Chapter Five: The Little Goldfish

In a manor located in the southern part of the city, as always, Tiandao was teaching the children some basic techniques for physical training.

Having journeyed far and finally arrived in this city, ten years had passed. Once, Tiandao’s fierce fangs and innate authority needed no anger to inspire awe, yet now he seemed no different from an ordinary old man—his hair silvered, his expression kindly, though the robust muscles of his frame still quietly testified to the strength hidden within.

He who once dominated the world, filled with ambition, exuding an overwhelming presence and murderous intent, the greatest master of the secret martial world known as the Great White Shark, was now nothing more than a small goldfish trapped in a gilded bowl.

A damn little goldfish!

But was that really wrong? Life spans but a few decades; even if one trains in the secret arts to their utmost, one rarely lives beyond a hundred and fifty years. In this brief existence, only the individual can judge whether they have lived happily.

Perhaps, in the past, the Great White Shark would have scoffed at such a life; for one who valued power above life itself, it was unimaginable to think he’d one day rein in his aura, resign himself to melancholy, and live out such days.

Yet, judging from the truly joyful smile now gracing the little goldfish’s lips, perhaps this life was not a mistake after all.

Knock, knock, knock!

The heavy wooden door was struck. Before Tiandao could respond, one of the boys, recognizing the familiar rhythm, hurried off to open the door for his senior, Liu Tian.

Yet the boy hadn’t anticipated that, due to yesterday’s typhoon and heavy rain, the once familiar courtyard was now riddled with hidden dangers. He hadn’t gone far before his foot slipped, sending him crashing hard to the ground, his nose pressed unceremoniously against the earth.

Well, that was that. The boy gave up on opening the door. With a wail, he burst into tears, rubbing his eyes as he sat on the floor.

Faced with such a spiritless child, how would Tiandao respond?

Would he force the boy to stand with a stern fist, demanding he stop his senseless crying and take responsibility for his mistake? Or would he simply let him bawl until he tired himself out, ignoring him altogether?

Neither.

Instead, Tiandao smiled gently, walked to the boy’s side, crouched down, lifted him up with ease, and brushed the dirt from his clothes.

No wonder he was the great master—even with the lightest touch, he could easily rid the boy’s clothes of all filth. “Don’t cry. A real man doesn’t shed tears over such trifles—Little Pig, weren’t you going to open the door for your senior? Go on, then.”

Could Tiandao’s words comfort the crying child? Could such gentle words, as soft as a cool breeze, quell a storm of tears?

Indeed, they could, and with the greatest of ease!

Now, as a goldfish, Tiandao had this unique charm—his words worked like a spring rain, nourishing the hearts of those around him.

Even a simple word of comfort was enough to halt the boy’s sobs. With a quick swipe of his face, he dashed toward the wooden door—swift and steady once more.

“Senior!” The moment the latch was dropped, even before Liu Tian could push the door open, the excited boy flung it wide and threw his arms around Liu Tian’s sturdy leg.

“So it’s Little Pig,” Liu Tian quickly recalled the boy’s nickname, scooping him up as he entered. “I heard you crying from outside—what happened? Didn’t you say you wanted to be a man? A real man doesn’t just cry at the drop of a hat.”

“I didn’t!” Little Pig protested, then added in a small voice, “Just a little. Only a little.”

Of the children training in the courtyard, most were the sons of the crew of Liu Yun’s ship, with only a few living nearby. As Tiandao’s only formal disciple, Liu Tian commanded immense respect among the boys—second only to Tiandao himself. None dared hide anything from him.

“Master, good afternoon!” For some reason, though he always greeted Tiandao first upon entering, today Liu Tian found the old man silent, so he could only wave with his free hand. “I’ve come to practice.”

“My disciple, you…” Tiandao carefully examined Liu Tian from head to toe, as if about to speak but stopping himself.

He’d seen it instantly.

Though Liu Tian had anticipated this moment on his way here, he hadn’t expected his master to detect at a glance that he’d shed blood. Indeed, Tiandao was as mysterious and inscrutable as ever, never willing to discuss the past.

Truly unfathomable.

Of course, this might also have something to do with the martial art Liu Tian was practicing.

The Heavenly Martial Fist was a powerful and top-tier technique, yet Liu Tian always felt, even as he trained, that there was something lacking—not the sense of being restrained, but rather the feeling that there should be a level above even its fullest expression.

He sensed that above the Heavenly Martial Fist at full strength, there was another realm—that its power was not meant to be limited to simply one hundred percent of one’s potential, but rather to transcend even that.

This was why Liu Tian had previously been stuck outside the realm of a true martial artist.

Without uniting the intent of the heart with the intent of the fist, how could one ever reach the state where mind and force are one, where will and heart are aligned?

And only yesterday, when Liu Tian personally felled those two gunmen, did he suddenly realize—he couldn’t rely solely on the desire to grow stronger, nor treat the Heavenly Martial Fist as a mere technique to be tested.

He needed killing intent.

He needed a dominating will.

He needed ambition.

With a spirit that could swallow the world, he had to pour his entire essence into every strike. Then, the Heavenly Martial Fist would respond to his will, unleashing one hundred and twenty, even one hundred and fifty percent of his strength.

Liu Tian said nothing. He gently set the boy down and patted his head, smiling as always. “Master, this isn’t the place to talk. Shall we go inside?”

Liu Tian was ready to lay his cards on the table; he had no intention of hiding the fact that he had killed. In truth, even if Tiandao hadn’t noticed, he would have found a chance to discuss it, hoping for some wisdom from his elder.

He wasn’t worried that his master would shun him for killing—first, in these times, violence and death were inseparable from life, unavoidable companions.

Second, if a boxing style was practiced—or perhaps even created—with such murderous intent and dominating will, then Tiandao could hardly be the gentle soul he now appeared to be.

Even in the impossible case that Tiandao had truly become a harmless goldfish, incapable of bearing the sight of blood, and decided to report him for murder, there was no direct evidence. All Liu Tian needed to do was deny it, and he could go home for the New Year.

Compared to this minuscule, nearly impossible risk, the rewards of coming clean were far greater—

First, it would bring him closer to his master. If he could speak openly even of taking a life, what trust could surpass that?

Second, he could gain the wisdom of an experienced predecessor, perhaps even guidance on what to do next or clues about the origin of the mysterious prism. If lucky, he might even uncover further leads.

Third—and most important—countless books, films, and television dramas had shown that laying one’s cards on the table could prevent many unnecessary conflicts. Now that he fully possessed both his own and the former Liu Tian’s memories, he had no desire to risk future discord over something so minor.

Now, Tiandao, having become as gentle as a goldfish and unable to read minds, could not possibly know the storm raging in Liu Tian’s heart. Seeing his disciple’s expression, Tiandao simply furrowed his brow, patted Little Pig’s shoulder, and turned to the other children who had followed them in.

“You all go out to the courtyard and practice. I have something to discuss with Tian.”

“Yes, sir!”