shouldn’t insist on doing things you can’t.
The female professor was in front of Ning Que without him noticing, speaking to him with gentle eyes.
Ning Que looked up, and then he just found the female professor was so tiny. He could not tell her real age because she had clear eyes and thin eyebrows. He knew it was she who had pulled him out of ditation when he reached a dangerous state. He could not help but laugh at himself. Then he stood up, wiped the blood off his lip, and gave a salute.
The female professor smiled, shaking her head to tell him there was no need to take this to heart. After nodding her head, she walked deep into the aisle between bookshelves with Hairpin-style Small Regular Script in her arm. Then, she left the old library without others noticing.
Ning Que had spent a lot of ti in ditating unknowingly. It was already twilight outside the windows. He did not rush to leave when night was coming but stood in the west window quietly, listening to cicada’s interrupted chirping because of their lack of practice. Then he walked to the desk, grinded ink and put brush into ink to write down so words.
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When the night grew late, the talisman inscription shone again in the deep of second floor in the old library, and then slid to both sides silently. Chen Pipi squeezed out with difficulty, puffing and blowing and his fat face trembling, which looked rather funny.
He had continued paying attention to the progress of the other party after he left the ssage that night. However, he did not hear from him after several days because Ning Que took sick leave. He was more curious than angry about what happened. Unfortunately, what annoyed him most these days was his Second Brother who let him fear was crazy. The brother suddenly asked classmates to learn Rituals of the Yin, so he had no ti to visit the old library because of that.
Today, he finally had ti. Chen Pipi rushed to the old library without bathing and relaxing, because he just wanted to see if Ning Que, the poor and hateful guy, had given him a reply.
Chen Pipi walked to the bookshelf and drew out the thin book, Primary Exploration on Ocean of Qi and Mountain of Snow. He lifted his thick eyebrows with a slight "eh." After he saw it so ti, he could not help but shake his head and acclaid. "This guy really has so guts, he figuring out such a stupid thod, and he could understand?"
What he saw was the earliest reply from Ning Que. Next, he saw today’s reply. His thick lip could not help but make a louder noise, and he frowned, saying annoyedly, "How can you pursue cultivation if you don’t even understand this? I don’t know you’re a genius or an idiot!"
After he was silent for a while, Chen Pipi sat beside the desk in the west window and he began to grind ink and gave him a reply. When he communicated with Ning Que for the second ti, he, the genius from West-Hill wrote this. "Are you a kid? You don’t even know the basic reason? Now that you have one acupoint that can’t connect the world, you can’t resonate with the Breath of nature. There’s no other path you can take. If you want to know the specific reason, I could tell you a taphor. Our body is like a musical instrunt, like the vertical bamboo flute, and Psyche Power is the breath in the vertical bamboo flute. It doesn’t an you can play good music just because sound was produced from vertical bamboo flute’s hole."
"If there are no holes on your flute, then how can you blow? If the heaven and the earth can’t hear your music, then how can you interact with it? Most of the acupoints in your Snow Mountain and Ocean of Qi were blocked, so how else do you wish to torture yourself?"
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