Chapter 23: The Divine Serpent's Coiling Technique

Cheng Zhihai looked down at the sheet of paper at his feet, then glanced at Cheng Guang, who was chatting and laughing with Qingluan in the distance, and forced down the fire burning in his chest.

“Don’t get angry, don’t get angry.”

“He’s my son, I am his father.”

“If a child goes astray, it’s the fault of the father.”

“He already resents me. If I chastise him again today, today he dares to set up a gravestone for me, tomorrow he’ll dare to wail at my funeral.”

After comforting himself for quite some time, a look of relief finally surfaced on Cheng Zhihai’s face.

“You little rascal, get over here!”

Cheng Zhihai roared, his voice thundering like the sky splitting open.

Seated in the pavilion, Cheng Guang was startled by the sudden shout. He looked over at Cheng Zhihai and, seeing the dark expression on his face, was momentarily confused. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the paper in Cheng Zhihai’s hand. The corner of his mouth couldn’t help but twitch.

He was in trouble.

Back then, in order to complete a task, he’d written a “gravestone” for Cheng Zhihai. He hadn’t expected it to be discovered now. It had been a dark and windy night when he’d hurried to finish the job, never considering that after so many days, Cheng Zhihai would still stumble upon the paper.

Cheng Guang hesitated, then decided it was best not to provoke Cheng Zhihai further. He immediately put on a well-behaved smile. “Father, what brings you here?”

Seeing Cheng Guang so obediently call him father, Cheng Zhihai’s anger paused. He had always doted on Cheng Guang and could never truly be angry with him—he was just ruffled by the boy’s outrageous behavior.

After a moment’s thought, he snorted coldly and let the matter drop, simply crumpling the paper in his hand and crushing it to bits. “From today on, you’re going to train in martial arts properly.”

“I won’t demand that you break through to some exceptional realm, but you must at least attain some cultivation.”

“This manual, the Divine Python’s Coiling Art, is for you to start with. I’ll be staying in the estate for a while. You’re to report your progress to me daily.”

With that, Cheng Zhihai tossed a thick ancient manual to Cheng Guang, then turned his gaze to Qingluan, his eyes sharp. “Qingluan, you’ll supervise the heir. You mustn’t slack off, understand?”

Qingluan immediately bowed her head respectfully, beads of sweat forming on her brow under Cheng Zhihai’s imposing presence.

Satisfied, Cheng Zhihai nodded, glanced at Cheng Guang, and felt his anger dissipate. The incident of the “gravestone” barely bothered him now. He walked away with a leisurely air.

He needed to figure out how to obtain the method for spiritual cultivation from the royal family.

The secret of spiritual cultivation was known only to the royal house; few others knew its intricacies, and even fewer bothered to inquire—after all, without royal blood, knowing the methods amounted to nothing.

It was a pity. Back when he was frantic over Cheng Guang’s bloodline rejection, he’d been too preoccupied to remember this matter.

Now, if Cheng Zhihai wished to help Cheng Guang acquire a spiritual cultivation method, he would have to put in considerable effort.

Cheng Zhihai soon departed.

Cheng Guang remained where he was, idly flipping through the martial arts manual his father had given him.

“The family head is truly good to the young master, but the Divine Python’s Coiling Art is exceedingly difficult. Among first-tier Refining Origin techniques, it’s the toughest, and cultivation progresses much slower than with other arts. The benefit, though, is that once mastered, your foundation will be unshakable,” Qingluan sighed, watching Cheng Zhihai’s retreating figure.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell whether Cheng Zhihai was showing his love for Cheng Guang by giving him the finest method, or if he’d been angered by the “gravestone” and wanted to punish him with a grueling practice.

“It doesn’t matter. As long as he didn’t beat me just now, all is well. Practicing martial arts is nothing,” Cheng Guang replied nonchalantly.

Cheng Guang shrugged indifferently. He had long been fascinated by martial arts; just watching Lin Cheng train in the courtyard had filled him with envy.

Now, with his father’s order, he could finally train openly and without worry.

Of course, he had no intention of abandoning the spiritual path.

But Cheng Zhihai had mentioned nothing about spiritual cultivation, only instructing him to begin martial training. It seemed Cheng Zhihai did not yet possess a method for spiritual practice.

Nevertheless, Cheng Guang trusted that with his father’s abilities, it wouldn’t be long before he found one. He wouldn’t have to toil on his own.

