Chapter 25: Training, Pointers and Control
If you were to ask the monks of a great temple in the Anhui province about the man who would go on and become the 'Storm Calling Buddha', then they would tell you that the man was a maniac.
The fully ordained nuns who had trained with him since childhood would also go on to call him a slob, and a brute.
He was known to have many vices, and he was known by all to be one of the least spiritual monks around.
But one thing rang true across all sides of the temple and monastery...
A fact that every monk and nun could agree on without even batting an eye.
The Storm Calling Buddha was a prodigy of martial arts. And a great instructor.
All of his students, without exception, be they men or women, ended up stronger than regular monks of other monasteries.
The Bullish Monk could also adapt to all fighting styles in the middle of fighting against them for the first time. It took him weeks to learn what others needed years to master.
He was known to have not only learned but mastered enough martial arts to put any other instructor to shame.
His only real flaw was that he only bothered to master the martial arts that interested him most. He didn't care to learn the others, even if he came to have an understanding of them from sparring.
And, whilst training with his cousin, the monk couldn't help but become more interested in the sword style she was using. At first glance, it appeared quite decent.
But, when he started to study the fighting style more in-depth, the monk was sorely disappointed.
'Is this the level of quality I should expect from the youngsters around here?'
It was pitiful, forsaking stability for flashiness. Trading perfect and trained motions for just adding Internal energy into something to make it stronger.
"The very base of your stance is flawed... Why are your legs so far apart when you rush to attack?"
"What?!? My stance is perfect, every instructor has been telling me that!" At first, the girl was a bit annoyed at being insulted in such a way, especially after getting punched in the face and chest a few times.
"What's the point of focusing on speed instead of stability?
What do you plan to do when running into someone or something faster than you? Die?"
The monk's words cut even deeper into the girl's confidence than his fists.
But Mo Qiao wasn't willing to relent so easily.
"This is supposed to be a fast sword! If I run into someone faster then I'd lose anyway! I just have to make sure I'm the fastest!"
She repeated what her instructors had taught her, the nature of her sword, the 'Fiery Steel Style' was a technique specifically focusing on speed and agility at the end of the day.
"But you won't be the fastest, you can't be the fastest every time...
And even if you were, speed isn't enough." The Monk narrowed his eyes, his mouth twisting into a scowl when he heard her misguided confidence.
"Huh?! What do you mean 'speed isn't enough'?!" Mo Qiao raised her eyebrows incredulously, finding his words to be foolish.
Speed was among the most important things for a cultivator.
"To this point, I have yet to use a speed even equal to yours, I have been moving slower than you, but you've still not managed to touch me with that 'fast sword' of yours."
The monk's comment cropped on her head like an anvil or a bucket of cold water.
She had been hyperfocused on her own sword, failing to notice that her opponent had been slowing down his movements constantly since the first strike.
"From now on, modify your stance as I tell you, or I'll punch you twice for every mistake!"
The Monk didn't allow her to dwell on it though, he immediately gestured for her to start moving.
"B-but my instructors said..."
"Amitabha, girl, ya wanna get punched? Your instructors before this were shit! Forget about them!"
The monk's methods and charisma were thankfully enough to convince her to follow along.
And the two continued training.
Minutes turned into hours, and the sun quickly started heading to the east, getting dimmer and dimmer.
Yet, within that Training field, the fight was still ongoing.
The Monk's cold expression didn't waver one bit as he punched the sword directly, the girl finally managing to block one of his fists, despite getting pushed backwards a few meters.
Mo Qiao panted as she swiped her blade to the side, she could feel her grip getting weaker as her palm bled from the burst blisters and callouses that had formed.
'It's already evening... We've been doing this since morning! Yet he hasn't even gotten winded.
Even worse, that posture of his... It hasn't changed since the morning, his feet haven't moved a millimetre ever since he had entered the horse stance.
Fucking hell there's even some dust on his shoes!'
The 17-year-old girl truly couldn't find it in herself to think badly about her cousin in any way.
It didn't matter how pathetic he was as a boy, the person that stood in front of her now was a man. Strong and imposing, unrelenting and disciplined.
There was no trace of the timid child she had seen and made fun of in the past. No, the being that stood in front of her was akin to a beast.
