Chapter 15 — Satellite Channel
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 1 of 2
And once Old Man Wei learned that Wei Zhao was cultivating the Xuanyuan Dragon-Taming Art, he essentially adopted an attitude of tacit consent: he neither guided him nor interfered, but simply let Wei Zhao develop as he pleased.
Still, although Wei Zhao felt that his constitution had risen markedly since he began cultivating the Xuanyuan Dragon-Taming Art, he could see little change in his martial skills; in any case, he was still no match for Old Man Wei.
Old Man Wei was like a boss in a game dungeon: when you got stronger, he got stronger; when you got weaker, he got weaker. This was a matter of great frustration for Wei Zhao.
If he had to name any change in himself at all, it was that his senses had grown much sharper than before; in hearing and in sight, he was a little keener than he used to be.
Day after day, year after year, with no one to guide him, Wei Zhao had more or less cultivated the first stage of the Xuanyuan Dragon-Taming Art to a rough completion.
In the blink of an eye the five-year term came round again. It was another full-moon night, and Wei Zhao once more entered the stone gate of that cave at the foot of West Star Mountain. Unfortunately, this time he did not open the stone door behind the great hall.
Wei Zhao was not surprised by this outcome, for he knew that his first stage, the Heavenly Silkworm stage, had not broken through; after reaching the middle phase, he had made no progress whatsoever.
Although Wei Zhao told Old Man Wei what had befallen him, Old Man Wei only smiled and shook his head, making clear that there was nothing he could do to help.
The second five-year term was almost upon him, and Wei Zhao grew more and more anxious. After all these years he was still stalled at the middle phase of the first stage; if things went on this way, he would return empty-handed once again.
By now Wei Zhao had also come to understand that the Xuanyuan Dragon-Taming Art he was cultivating was not a martial art at all, but a secret manual of the Dao-cultivation sort. It sounded rather shocking, but Wei Zhao knew that this was indeed what he was practicing.
And when he recalled Old Man Wei's strange behavior on that first full-moon night, Wei Zhao even suspected that the whole thing had been premeditated, a trap deliberately laid to kick him down West Star Mountain and into that stone gate. Otherwise, why should Old Man Wei, of all times, have chosen the dead of a full-moon night to test his skills?
And even if he wanted to test him, there was no need to go all the way up to the mountaintop, was there? And even if he went up to the mountaintop, he needn't have struck to kill, need he? And even if he did strike to kill, he needn't have kicked him, with such uncanny precision, right to the mouth of the cave, need he?
Fine, even granting that he had been kicked to the cave mouth by sheer coincidence, why did Old Man Wei wait until he had come out of the cave before coming to look for him? And after he told Old Man Wei all that he had seen and heard, the indifferent expression Old Man Wei showed suggested that he had known it all along. Every last bit of it left Wei Zhao deeply suspicious.
Yet whenever Wei Zhao raised his suspicions with Old Man Wei, Old Man Wei gave no answer. In the end Wei Zhao could not be bothered to ask anymore. Deliberate or not, he would cultivate his own.
When Wei Zhao came out of his meditative trance, the sky beyond the window was already streaked with the pale white of dawn. He shook his head helplessly. Each time he finished his practice he felt he had made some progress and his whole body felt fresh and clear, yet still there was no major breakthrough.
He hurried to the bathroom, took a cold shower and washed up, rinsing the sweat from his body. Then he put on the No. 1 Middle School uniform and walked out of the room.