PDLP Chapter 22 The Martial Soul Opens Its Eyes for the Second Time
Chapter 22 The Martial Soul Opens Its Eyes for the Second Time
Lin Fan stood in the main hall of the Sun family home, in front of a row of mahogany antique shelves. The antiques displayed on the shelves gleamed with a warm luster under the warm yellow spotlights, a result of the passage of time.
He took a half-hearted sip of tea, his gaze sweeping from a blue-and-white porcelain vase to an ancient bronze seal, then from the seal to a yellowed old book.
Sun Hao's father, Sun Zhengming, stood beside him. Seeing his gaze lingering on the antique shelf, a shrewd glint flashed in his eyes—he was just worried about not finding a breakthrough, and this breakthrough had come to him on its own.
"Is Lin interested in these antiques?" Sun Zhengming put down the purple clay teapot he was holding, strode to the display shelf, and pointed to the items on it, reciting them as if they were his own treasures.
"This is a blue and white porcelain vase with a scrolling floral pattern from the Yuan Dynasty. I bought it at an auction in Beijing ten years ago for this price." He held up three fingers, his tone carrying just the right amount of pride.
"This is a bronze Boshan censer from the Han Dynasty. It is in excellent condition, and the feather patterns of the vermilion bird on the lid are clearly visible."
"And this one, a Tang Dynasty tricolor camel figurine, was unearthed along the Silk Road. I specifically asked experts from the provincial museum to authenticate it."
As Lin Fan listened to Sun Zhengming's introduction, he approached the display shelf, his gaze landing on a pale blue porcelain vase at the nearest stop. "Uncle Sun, may I touch them?"
"No problem! Feel free to touch and look around!" Sun Zhengming waved his hand generously, as magnanimous as a museum curator who had just welcomed a distinguished guest into the collection room.
He was hoping Lin Fan would show interest in something—he was there to apologize, and if Lin Fan walked in with a straight face, said "we're even," and left, he wouldn't feel at ease. There had to be something to ask for; even just curiosity about antiques was the first step to breaking the ice.
Lin Fan reached out and picked up the porcelain bottle, his fingers slowly gliding across the cool glaze. The touch was smooth and delicate, like touching a pebble that had been washed by a stream for thousands of years.
He closed his eyes, focusing intently on the movements of his martial spirit. The sleeping woman hovered deep within his consciousness, dressed in snow-white robes, her eyes tightly closed, as still as a jade sculpture. There was no reaction.
He gently placed the porcelain vase back on the display shelf, then picked up the bronze Boshan censer next to it. It felt heavy in his hand, the cold metallic texture digging into his palm, the Vermilion Bird pattern on the lid clearly defined. His martial spirit still didn't react.
Next was the Tang Dynasty tri-colored camel figurine—no response. A small celadon-glazed dish, supposedly from a Song Dynasty official kiln—no response. An ancient bronze seal engraved with tadpole-like characters—still no response.
Lin Fan put the ancient seal back in its place, letting out a soft sigh. He felt anticipation with every item he picked up, and disappointment with every item he put down. It seemed that either his martial soul could only absorb power once, like a sponge that had already absorbed enough water to hold no more;
Either the Bodhi seed is too special, an extraordinary treasure of a grade far exceeding ordinary antiques, and although these porcelain bottles and bronze tripods are valuable, they are not even a level below the Bodhi seed in terms of power.
Regardless of the reason, it's highly likely that you'll leave disappointed today.
He straightened up, his gaze casually sweeping towards the far right corner of the display shelf, his steps already prepared to turn back—then his eyes swept over an inconspicuous small tripod in the corner.
The small cauldron was only the size of a palm, with a dark bronze color all over and a very thin layer of patina on the surface. It had three legs and two handles, and its shape was the most common type of round cauldron.
Compared to the blue and white porcelain vases that are dozens of centimeters tall and the dazzling Tang tri-color pottery next to it, this little thing looks like a cheap item that someone casually stuffed into a corner and forgot to throw away at a flea market.
