Chapter Sixty-Four: Huh? Mom, What Did You Say?

On Spirit Bird Peak of the Sun and Moon Sect, a pigeon with a fresh flower in its beak was chasing a sparrow, while the big eagle shook its bangs and proudly displayed its lush feathers to its fellow sect member—or rather, to the owl named "Clear Hawk."

On Black Mountain Peak, the peak master, the Black Bear Spirit, was giving a lecture to his disciples on the proper methods of beekeeping and specific measures to prevent the "Twin Pearl Peak Ginger Fish Mud."

On Kirin Arm Peak, those brothers who likely had a few screws loose were still relentlessly pounding away at an ancient grove of trees, whose origin and species were long forgotten. According to one disciple of the Kirin Arm Sect, as soon as someone could break a tree in that forest with a single punch, they were free to leave the mountain.

Jiang Lin had no comment on this, except that he had already reserved the future timber from that disciple's endeavors. After all, after years of pounding, even the weakest wood would have become sturdy.

Atop Twin Pearl Peak, Jiang Lin sat on a stone bench, holding little Nian Nian in his arms, while before them stood Chen Jia, whose fists moved like the wind.

Each punch Chen Jia threw seemed powerful enough to pierce the heavens, yet not a trace of heaviness marred her movements. Jiang Lin knew she had restrained her fist force, but the essence of her mastery—the subtle, effortless intent of the fist—was even more astounding.

The greatest difference between a martial artist and a cultivator was not merely physical prowess, but lifespan.

Martial artists relied on the true energy generated within their own bodies, seeking strength from themselves rather than from heaven and earth. Cultivators, on the other hand, drew spiritual energy from the world around them, seeking both external and internal power. Thus, cultivators lived far longer than martial artists.

Even those at the tenth realm of martial arts rarely lived beyond a thousand years, while a tenth-realm cultivator—the Nascent Soul stage—could reach four or five thousand years. With proper care, soaking goji berries in a thermos, perhaps even seven or eight thousand years was possible.

Most importantly, upon reaching the Nascent Soul stage, a cultivator's appearance would remain forever youthful, while martial artists, even at the tenth realm, could not escape the ravages of time. For this reason, the tenth realm was called the End of Martial Arts, the point of no return; the path of the martial artist was known as the Road of Severance.

At best, they could live a thousand years—so why pursue such a path?

Unless one reached the eleventh realm.

The eleventh realm had no official name; some called it the True God Realm, others the Ascended God Realm. Many Yin-Yang sect cultivators believed that if martial artists kept breaking through their limits, surpassing the tenth realm, they would eventually become gods—terrifying beings akin to the ancient divine spirits.

Once, they sought neither heaven nor earth; now, and forevermore, they would need nothing, for they would themselves become the heavens.

But to Jiang Lin, all of this was theoretical—like the claim that breaking the speed of light would allow time travel. No one had achieved it yet.

Throughout the nine provinces, those who reached the tenth realm of martial arts... According to Jiang Lin’s knowledge, their numbers barely exceeded twenty.

As for the eleventh realm... There seemed never to have been a single occurrence.

Now, however, Jiang Lin felt his beliefs might need to change.

For some inexplicable reason, even Jiang Lin, an outsider, could see that Chen Jia was remarkably suited to the art of the fist.

Every punch she threw was crisp and decisive, reminiscent perhaps of a calisthenics routine... But that was beside the point; could anyone else perform calisthenics with such precision and force?

In short, though Jiang Lin was no expert, he could see that every punch Chen Jia delivered contained a faint rumble of thunder. The natural, stubborn aura she exuded was like an unyielding force.

A spirit that declared: “Our fists ask only the sky and shatter gods!”—with not a shred of doubt in herself.

It was as if she knew she would die, but would still pummel your chest with her tiny fists.

Coupled with the system's "protagonist" bonus, Jiang Lin felt that the girl before him might become the first martial artist to reach the eleventh realm since the age of gods.

If that day ever came… If she struck him with a single punch…

Jiang Lin contemplated this, and shivered all over.

“Mommy is amazing! Mommy is so beautiful!”

Chen Jia withdrew her stance. Little Nian Nian, nestled in Jiang Lin’s arms, clapped her tiny hands with delight, her little tail wagging back and forth.

“Thank you, Nian Nian,” Chen Jia said, running over to Jiang Lin, smoothing her clothes as she knelt down, and kissed Nian Nian’s cheek—a picture-perfect family of three.

“Well? Did you understand?”

Holding Nian Nian’s little hand, Chen Jia looked up, cheeks flushed, gazing at Jiang Lin.

For Chen Jia, it was the first time a man had watched her practice so intently; she felt a bit awkward.

“…”

Seeing the girl’s eyes, which seemed to say, “This fist technique is so simple, you must have learned it, right?” Jiang Lin was momentarily speechless.

“Should I give it a try?”

“Mm, yes, you try, I’ll watch.”

They switched places; Chen Jia, holding Nian Nian, settled onto the stone bench warmed by Jiang Lin, while Jiang Lin stood where Chen Jia had demonstrated, attempting to replicate her technique from memory.

The result…

Jiang Lin really did end up performing something akin to calisthenics.

Chen Jia, watching from the stone bench, couldn’t help but stiffen her face at Jiang Lin’s awkward posture, feeling as though he was deliberately teasing her.

But seeing the seriousness in Jiang Lin’s eyes, she realized he wasn’t joking—

He was simply… terrible.

“Daddy, that’s not how you do it…”

As Chen Jia struggled to find the right words, little Nian Nian hopped down from her lap, her little embroidered shoes and wagging tail brought her to Jiang Lin’s side.

“Daddy, Mommy does it like this.”

Nian Nian spun around, her tail facing Jiang Lin, her tiny hands clenched into fists, mimicking her mother’s movements with earnest precision.

“Heave-ho… heave-ho…”

Nian Nian punched diligently, each step full of adorable determination; her chubby, serious little face made Jiang Lin want to kiss her.

Chen Jia clapped and watched her precious daughter with sparkling eyes.

“However…”

Jiang Lin frowned.

“Why does the fist force seem to be getting stronger?”

“Nian Nian! Stop!”

Chen Jia seemed to realize something, and hurriedly called out.

“Huh? Mommy, what did you say?”

Nian Nian turned her little head, but the final punch was already unleashed…

Boom…

A tremendous crash and tremor shook Kirin Arm Peak nearby, and a tiny, adorable fist mark was embedded in the mountainside…

Soon after, the brother who had been endlessly pounding trees next door cried out in protest:

“Jiang Lin! What’s with the crows? Why did your mountain shoot a hole in mine? Can’t you go to Spring Breeze Pavilion instead?!”