Competing with internal energy is the ultimate, most dangerous showdown between martial artists. When it comes to judging a fighter's strength, their level of internal energy cultivation is always the number one hard metric. That's why internal energy duels are the most thrilling battles of all.
"We're not mortal enemies, nor are we fighting out of pride. Even though we're competing in internal energy, if someone gets hurt and ruins today's fun, wouldn't that be a buzzkill?" Simon West shook his head in mock seriousness, putting on his best pretentious scholar act. "So, I propose we have a literary contest instead."
With a wave of his hand, someone brought over an incense table and a few pieces of white silk.
"First, let me ask—are the meridians in your arm unobstructed, brother?"
"They are."
"Good." Simon West asked because many postnatal martial artists have blocked meridians. Strictly speaking, everyone's meridians are technically open and can channel energy, but 'open' and 'unobstructed' are two different things—like comparing dial-up internet to next-gen fiber broadband. They're worlds apart.
"Control and release are the basics of internal energy cultivation—everyone knows that. Today, let's use those fundamentals and have a little duel." Simon West picked up a piece of white silk and showed it to everyone. "Every internal energy duel is different. This time, let's use our energy as a brush to write poems or paint. How about it?"
Sounds fancy, and the girls around immediately applauded. But Simon West wasn't done: "That said, ten years of cultivation is... well, not much. So, writing poems or painting is a bit much. How about just writing a single character? Each of us writes one, and whichever the ladies like best wins. Deal?"
It does sound easier than writing poems or painting, but there's a catch—how do you write? Making your internal energy show color is something only an Innate Adept can do. And even for them, using colored energy to write or paint is pretty far-fetched.
"Let me show you how it's done." Simon West pulled out a block that looked like white jade from his sleeve. "This is Imperial Inkstone, the top-grade incense refined for the Great Zhou imperial court. When burned, it gives off a rich, lingering fragrance—the finest incense in the world. But you can't use it directly; it needs complex refining. Why? Because if you burn it straight, it'll—"
He lit up a chunk of Imperial Inkstone and tossed it into the incense burner. Instantly, a thick cloud of black smoke shot skyward. The girls standing closest shrieked and scrambled back a few steps.
“As you can see, it's got heavy black smoke. But don't panic—it's harmless. The scent of Imperial Inkstone comes right from this smoke,” Simon West quickly reassured the crowd. Madam Dai just said coolly, “Make sure you clean up any stains later, or you'll be fined a hundred taels.”
“Uh...” Simon West started sweating, bowing to Madam Dai, then explained, “Since this is a contest of internal energy, it’s all about the ‘qi.’ We gather the black ink in the smoke using the ‘collect’ technique...” He drew a circle in the smoke with his left hand; the black cloud got sucked in like grease to a vent. “Then with the ‘release’ technique, we apply it to the silk...” He flicked his left hand, his fingers tapping and swiping, and in no time at all, he’d painted a delicate landscape on the white silk. “And that’s how it’s done.”
“Whoa!” “Nicely done, West!” The crowd burst into applause—even Fiona Fang couldn’t help but stare. This smooth operator’s smoke-painting skills were next-level.
“Of course, you can’t pull this off with just ten years’ worth of cultivation. When I go up against Brother Yang, we’ll both use only ten years of power—at that point, even writing a character will be tough.” Simon West raised his hand invitingly, “Brother Yang, want to give it a go first?”
Jack Young stepped forward and placed his palm in the smoke. He channeled Bright Jade Technique into his hand, and instantly realized—this was no joke. The Imperial Inkstone smoke was thick and stubborn, like a wolf’s signal fire. The particles were dense, which made it a bit easier—but with only ten years of power, it was still a tall order!
What’s ten years of cultivation, anyway? To put it in perspective—even Yue Lingshan had at least fifteen years when she first left Mount Hua. Even a guy like Lu Dayou, if he trained hard, would have ten years under his belt. In the martial world, ten years is just above cannon fodder—barely a weed. Trying to gather enough smoke to write with only ten years? Nearly impossible.
“Brother Yang, there’s only this one chunk of Imperial Inkstone—once it’s burned up, that’s it. Ready to start?” Simon West rolled up his sleeves, getting ready.
“Let’s do it.” Jack Young’s voice was steady as ever.
“Alright!” Simon West plunged his hand into the smoke, sticking strictly to ten years’ worth of power. Gone was the easy confidence—his eyes grew serious. Writing with just ten years of internal energy was a real test. Like a general used to commanding armies suddenly having to fight solo—it’s a whole different game.