But when Lin Fan's gaze fell on the patterns on the cauldron, he froze in place. Those patterns were not ordinary cloud and thunder patterns or taotie patterns—the patterns swirled and coiled on the cauldron, each one as thin as a hair, intertwining to form a complete dragon shape.
The dragon's head is located in the center of the cauldron's belly, its body spirals upwards along the cauldron's wall, and its tail tapers to the edge of the cauldron's mouth. The patterns are carved with extreme detail, and under the spotlight, the dragon scales reflect a very faint golden halo, as if some power sealed for thousands of years is seeping out through the shell of time.
"Uncle Sun, what is this?" Lin Fan asked, pointing to the small cauldron in the corner.
Sun Zhengming walked over, glanced at Lin Fan's finger, and then exclaimed as if he had just realized something: "This is a dragon-patterned cauldron. I found it at the antique market."
The seller claimed it was from the Warring States period, but you know how much of the antique market is inflated; it's probably just a Ming or Qing dynasty imitation, not worth much. If you hadn't asked, I would have almost forgotten there was such a thing on the shelf.
Dragon Pattern Cauldron. Lin Fan silently repeated the name to himself, feeling that the three characters were somewhat similar to the Dragon Form Fist. He stretched out his hand, fingers spread, and reached straight for the small cauldron. The instant his palm touched the cauldron, his pupils suddenly contracted—not from coolness, but from heat.
It was a burning sensation that wasn't physical temperature at all. It felt like an electric current bursting from the nerve endings in his fingertips, shooting up his arm and up his spine, before exploding into a thunderclap at the back of his head.
He heard a roar. Not one heard by his ears, but one that exploded deep within his brain—a powerful, desolate roar that pierced through the barriers of countless years and crashed straight into his consciousness.
Immediately afterwards, a golden beam of light shot into the sky from the mouth of the small cauldron. Within the golden light, the phantom of a giant dragon coiled out. The dragon's body was as thick as an ancient tree, and each of its scales was distinct, burning with a pale golden flame. The dragon's head was lowered, and its pair of vertical pupils stared straight down at him.
He felt himself enveloped by an ancient pressure, as heavy as a mountain, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.
Just as his consciousness was about to be crushed by this oppressive force, the martial soul within him that had been dormant for a long time—the woman in white as snow—suddenly moved.
He didn't open his eyes, but raised his hand. That slender, white hand slowly rose from the depths of his consciousness, fingers spread, palm facing the golden dragon shadow that was roaring to the sky.
Then a vortex appeared in her palm, initially only the size of a grain of rice, but in an instant it expanded to the size of a fist, and then in another instant it expanded into a huge vortex more than ten feet away. The vortex spun silently, with fine starlight flowing along its edges, like a miniature version of the Milky Way embedded in her palm.
Dragon Shadow seemed to sense the danger and turned to retreat back into the small cauldron, but it was too late.
An indescribable suction force erupted from the center of the vortex, dragging the enormous golden dragon shadow inch by inch into its depths. The dragon shadow struggled frantically, its tail slapping the void, each strike unleashing a visible golden shockwave. But the shockwaves, upon reaching the edge of the vortex, were like mud oxen sinking into the sea, failing to even create a ripple.
A final, unwilling roar echoed through Lin Fan's consciousness as the dragon shadow was completely sucked into the vortex and vanished.
Then, the mysterious woman opened her eyes. The second time.
Her eyes remained as magnificent as ever—the depths of her pupils contained a myriad of stars, so profound they seemed capable of swallowing all light.
But this time, Lin Fan saw something different in those eyes. The first time he opened them, they were empty and vast, like a huge but empty container.
This time, however, a faint golden light appeared in her eyes, as if the swallowed dragon shadow had taken root deep within her pupils.
Lin Fan's heart was pounding violently, and the drumbeats in his chest were rapid and heavy, as if someone was beating a war drum inside.
He recalled what happened after his martial spirit opened its eyes for the first time—his comprehension skyrocketed, and the Returning Mountain Fist, which he couldn't understand at all before, became as simple as elementary school math. He mastered the fist technique that he couldn't learn in three months in just one hour.
