I Alone Devour All Under Heaven

Chapter 7

The morning had passed quietly enough, but the work had piled up, and by now, faced with it all on his own, he could see there was no finishing it before dark.

Just as the strain got the better of him and his back gave out, Mo Qian appeared and lifted the rake from his hands.

At first Old Man Sun fixed him with a dark look, then noticed that Mo Qian's face was red and the smell of alcohol was on his breath, and he raised his voice: "A menial disciple cannot behave recklessly."

Mo Qian sensed Old Man Sun's irritation immediately and reached for the same kind of words he had used in his previous life when smoothing things over with difficult clients.

"Old Sun, I know I was wrong, and it will not happen again. You can rest assured that I will handle everything that is left. I made this mess and I will clean it up myself, without causing you any trouble."

Old Man Sun's expression actually softened a little. He watched Mo Qian put real effort into the work, pulling up half a trough of fodder in a single sweep of the rake. After a moment he said: "After the horse manure is cleared, wash the six red horses on the east side. There is an escort job coming up. They have been standing idle in the stable for a month."

Mo Qian looked up and said: "Consider it done, Old Sun. By the time they walk out, they will be fit to make any escort agency proud."

Old Man Sun let out a short laugh, shook his head quietly, and muttered: "This boy, his mouth has gotten much more capable."

Old Man Sun bent forward slightly and made his way out of the stable, heading home to rest, apply a plaster, and recuperate.

Watching Old Man Sun leave, Mo Qian muttered under his breath: "The old man didn't even finish the morning fodder and was just waiting for me to come back."

Though he grumbled, his hands did not slow. After the fodder came the horse manure, and after that the horses still needed brushing. There was plenty of work ahead.

Mo Qian worked steadily, and before long he noticed that his legs had naturally settled into a low stance, as though he were holding a horse-riding posture.

He also noticed that something about the way he was exerting himself felt different from before.

It came to him in an instant, what people meant by the phrase rooted in the waist and legs.

Before, he had relied on his arms, with his effort reaching at most to his shoulders.

But now he could feel the strength rising from the soles of his feet, passing through his waist and shoulders, and flowing into his arms.

The arms became a conduit for that force, and the rake lifted the fodder as though it weighed nothing.

Mo Qian was momentarily thrown, then the understanding settled over him clearly.

Of course. He already held the experience of the entry-level Five Tigers and Sheep Knife within him. Though he had only practiced it formally that morning, muscle memory had already begun to take shape.

Now, absorbed in the work, he found himself unconsciously weaving the stance and the sword principles together.

"It seems that once martial arts reaches a certain level, every movement in daily life becomes practice," Mo Qian thought, and a quiet excitement rose in him.

In truth, this was precisely what separated a real warrior from everyone else. Once martial arts entered the genuine level, standing and sitting and walking all became training, and the gap from ordinary people began to widen with every passing day.

It was simply that reaching even the entry level was beyond the reach of nine out of every ten people.

A strange sight then unfolded inside the stable.

Mo Qian finished tending to one trough and moved to the next.

As he walked, his steps had taken on the character of a genuine riding posture, shifting left and right with a slight spring, legs bowed, hips sinking as though he were seated in an invisible saddle.

After only a short while of this, Mo Qian's head was drenched in sweat, steam rising visibly from his scalp.

He cleared the horse manure in this unusual posture, moving steadily from stall to stall.

Two hours later, his muscles began to ache.

Almost without thinking, and without anyone having taught him, Mo Qian began shifting his weight between his left and right legs in turns.

This was a discovery he had made on his own, born from the back-and-forth motion of the work itself.

Alternating the load between legs allowed the muscles to rest in rotation, one side recovering while the other bore the weight.

It neither interrupted the development of his stance power nor risked straining his muscles. It was, in every sense, one method that served two purposes.

By the time the light faded, Mo Qian had finally finished clearing the entire stable.

Mo Qian straightened his back and let out a long breath.

He noticed that the inside of his cloth shoes was soaked through with sweat. Each step made a faint, wet sound, as though he were walking through a marsh.

Mo Qian simply kicked off both shoes and continued barefoot on the ground.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and estimated that it was around dinnertime, though he still had six red horses left to wash.

Mo Qian considered for a moment and figured Old Man Sun would come to check his work.

Besides, he had eaten generously at noon, and the chicken, duck, fish, and meat from that meal were still sitting well in his stomach. He was not particularly bothered by missing the two steamed buns served at dinner.

Mo Qian drew two buckets of clean water, picked up a brush, and went to the east-side stable to wash the horses.

He brushed away while muttering to himself: "Look at this coat, so glossy and bright. You eat the finest grass and have someone to bathe you. You are truly living the life of a master."

"What are you muttering about?" Old Man Sun's voice came from behind him.

Mo Qian turned his head and gave an innocent smile.

Old Man Sun saw that Mo Qian had cleaned the entire stable and was now washing the horses, having missed dinner entirely. Looking at Mo Qian sweating freely and still smiling like a fool, his remaining irritation evaporated, and his goodwill toward the boy returned in full.

Old Man Sun pressed two steamed buns into Mo Qian's hands and said: "Dinner is long past. I set these two aside for you. Eat up and get back to rest."

"Rest?" Mo Qian looked up, genuinely puzzled. He had only finished two of the six red horses, and four still remained.

Old Man Sun glanced at him and said: "No need to wash the rest. Tomorrow's escort has been cancelled."

"Cancelled?" Mo Qian said in surprise, holding the two steamed buns.

Old Man Sun said nothing more and turned to leave the stable.

Mo Qian watched Old Man Sun's back and the understanding came to him gradually.

"This old man was having me on the whole time."

There had never been an escort tomorrow. Old Man Sun had seen that he came back late after taking leave and deliberately set him extra work to make a point.

"It seems this old man carries a grudge. I will have to be more careful around him going forward."

Mo Qian bit into a steamed bun and walked toward the servants' dormitory in the lower courtyard with a somewhat deflated air.

Mo Qian walked into the courtyard of the errand disciples carrying a pair of foul-smelling shoes. It was already dark.

Most of the errand disciples, worn out from a full day's work, had already gone to bed, but in one corner of the courtyard a few figures were still training.

With the day of assessment drawing closer, anyone who still held even a small measure of hope was unwilling to let the opportunity slip away.

Mo Qian had practiced for two hours in the morning and stood in posture through most of the afternoon in the stable. Every bit of energy in his body had been spent. All he wanted now was sleep.

Mo Qian went to the well, stripped down, drew water, and washed himself clean, then crawled under the blanket on the large bunk.

Mo Qian slept deeply that night. In his dream, a powerfully built figure was still moving through the Five Tigers and Sheep Knife form.