Chapter Nineteen: Iron Can Conduct Electricity

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But.

What surprised Lin Fan was—

The overwhelming response he had expected did not happen at all.

There was no thunderous applause or cheers as if mountains were collapsing—none of it. The scene was dead silent.

The dozen or so people before him were all still busy with their own affairs. The middle-aged monk continued to count his prayer beads and chant, while the Confucian scholar, Mo Buzhi, kept flipping through his book.

That burly man, Wang Hu, as always, lay sprawled across the table, snoring loudly in his sleep.

Gongshu Ming was still stroking the little wooden bird perched on his shoulder.

“Ah~” The young girl in tight black clothes, Xing Ye, stretched and yawned, looking utterly listless.

For a moment, it was Lin Fan himself who was left bewildered.

“Is this… your reaction?”

“Mhm.” Xing Ye, with her distinct personality, looked up at Lin Fan and replied blandly, almost as though she wanted to annoy him, “What else did you expect?”

“At least… some kind of response!” Lin Fan’s composure was cracking; their reactions were nothing like he had imagined!

He knew well—

In his previous life, when he first met these people, every one of them had been brimming with passion, ready to lay down their lives for the Great Xia!

Xing Ye, for instance, was the very first Guardian God of Great Xia to fall in battle!

Lin Fan could still remember—this woman, facing the exalted Darkmoon God, stood proud with her blade despite her grievous wounds.

Her furious cry echoed still: “Give me five more years, and even gods will not set foot in Great Xia!” The way she charged into the night sky like a lone star—he would never forget it.

That battle became known as the Battle of Star and Moon.

It was also in that battle that the Inkshadow Starfall Sect, which had endured for a thousand years, was utterly destroyed.

That night, the stars fell from the sky.

Ever since, the heavens above Great Xia no longer held a myriad of twinkling stars—only a pale red moon hung there, like the silent mockery of a god.

Back then, everyone present had been so full of fire! They’d have gladly fought gods to the death!

So why now did they seem so utterly dispirited?

Suppressing his mounting frustration, Lin Fan took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “Perhaps you don’t realize—three months from n—”

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“Three months from now, the gods will descend. Yes, yes, we’ve heard it all before,” Xing Yue replied coldly, one foot propped up on the table. “When the Grand Chancellor brought us here, he all but wore our ears out with it.”

Lin Fan paused, taken aback. “Since you know, then why—”

“Why aren’t we fired up?!” The burly man who’d been pretending to sleep, Wang Hu of the Xingyi School, suddenly opened his eyes and boomed, “Then can you tell us, when the gods descend, what does it have to do with the likes of us?”

“Can you tell us how we’re supposed to fight gods?”

“With these iron fists?!” Wang Hu’s massive fist slammed onto the table.

Bang!

A dull sound rang out.

But the table didn’t shatter like in the TV dramas; it merely trembled and then stilled.

“Why don’t you explain to me why, after thirty years of practicing Xingyi Boxing, I’m now less powerful than some kid who’s never trained a day in his life but who straps on a set of brass knuckles from an online shop?” Wang Hu shouted, pointing at the perfectly intact hardwood table.

“So, how are we supposed to fight gods? Is this what we’re relying on?” Wang Hu’s face was grim.

Beside him, the old Taoist, Dao Wanqian, coughed, shot Wang Hu a look, and with his eyes signaled him to sit down.

Wang Hu reluctantly sat, still fuming, but clearly held some respect for the old Taoist.

“Young friend,” Dao Wanqian stroked his beard and looked at Lin Fan with a complex expression. “Don’t take it to heart. Wang Hu means no harm. He’s just practiced external martial arts for years without the benefit of cultivation; his temper can be a bit rough.”

“I understand.” Lin Fan nodded. “What’s your view?”

“It’s not so much an opinion,” Dao Wanqian sighed, “but the truth is as Wang Hu said.”

“We are heirs to Great Xia’s martial traditions—stronger than ordinary folk, perhaps.”

“But martial arts are just martial arts. I admit, they are indeed killing arts. But they’re not the mystical feats you see on TV now, leaping over rooftops and walking on air.”

“Times have changed.”

“Just like Wang Hu said—he’s devoted thirty years to perfecting his Iron Tiger Claw, rising with the dawn, never slacking.”

“He can shatter a stack of bricks with a single punch.”

“In days past, that would make him a master.”

“But now… any young person can buy a pair of brass knuckles online, and without any training, punch through the same stack of bricks. And those knuckles are even tougher than Wang Hu’s fists!”

“I myself trained hard in lightness skills and could, in my youth, cover eight hundred li in a day as the ancients claimed. But… have you heard of bullet trains?”

The old man’s face was full of rueful emotion.

Lin Fan: “…”

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Dao Wanqian fell silent for a moment, then looked to Xing Ye and continued, “This girl’s Starfall Slash is peerless; she’s mastered the Inkshadow Body Technique to perfection—her movements as elusive as ink.”

“In the realm of martial arts, whether speed or explosive power, she has reached the pinnacle of human ability. Within ten paces, she can behead a foe before he even knows what happened—his eyes still blinking, unaware he’s already lost his head.”

“But.”

“It’s only within ten paces.”

“Do you know the range of modern firearms? With a sniper rifle, a head can be taken from a kilometer away in the blink of an eye. And with a precision missile strike… well, then you’re talking about battles decided from a thousand miles off.”

At this, the old man glanced at the monk who was still chanting quietly, and said in a low voice, “This Compassionate Master has it even worse. You see that wrought iron demon-subduing staff beside him? His staff technique can split mountains and shatter stones.”

“In the old days, that was a weapon for slaying demons.”

“But just a few days ago, a young man who exposes martial arts frauds challenged him. Before he could even make a move, he was already writhing and howling on the ground.”

At these words—

The previously serene Compassionate Master abruptly stopped chanting.

The prayer beads in his hand creaked as his fingers tightened.

He opened his eyes and, expressionless, said, “That young man… had no martial skill at all. In a fair contest, he was no match for me.”

“Surely, Master, it was out of Buddhist compassion that you spared his life!” Lin Fan hastily pressed his palms together. “Amitabha, such compassion is truly admirable.”

However—

Despite Lin Fan’s praise, not a hint of a smile appeared on the master’s face.

After a long silence, he sighed and scratched his bald head. “Actually… it was mostly because the fellow didn’t follow the rules. We agreed it would be a contest of staves; I brought my iron demon-subduing staff, and he… used a stun baton.”

“Amitabha.”

“These days, the world is full of tricks. The temple’s still the best place to be.”

Recalling how he had been convulsing on the ground before even making a move, the Compassionate Master uttered a Buddhist prayer.

That day,

The usually detached Compassionate Master learned a basic principle of modern physics that even the Buddha had not taught:

Iron conducts electricity.

Therefore—

An iron staff conducts electricity too.