Lonely Swordsman

Chapter 4: An egg

Zhou Ang was startled and immediately stopped.

  It was a very strange feeling; in that instant, he vaguely felt almost every pore on his body suddenly open, and a cool breeze seemed to penetrate his body.

  The breeze seemed to reach his bones, his internal organs, and even his soul!

  As soon as he stopped moving, the breeze stopped as well.

  Zhou Ang breathed a sigh of relief, but was also a little stunned, not understanding what was going on: it was just practicing Tai Chi, a simplified version of Tai Chi from a physical education class, how could it cause problems?

  But thinking back, he felt that the feeling of all the pores on his body opening and the cool breeze penetrating his body was actually... quite comfortable?

  After hesitating for a moment, he finally decided to try again. Anyway, as long as he stopped moving, the breeze would stop too, so he could try again, and if it didn't work, he could just stop immediately. A simplified version of Tai Chi, he didn't think it could cause any serious problems.

  So he took a deep breath, got into position, and started again.

  As the fist technique unfolded slowly, sure enough, that wind that seemed to penetrate one's soul returned!

  But this time, Zhou Ang didn't stop.

  He continued practicing, and the wind continued to seep into his body.

  Soon, Zhou Ang felt incredibly comfortable, until he finished a simplified version of Tai Chi, one in which he had forgotten countless movements, resulting in many awkward parts. He straightened up, subconsciously exhaling slowly, and inexplicably felt much more energetic than before.

  This was truly a novel experience.

  Whether it was the twenty-odd years of his previous life or the dozen or so years of memories he had just inherited, he had never experienced such a feeling of complete relaxation, of comfort in every pore.

  Therefore, after finishing this round of fist techniques, he stood there marveling at it.

  When his gaze unintentionally swept eastward, the dazzling sunlight made him squint subconsciously. He suddenly thought of a question: those cultivators in novels who always liked to practice breathing exercises in the early morning—could it really be effective?

  Could it be that the old men who leisurely practice Tai Chi in the park early in the morning aren't entirely bored, but genuinely derive some enjoyment from it?

  Upon further reflection, he quickly dismissed this idea.

  They were simply bored!

  However, if he were in a world where fox spirits truly existed, and these fox spirits could cultivate by absorbing the yang energy of humans, then perhaps it was indeed possible.

  His body had just died last night after being drained of its yang energy by a fox spirit. Although he had transmigrated in time and restored breathing and a heartbeat, it was still severely deficient in yang energy.

  Like a completely dried-out sponge, its absorption capacity was at its peak.

  And under these circumstances, his haphazard Tai Chi routine inexplicably acted as a catalyst; practicing it under the sunlight allowed the sun's "yang energy" to seep into his body.

  Thinking about it this way, it seemed to make some sense.

  The key was that he couldn't figure out what was going on for the time being. This explanation was the only one that could barely account for the strangeness of the situation, and he could only accept it for the time being.

  Regardless of the truth, one thing was certain: his body clearly enjoyed the process, and after completing the set of punches, he did feel much more energetic.

  At this point, further thought seemed pointless. Zhou Ang steeled himself and, right there, performed the simplified version of Tai Chi again, with equally good results.

  Although he felt quite energetic when he woke up, a lingering fatigue remained—after all, he had only been back from the brink of death a few hours earlier and hadn't slept at all. But now, after several rounds of punches, he inexplicably felt that fatigue had subsided considerably.

  This miraculous effect made him marvel inwardly.

  So he took a deep breath, preparing to strike while the iron was hot and do it again. But then, turning his head, he suddenly noticed that the little girl, Zhou Zihe, was looking at him with a curious expression.

  He paused for a moment, then asked, "What's wrong?"

  Zhou Zihe tilted his head slightly, blinking his big eyes, and asked, "Brother, what are you doing?"

  Zhou Ang said, "I'm practicing boxing!"

  After thinking for a moment, he quickly explained, "I read it in a book; it says it can improve your health. What's wrong? Is something the matter?"

  Zhou Zihe shook his head, but then nodded, saying, "I called you for dinner, but you didn't answer after I called you several times."

  "Huh?"

  Zhou Ang genuinely hadn't heard.

  He had been completely immersed in that comfortable state.

