I had no intention of entering the martial world.

Chapter 5 You're smart to know what's good for you

Doing good deeds became a fixed task, like chopping wood and carrying water. He did it very well, even more focusedly than when practicing swordsmanship. Because he discovered that while doing these things, he could temporarily stop thinking about the sword energy, the backlash, and the increasingly barren field of his heart.

He simply observes, calculates, and executes.

Observe who needs help the most, calculate how to do the most in the least amount of time, and execute it cleanly and efficiently.

Like a craftsman polishing a tool that has nothing to do with him.

The villagers gradually grew accustomed to this quiet and capable young man. They didn't know his name, only calling him "Little Lu." The children were no longer afraid of him, and would run after him, watching him draw incomprehensible patterns on the ground with twigs (that was Lu Chenzhou practicing sword moves). The old people would pull him aside to talk about the harvest, the weather, and the rumors circulating outside the mountains.

Lu Chenzhou listened, nodding occasionally, but never interrupting.

He was like a cold stone, thrown into this pool of lukewarm water called "human world," barely causing a ripple, yet slowly and irresistibly being soaked and changed.

---

Time flies, and another two months have passed.

Spring comes late to Zhongnan Mountain. It's not until mid-March that the snow on the cliff tops completely melts, revealing the dark brown rocks and scattered patches of tender green below. The waterfall's flow increases significantly, and the roar is so loud it hurts your eardrums.

Lu Chenzhou has already completed the fifth type of "unruly" course.

Blindingly sharp, groin kicks, throat locks, crushed knees, broken wrists. Each move is simple and brutal, each strikes directly at the vital points. Lu Jinghong said this is called the "Seven Killing Style," not a sword technique, but a mental technique—a mental technique for killing.

"Once you've mastered it, it doesn't matter whether you have a sword or not." Lu Jinghong demonstrated the knee-breaking move, kicking a tree stump as thick as a bowl, sending wood chips flying. "But remember, these moves are too vicious. Once you use them, there's no turning back. Either don't use them, or if you do, be prepared to carry the blood debt for a lifetime."

Lu Chenzhou nodded. He practiced very diligently, repeatedly refining each movement until his muscles memorized it. But he never used it—Lu Jinghong forbade him to use it when doing good deeds, and in regular practice, he only touched upon it briefly.

Changes are happening quietly.

First, there was his physique. Six months of training at the waterfall and in assassination techniques had transformed him. His shoulders were broad, his waist and abdomen were taut, and his limbs were fluid and explosive. His skin, roughened by the mountain winds and streams, had a healthy light bronze hue—except for his face, which remained pale.

Secondly, there are his eyes. Those eyes used to hold the brightness and sharpness of youth, but now only a deep, still pool remains. When he looks at someone, his gaze habitually lingers for a moment on vital points: throat, heart, back of the knee… like a hunter assessing his prey.

Finally, there was the most subtle change.

The loss of taste is complete.

One day, after returning from doing good deeds, Lu Jinghong cooked a pot of pheasant and mushroom soup. The soup was very flavorful, the mushrooms were freshly picked, and the chicken was stewed until tender. Lu Jinghong served him a full bowl.

Lu Chenzhou took a sip, then another.

Then he put down the bowl and looked up at his master.

"What?" Lu Jinghong asked.

"It has no taste," Lu Chenzhou said calmly. "It's like drinking water."

Lu Jinghong paused, the spoon in his hand still. He stared at Lu Chenzhou for a few moments, then lowered his head and continued drinking his soup.

"Really?" he said. "That's a pity. These mushrooms were growing quite well this year."

His tone was so flat, it was as if he were saying, "The weather is nice today."

But that night, Lu Chenzhou saw that the light in his master's room stayed on until late into the night.

---

On the fifth day of the fourth lunar month, it's time to go down the mountain to do good deeds again.

The village they visited was called Wangjiazhuang, which was even more remote than Lijiaji. Lu Chenzhou set off before dawn, carrying a small bag of rice—Lu Jinghong had asked him to bring it, saying that there was a woman in the village who had just given birth and her family was struggling to make ends meet.

The mountain road was difficult to traverse, and it took more than three hours to reach the village. The village was even more dilapidated than I had imagined, with crooked mud-brick houses and muddy village roads. It was the lean season, and the wheat seedlings in the fields were only half a foot tall, and the villagers looked pale and sickly.

Lu Chenzhou found the family of the woman who had just given birth. The man had gone into the mountains to hunt, leaving only a weak middle-aged woman and an infant wrapped in tattered cloth at home. The rice jar was empty, the stove was cold, and the pot was bare.

He put down the rice bag and started working.

He fetched water, chopped firewood, swept the yard, and then went to the well at the village entrance to wash the mountain of dirty clothes. The woman struggled to help, but he pushed her back onto the bed.