'I don't know what happened or what he's experienced during this past year... But he's a lot stronger than any Late Stage Martial Soldier...'
In her eyes, Mo Yangling was already guaranteed to be at least a Middle Stage Martial Master, just from the poise in his moves.
Not only that, but Mo Qiao also noticed it at some point... Her dearest cousin had not used any Internal energy from the beginning of the training up to that point.
This led to the rather obvious conclusion that he had practised some sort of 'External Martial Arts', which made his strength even more unfathomable in her mind, even if External Arts were quite frowned upon among the noble clans.
She didn't care about what was or wasn't seen as good by the noble families. The fact that Mo Yangling had greatly surpassed her, and likely most of the younger generation, still stood true.
Her wary gaze turned towards the monk, she waited to hear his next comment about what she could correct about her stance.
This time, however, she was shocked to see her cousin's cold expression shift. The ice around his features melted almost instantly, as his lips twisted into a warm smile, a warmth that also reflected in his eyes.
"You have good endurance, and you certainly don't lack the spirit. You've also been integrating my pointers well, and your instincts are starting to catch up too..."
For the first time in a long while, the monk spoke out in praise rather than scorn, and Mo Qiao couldn't help but smile at that.
But most importantly, unlike her previous instructors, she didn't feel as if the compliments were fake. Mo Yangling was not saying those things just to appease her.
He was pointing out progress that she could feel deep in her bones. Progress she had gained through arduous efforts and thousands of failures.
She had already lost count of the number of times she had been punched, but she did notice that the Monk was tempering his strength gradually, adjusting to both her accumulating injuries and tiredness.
This allowed her to recuperate even whilst in the middle of training.
Still... One day.
'Mo Yangling needed only one day to help me get this much stronger... I can actually feel my strength surging, despite being this tired. Am I... Am I close to a breakthrough? No, that can't be...'
"You have done very well today. I must admit I was expecting you to quit an hour in, but you've proven yourself to be much more than just a pretty face, stand proud."
And finally, the monk stepped away from his position, walking towards her with that same warm smile on his face.
The girl could feel her back straighten almost subconsciously as she took his words in with a smile.
Seeing his face closer, a thought appeared in her mind as well.
'Damn, he's become fucking handsome! Haha, that bitch Guo Cuifen is going to be crying tears of blood when seeing him again! I can't wait to see her face.
Eventually, the monk got close enough to tap her on the shoulder.
The second he placed his hand on her shoulder, she felt electricity spread through her body, as a feeling of pride overwhelmed her. She finally felt recognized.
She was so focused on that feeling that she failed to notice the monk's expression shift into coldness.
"Last lesson of the day... Never trust anyone on the battlefield."
Before she could even react to it, the monk's fist sunk deep into her gut.
"Bah-" Was all she managed to make out, spitting out quite a bit of saliva before finally passing out.
Her last thoughts were exactly: 'What the hell is wrong with this brute?!?'
But the moment she passed out, her tiredness caught up to her, making sure she was likely going to stay like that for a while.
The monk didn't let her hit the ground though, the smile returned to his face as he laughed and slung her over his shoulder.
"Amitabha, you're in no condition to walk after training like that... I'll just take you to the medicine hall, hoho~"
The monk walked out of that training field whilst whistling happily.
He only made it a few meters out of the restricted training area before a voice interrupted him from behind.
"You there! What the hell have you done to my little sister!"
The Monk turned around, his eyebrow raised incredulously as he studied the person in front of him.
It was an older man, around 20, probably around Martial Master Realm from what the Monk could tell.
He had short black hair and a short, but bulky body. He was about 1.7 meters tall, and he was also sporting the regular uniform of the Mo Clan.
His version was deep red, with golden highlights, the sigil of the Sun and the half-moon stood proudly on his chest.
"Amitabha, greetings young man. I was training with Mo Qiao over here... As you can see she's tuckered out so I'm just taking her to the medicine hall."
The Monk bowed slightly, respectfully bringing his hands together in a martial salute with the girl still slung over his shoulder.
"You beast! What type of training could result in that many injuries? You've crossed the line!"
The monk's brilliant and tranquil expression immediately twisted into an annoyed scowl, his eyes narrowing and curving.
'What a meddlesome bastard...'
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