  Just then, he saw his mother carrying bowls into the main room, so he smiled and said, "I was probably too engrossed in boxing just now. I'll wash my face and then we'll eat!"

  ...

  This morning, they ate bean rice again.

  It was just various beans that Zhou Ang didn't really know the names of mixed together and cooked until they were soft and mushy. Then they took out the beans, ate the rice, and the remaining broth was considered porridge.

  Beans are hard to digest, and even when cooked thoroughly, their texture is far inferior to rice and noodles. However, for poor families, being able to eat their fill of these kinds of coarse grains was already considered a good life.

  There were no vegetables in the morning, not even the simplest boiled greens with a pinch of salt. So, adding a little salt to the bean rice made it even more unpalatable for Zhou Ang, as the salt tasted bitter and astringent. Yet, salt was an extremely important and precious commodity, especially in the morning, and he had to eat some.

  Of course, as usual, there was an extra coarse grain pancake for Zhou Ang. After all,

  he was an eighteen-year-old boy, and no matter how much of a homebody he was or how little exercise he got, his appetite was still far greater than that of Zhou Cai Shi and the little girl Zhou Zihe.

  But what was even more special was that there was still a boiled egg today.

  This was a special exception since Zhou Ang "fell ill," meant to nourish his body.

  When Zhou Ang washed his hands and face and came into the house, his mother and younger sister were already eating with their bowls of rice. His mother was fine, but little Zhou Zihe was eating rather voraciously.

  Poor families didn't have much time to cook and eat, and grain was too expensive; they couldn't afford more. So, the Zhou family, for example, only had two meals a day. The first meal, in the morning, was the main meal, usually bean porridge, which was enough to fill them up. But the next meal wouldn't come until around three or four in the afternoon.

  For that meal, the mother would cook some vegetables to go with the porridge, but usually each person only had a bowl of mixed grain porridge and a mixed grain pancake because it would get dark soon, and then they wouldn't need to work hard. If they didn't need to work hard, they didn't need to eat too much; as long as they weren't hungry, they didn't need

  to eat until their stomachs hurt. At this time, Zhou Ang received special treatment: he got two black flour pancakes, which was enough to barely fill him up, and there was one extra, which he saved as a snack when he got hungry while studying at night.

  With this kind of diet, there was almost no oil or fat in the food, and even the mixed grain porridge wasn't enough to fill him up. Just thinking about it made Zhou Ang feel like he was starving.

  But this is how most ordinary families in Lingzhou City eat.

  However, for someone like Zhou Zihe who is still growing and has to do so much work every day, she really starts to feel hungry before noon. She can't hold on for long and then gets hungry again around three or four o'clock. When she finally gets over her hunger pangs, even if it's just bean rice and the little bit of salt in it is really bitter and astringent, she still eats it with great relish.

  Zhou Ang sat down opposite his sister, picked up his rice bowl, and ate a few mouthfuls of rice with the bitter taste of salt. Holding the bowl, he smiled and said to his mother, "Mother, I think I'm fine now. You don't need to boil eggs for me anymore. Save them to sell for money!"

  Zhou Cai's mother put down her rice bowl, smiled, and said, "Eat for a couple more days. There's no rush. We're not short of money. Your health is the most important thing."

  Zhou Ang smiled and said, "Really, there's no need. I know my own body. I'm fine now."

  He paused, then suddenly put down his rice bowl, picked up an egg from the small table, tapped it a few times, carefully peeled it, and handed it to the little girl Zhou Zihe, smiling and saying, "Come on, open your mouth."

  Zhou Zihe was still holding her bowl, with only her eyes and forehead above it. She shook her head, still chewing rice, and mumbled, "I don't want to eat. You eat, brother."

  Zhou Ang still smiled, "If it's given to you, you eat it."

  Zhou Zihe slowly swallowed her rice, put down her bowl, looked at her mother, and then at her brother.

  Zhou Cai's mother finally spoke, a happy smile on her face, her tone a mixture of heartache and doting, saying, "Your brother loves you! Eat up!"

  Zhou Zihe finally reached out and took the peeled egg, smiling sweetly as she carefully took a small bite, saying, "Thank you, brother!"

  Zhou Ang picked up his rice bowl again, smiling, and said, "When I'm better in a few days, I'll definitely find a way to make sure you have eggs and meat every day!"