Chapter 3 — The Fist Rouses Thunder, a First Glimpse of Divine Might

The alchemist had his own idea now. "Feed him spirit blood," he said. "Lots of it. As much as he can hold! Every draught of it raises his constitution a little, and if he drinks enough to drown in it, then even if it never kindles a spirit body, that body of his will be stronger than any spirit body could ever make him!" "One punch to kill a dragon." The Village Head said, "That will frighten those bastards outside the Wastes to death." The two exchanged a smile. The alchemist stepped out of the room and drew the door shut behind him. The next day the villagers brought in several more iron-boned tigers, green serpents, thunder birds, and golden tortoises. Now that the old men and women had a goal before them, they threw themselves into the work with boundless vigor—which only brought down the alchemist's wrath: "Pour too much spirit blood into him at once and you will stuff him to death!" The mute blacksmith, who had hauled in two thunder birds, grinned and chuckled hoarsely. There was no tongue in his mouth. "Mu'er can take it!" Granny Zhu had utter faith in Shen Mu. The alchemist glared at them and said no more. He took out the insect eggs and went on refining blood. But trouble came all the same. This time there was rather too much of the Fourfold Spirit Marrow; after Shen Mu drank it, his body swelled as though it were being inflated, and the old men and women flew into a frenzy of alarm, terrified that he would burst apart with a bang. The alchemist took out several hollow silver needles and inserted them into Shen Mu's back and the crown of his head. From the eye of each needle, jets of red, blue, and violet vapor hissed outward. After a moment the needles stopped venting. The alchemist drew them out and shot the old men and women another glare. "One step at a time, in proper order. You want to fatten him up in a single mouthful, and you will only stuff him to death! He is still uncomfortably full, so you all have work to do. In a little while, Butcher, you will drill him with the blade; Old Ma, you will drill him with the fist; and you, Lame Elder, you will work his legs with him and help him digest." "Mu'er—time to practice the blade!" The butcher braced both hands against the ground and sprang up, landing atop a lone wooden post. He had no lower body; his upper half stood upright on the post, bringing him level with Shen Mu. The butcher gripped a pig-butchering knife in each hand. They were nothing like ordinary butchering knives—ordinary ones are under a foot long, with round wooden handles and crescent blades like a moon with three quarters sliced away. The butcher's knives matched that shape, but were several sizes larger: three chi and two cun long, thick along the spine, thin at the edge, ground to a brilliant gleam. Laid side by side, the two blades were like a pair of arched gates, monstrous in their size. The butchering knife in Shen Mu's hand was of the same size, though he had only the one. It was heavy—some twenty jin to the blade. In ordinary times the boy could have lifted no more than one; but ever since he had taken the Fourfold Spirit Marrow, his strength had grown far greater than before, and now he could raise the butchering knife one-handed without feeling it drag at him. "Grandpa Butcher—look out!" Knife in one hand, Shen Mu charged at the butcher on his post. The butcher laughed aloud; though he was but half a body, he still brimmed with a spirit vast as the clouds. Night Raid, Wind and Rain Upon the City! Shen Mu's single blade whirled up and down, his feet shifting as he cut toward the butcher. The blade-light came faster and faster, the wind whistling, all of it flowing into one unbroken surge. "Slow! Slow! You are far too slow!" The butcher bellowed, his twin blades flying like rain, the ringing clash of blows falling like a downpour upon pear blossoms. Sternly he cried, "Faster! Faster still! Your butchering knife can go faster yet! Night Raid, Wind and Rain Upon the City—that move is all about speed, a butchering knife swift as wind and rain in the dark of night, scattering over the whole city! Give me more speed!" The blade-light quickened, three silver dragons weaving up and down around the post, diving and gliding. The wind grew louder, and into it mingled the hiss of blade-force; where it reached the ground, deep marks appeared in the earth all at once. Those were knife marks. "Good—that is the speed I want! The faster your blade, the stronger your blade-force. But you are not fast enough yet. You must be fast enough that your blade-intent blazes like fire—burning, burning on!" The butcher seemed mad with frenzy, wielding his two knives in a dance that dazzled Shen Mu's eyes. "Burn! Burn! Let your blade burn, let your breath burn, let your spirit burn! After the burning comes divine ability!" Whuff— His blade cut through; knife and air ground together, and with a whuff it caught fire. The two blades wove to and fro like two fire dragons, their momentum growing ever more terrifying. The fire dragons lunged straight at Shen Mu. He could not have blocked them. Then suddenly the two dragons soared skyward, tearing open the night above Yincan Village—a sight to freeze the heart. Shen Mu stood dazed. The butcher's blade was truly terrifying. Above the village, a gloom came surging in and swallowed the fire dragons, the blade-light, and the blade-force alike. That gloom seemed alive. It seemed enraged that the butcher had raised his blade against it, and a suffocating blackness pressed down upon the village as though to devour it whole. But the stone statues at the four corners of the village suddenly shone a shade brighter, and drove the gloom back. "Damn you, thieving heavens!" The butcher stood upon his post, knives in both hands, and howled at the sky, half-mad. "Sooner or later I will split this blackness open! Sooner or later I will fight my way back! What they cut from me was my waist—I lost both my legs—but not my head! I will kill—" "Grandpa Butcher has gone mad again. But Grandpa Butcher's blade is so very fast—he has refined his blade art into a divine ability. When will I ever train as fast as he does?" Shen Mu looked up at the raving butcher with admiration, set down his butchering knife, and went to find one-armed Old Ma. "A butcher's blade must cut out flame before it is a divine ability," said Old Ma. "And my fist must strike out the sound of thunder before it is one!" Old Ma's face was solemn. He clenched his fist—his one arm—and the bones crackled in a long series of pops. Calmly he said, "Mu'er, when you can hold lightning in your hand, then your fist will have begun to amount to something. The butcher's blade is fast, but my fist breaks past the limits of sound, breaks past the bonds of air, and erupts with matchless power! One hand can train the fist. One hand is a thousand hands. One hand can give forth the sound of thunder, the crash of lightning!" Boom— A muffled peal of thunder rolled out—the fist Old Ma had thrown, crashing like thunder. Boom! Boom! Boom! A whole chain of thunderclaps followed. Shen Mu's naked eye could not catch the speed of Old Ma's punches; the after-images of those fists made him see the one-armed Old Ma no longer as one-armed, but as a man who had grown a thousand arms. Old Ma's fists flew faster and faster. In the palms of those thousand arms, lightning was grasped—crackling, hissing light—and every blow came with rolling thunder and scattering sparks! "This is the Thousand-Armed Vajra of the Eight Techniques of Thunder Roar! So long as your fist is faster than sound, you can command the thunder. A single punch, a single palm, can destroy a man's soul and body together, casting him into unending ruin, never to be reborn!" Old Ma drew back his fist and said gravely, "Attack me with the Eight Techniques of Thunder Roar that I have taught you. Strike out the sound of thunder, hold lightning in your hand, command the thunder!" Shen Mu steadied himself. What Old Ma and Gra