"You rest," he said. "The baby needs milk."

The woman's eyes reddened, and she hugged the child, thanking him profusely.

Lu Chenzhou didn't respond. While he was working, he was calculating in his mind: six round trips carrying water, two buckets each time, each bucket weighing about forty jin (approximately 20 kg), for a total load of 480 jin (approximately 240 kg). Thirty pieces of firewood, each requiring three axe strokes, for a total of ninety strokes, with the axe blade's landing point error controlled within half an inch. Seventeen pieces of laundry, requiring even rubbing pressure, otherwise they would easily break…

These numbers automatically arrange and combine in my mind, like a finely tuned machine.

Halfway through, a commotion arose at the village entrance.

Lu Chenzhou stopped what he was doing and listened intently. It was the sound of arguing, mixed with crying and shouting. He frowned, put down his work, and went over.

A dozen or so people had gathered in front of a mud-brick house at the village entrance. Three well-dressed but fierce-looking men were grabbing an old man by the collar, spitting as they spoke.

"...Debts must be repaid! It's all in black and white! If you can't come up with two taels of silver today, we'll take your granddaughter as payment!"

The old man slumped to the ground, tears streaming down his face: "Uncle Liu, please grant me a few more days... the grain will be ready soon, I'll definitely pay back after selling the grain... Yaya is only twelve years old, I can't..."

A small, thin girl next to him clung tightly to her grandfather's arm, trembling with fear and tears streaming down her face.

The villagers who were watching dared not speak out, and all kept their heads down.

Lu Chenzhou stood on the outskirts of the crowd and saw clearly. The three men were loan sharks from town. The old man's wife had fallen ill last winter, and he had borrowed one tael of silver, which had now ballooned to two taels due to compounding interest. Unable to repay, he was going to use his granddaughter as collateral—most likely to sell her to a brothel.

His gaze swept over the three men. One was fat and unsteady on his feet; another was thin and had shifty eyes; the leader was more muscular, with a short stick tucked into his waistband and calloused hands, indicating he had some martial arts training.

Assessment complete. Chances of winning: 98%.

If the "Seven Killings Technique" is used, it will be a 100% success rate. It will end within ten breaths.

He took two steps forward, then stopped.

In his record of good deeds, Lu Jinghong wrote a note in vermilion ink: "When faced with a problem, first think of a way not to kill."

He took a deep breath, suppressing the cold, eager killing intent in his heart, and squeezed into the crowd.

"How many people do you owe?" he began, his voice low but clear. "How much does this old man owe?"

The burly man at the head of the group glanced at him sideways: "Two ounces. What, are you going to pay it for me?"

Lu Chenzhou took out a money pouch from his pocket—it contained five taels of silver that Lu Jinghong had given him for charity. He counted out two taels and handed it over.

"Here's two taels. Give me the IOU."

The man hesitated for a moment, then took the silver and weighed it in his hand, before suspiciously scrutinizing Lu Chenzhou. He noticed Lu's ordinary clothes but steady posture and unfathomable eyes, and felt a little uneasy. But the silver was real.

"You're smart enough to know what's good for you." He snorted, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, threw it on the ground, and walked away cursing with the other two.

The crowd breathed a sigh of relief and gradually dispersed. The old man, holding his granddaughter's hand, knelt down with a thud, about to kowtow.

Lu Chenzhou stopped him: "No need."

He bent down, picked up the IOU, and, using the embers still burning in the stove, set it alight, burning it to ashes. Then he turned and went back to the new mother's house to continue washing the remaining clothes.

Throughout the entire process, his heartbeat remained steady and his breathing was even.

Just like how I only chased away a fly.

That night, he wrote in his record of good deeds:

"In Wangjiazhuang, Zhao was weak after childbirth. She carried six loads of water, chopped thirty pieces of firewood, and washed seventeen pieces of laundry. When she was harassed by a loan shark, she paid two taels of silver and burned the IOU. An old man knelt to thank her, and a little girl wept, but she felt nothing. Only when she paid the silver did she think: This silver can buy a bushel of rice, ten catties of meat, or... a dagger. As the thought arose, a slight sword aura stirred."

After finishing writing, he put down his pen and watched the candlelight flicker.

The hooting of an owl came from outside the window, mournful and drawn-out.

He suddenly remembered the girl's eyes from earlier that day—fear, despair, and finally, the bewilderment of someone who had survived a near-death experience. He had seen that look before. In Qixia Town, on Aunt Zhang's face, on the faces of countless others.

He should feel anger or pity.

But he didn't.

Even the embers of light seemed to have dimmed in the wasteland in my heart.

He blew out the candle and lay down on the hard bed. Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the window, casting a dappled pattern on the floor.

Before closing his eyes, he unconsciously touched his waist—it was empty; the wooden sword was left behind in Zhongnan Mountain.