With these thoughts, he focused on studying the Divine Python’s Coiling Art.

The manual was covered with detailed notes, the handwriting resembling Cheng Zhihai’s. Evidently, his father had also practiced this art in his youth.

Qingluan cautioned, “Young master, this technique is terribly difficult. If you don’t understand something, ask me. Reckless practice could injure your body or mind.”

“Alright.”

Watching Cheng Guang silently pore over the manual, Qingluan thought he must be upset. After all, this art was not only tough but also gruelingly painful—a method that tempered both flesh and spirit. She tried to comfort him.

“The family head said you must train to the highest standard, but I think he was just venting. We can take it slow. I’ll have someone prepare spirit foods tonight to strengthen your vital energy. Why not rest and begin tomorrow?”

Cheng Guang shook his head. “No need. I’ll start now.”

He had been cooped up in the estate with nothing to do—training would at least bring some relief from the boredom.

The opening lines of the Divine Python’s Coiling Art were inscribed at the top:

“The python for bones, the serpent for flesh.”

Beside these words was the vivid depiction of a fierce, coiled giant python. Its muscles rippled with strength, and beneath the taut, gleaming flesh, crystalline muscle fibers seemed to pulse with power. Heavy energy surged through the flesh encasing the bones.

With one glance, Cheng Guang understood: under the python’s constriction, even pillars of stone and iron would be twisted and crushed.

“Of all animals, only pythons are pure muscle throughout. This coiling art tempers every inch of flesh and bone. In terms of value, this manual is worth ten thousand in gold—if you could even find it for sale.”

If he weren’t the heir of the Duke of Zhenguo, he’d have no chance to access a martial art of this caliber.

Sitting in the pavilion, Cheng Guang marveled at his luck, ignoring Qingluan as he cast aside other thoughts and continued reading.

The Divine Python’s Coiling Art consisted of thirty-eight forms.

Each form was composed of several movements.

Every form flowed into the next, and completing all thirty-eight was considered one cycle.

Every move was exacting; a single mistake would greatly reduce the technique’s effectiveness. The art relied on precise postures to temper the body.

By refining the body and boosting vital energy, one could generate original force within and thus step into the first rank of martial cultivation, the Refining Origin Realm.

With unlimited resources available in the estate, Cheng Guang had no need to worry about his vital energy. As long as he trained diligently, reaching the Refining Origin Realm was inevitable.

The former young master had also been required to practice, but found the training too grueling. Despite the abundance of rare resources to boost his vitality, he had never broken through.

Cheng Zhihai feared Cheng Guang would remain as lazy as before, which was why he had Qingluan supervise him.

What he didn’t realize was that Cheng Guang was no longer the same person as the pampered heir of the past.

He needed no supervision—he would cultivate of his own accord.

“The first form, ‘Python Strikes Its Prey’: hands and feet drawn together, relying solely on the strength of waist and abdomen, erupting forth when the whole body is tense, springing before the enemy in a single explosive leap to deliver a fatal blow.”

“This physical technique looks simple, but there are many subtleties: how to generate force, how to activate the muscles, how to maintain balance…”

The annotations in the manual were vague, saying only, “Do this, and do that, and you’ll have mastered it.”

So he’s treating me like a prodigy?

Cheng Guang stared at the notes, feeling as though the script itself was mocking his lack of intelligence.

Resisting the urge to throw the book away, he read it again.

Suddenly, a flash of insight swept through his mind.

As he studied the page, the illustrated python beside the instructions seemed to come alive, moving before his eyes as if he were witnessing a real python’s strike.

Every detail imprinted itself in his mind: the position of the arms, the control of balance, the tension of muscle, the degree of skeletal movement…

It was as if he were being taught by a great master, everything laid bare, crystal clear.

What was this?

Had he attained enlightenment?

Cheng Guang paused, sensing his blood quickening, a violet glow flaring in his eyes.

Was this his bloodline? The imperial blood of the Great Xia actually had such an effect—it could aid in martial cultivation!

He had noticed before that his physique had improved greatly, his senses sharper than ever.

Now, if he trained, his achievements would surely be extraordinary.

He hadn’t expected that the royal bloodline of Great Xia would grant him such an advantage—even his comprehension of martial arts was vastly enhanced.

Delighted, Cheng Guang abandoned his plan to consult Qingluan if he couldn’t understand something. It seemed he no longer needed her—he could train alone.