Still, a master’s a master. His meridians and acupoints were all wide open, which made drawing in the smoke a bit easier. He closed his eyes, focused, and after a moment, wrote a stroke on the paper. Took a couple deep breaths to recover, dipped his hand back into the smoke, focused again, and wrote another stroke.
Uncle Nan couldn’t help but nod, whispering, “Third Bro’s internal energy is getting purer by the day. Each stroke is faint, but leaving any mark at all with just ten years of cultivation is a big deal. Ten years’ worth of power usually scatters with the wind—if he hadn’t refined it to a certain level, he couldn’t gather even a wisp of smoke. Looks like he’s not far from Innate Power.”
“Yeah, when it comes to refining power, Third Bro’s ahead of the four of us.” East Youth nodded, then pointed at Jack Young. “Look, he hasn’t written a single stroke yet. This match is already decided.”
True enough, Jack Young just kept his hand in the column of smoke, vertical, gently fanning left and right—not making any move to write. He looked calm and collected, like he had all the time in the world.
[SKIP]
“Yeah, I’ll give it to him—Jack’s got the best moves when it comes to the physical stuff, but his internal energy’s just not there. I guess he’s all about the external arts. Shame, really. I was rooting for him.” Uncle Nan sounded genuinely sorry for Jack’s apparent loss.
Fiona Fang wasn’t having it. She huffed, then shot Jack Young a worried look and whispered, “Come on, Master, I know you’ve got this! Ten years of internal energy—you’re not losing to anyone!”
“That, I agree with.” The speaker was North Youth. Everyone turned to see him yawn and mumble, “This guy’s not that simple. He beat me at lightness skills, so even if his internal energy isn’t totally under his control, he’s not far off. If Third Bro wants to win, he’ll have to step it up!”
North Youth was the only one who’d ever gone head-to-head with Jack Young using internal energy, so his words carried weight. The crowd glanced over at Jack again, and suddenly one of the girls close by gasped, “Hey, look! His hand—it’s turning black!” Jack’s hand, usually pale, was now darkening before their eyes.
“Wait, but—the back of his hand is still white!” someone else cried. The crowd shifted for a better look, and sure enough, Jack’s hand was still pale on the back, with only his palm blackened.
“What’s going on?” While the girls were baffled, the three weirdos stared intently at Jack’s hand, then suddenly got it. They exchanged glances, all grinning: “He’s using that trick? Genius!” But after the laughter, they couldn’t help but be shocked—knowing the trick was one thing, pulling it off was another.
The Imperial Inkstone burned out, the black smoke faded away. Only then did Jack Young place his right hand on the white silk, writing stroke by stroke. As he worked, the blackness on his palm flowed toward his fingertips like ink from a pen, mesmerizing everyone.
“I’m done!” Simon West chirped, snatching up his silk and presenting it to Madam Dai. “I wrote the character for ‘love’—for you, ma’am. Care to give it a review?”
Madam Dai said coolly, “The strokes are clear, the lines are bold, and the calligraphy is top-notch. With only ten years of cultivation, I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Thanks for the praise, ma’am!” Simon West’s face lit up, grinning from ear to ear.
“I wasn’t praising you, just stating facts. You did well, but you didn’t surprise me. However…” Madam Dai suddenly stood, her waist swaying gracefully as she glided toward the crowd. Simon West hurried after her, step for step.
The crowd parted to let Madam Dai through. She gently waved her silk fan and stopped behind Jack Young, who was just finishing his last stroke, calm and steady. Madam Dai peered over his shoulder at the character he’d written, finishing her earlier thought: “You’re good, but he’s truly exceptional.”
Jack Young had written a huge character—‘Zhao’—on the silk. Compared to Simon West’s ‘love,’ Jack’s calligraphy had more flair, more strokes, was twice as big, and almost looked like it was done with a brush. Against the faint ‘love,’ his work was bold and dramatic!
Fiona Fang snatched up the silk and held it high for all to see. No words needed—the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. The difference was obvious; Jack’s work was on another level.
Simon West, who’d been totally focused on his own writing, finally noticed what was happening on Jack’s side. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open, speechless. Madam Dai spoke for him: “Let me ask—are you an Innate Adept, sir?”
Madam Dai’s question silenced the crowd. Everyone waited for Jack Young’s answer. An Innate Adept was a rare legend—meeting one was bragging rights for years.
Jack Young just shook his head. “Nope.”
“No way!” Simon West was the most shocked. “I’m not the best, but with the same power, I’m confident my internal energy isn’t weaker than anyone’s. If we’re both at ten years, and you’re not Innate, there’s no way you should be this much stronger!”
“Third Bro, he’s really not Innate.” East Youth explained, “He beat you because his method was clever.”