He went from being a complete failure who couldn't even get into a martial arts university to becoming the top scorer in the national martial arts exam.
Now, his martial soul has opened its eyes for the second time. What will it bring him this time?
Has his comprehension improved again?
Is it some kind of new ability?
Or is it about completely releasing something?
He wanted to study it immediately.
But now is not the time. He stood in the main hall of the Sun family, still holding the palm-sized bronze cauldron in his hand, with Sun Zhengming looking at him expectantly beside him.
The lights in the hall were warm and bright, and the aroma of tea wafted from the purple clay teapot on the coffee table. He couldn't study here, nor could he lose his composure.
He is the national martial arts champion, a distinguished guest visiting the Sun family today, not a junior high school student who has just awakened his martial spirit.
Lin Fan took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart layer by layer.
The surge of qi and blood in his dantian caused by the dragon's shadow entering his body was slowly gathered back by him using the internal gathering technique of the Returning Mountain Fist, and his scattered breathing returned to a normal frequency within two breaths.
He turned around, his expression calm, still holding the dragon-patterned cauldron in his hand, and said in a natural and casual tone, "Uncle Sun, I understand what you mean. Sun Hao and I did have some minor disagreements before."
Sun Zhengming straightened his back instantly.
He had been waiting for this moment all morning—from the strength of the handshake when he greeted people at the door, to the attentive introduction when visiting the antique display shelves, to the way he personally held the tea with both hands when serving it just now, everything was paving the way for this sentence.
He opened his mouth, ready to pour out the apology he had rehearsed countless times beforehand—
Phrases like "My son was young and ignorant and offended the martial arts champion, which is truly the fault of the Sun family," "I, Sun Zhengming, have failed in my duty to raise my son and I apologize to Lin here," and "The Sun family is willing to show the utmost sincerity to make up for all the previous unpleasantness" were used.
But Lin Fan didn't give him a chance to speak.
"But we're all classmates, and I don't want things to get too awkward." Lin Fan lightly weighed the dragon-patterned cauldron in his palm, his tone as calm as if he were casually discussing the nice weather.
"How about this, Uncle Sun, you give me this dragon-patterned cauldron, and my previous grudges with Sun Hao will be wiped clean."
As long as he doesn't bother me anymore, I won't bother him again.
Sun Zhengming was taken aback. Not because the condition was too difficult, but because it was too simple.
He prepared a whole host of plans, ranging from "fully sponsoring Lin Fan's four years of university expenses" to "using his connections in the province to arrange the best cultivation resources for Lin Fan."
Each item was extremely valuable, and he was prepared to spend a fortune on each one.
As it turned out, the other party only wanted a Ming and Qing dynasty replica that he had found at the antique market.
He spent less than 5,000 yuan on that small tripod. The seller claimed it was from the Warring States period, but even he didn't believe it. It was just placed in a corner of the curio cabinet to make up the numbers, and no one noticed it for more than ten years.
"No problem! Of course, no problem!" Sun Zhengming took over the conversation, his voice overflowing with relief.
He strode to the display shelf, rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a dark sandalwood box lined with dark red velvet. The recessed area was just big enough to hold the small cauldron, about the size of a palm. He carefully placed the dragon-patterned cauldron into the box, closed the lid, and handed it to Lin Fan with both hands.
Throughout the process, his expression was solemn and eager, like someone who had just been pulled back from the edge of a cliff looking at his savior.
"Lin, you truly deserve to be called the martial arts champion. Your magnanimity and demeanor are indeed beyond the reach of ordinary people." Sun Zhengming handed the sandalwood box to Lin Fan, his tone full of sincere admiration, not just politeness, but heartfelt respect.
He really didn't expect the other party to be so easy to talk to—after all, if it were him, and someone had repeatedly made things difficult for him, found someone to teach him a lesson, or humiliated him to his face like Sun Hao did, he would have made that person suffer to the point of death.
"When we eat later, I'll have Sun Hao toast you a few times—"
"No need, Uncle Sun." Lin Fan took the sandalwood box, held it by his side with one hand, and shook his head. "There's no need for a meal. I have some things to do, so I'll be leaving now."
His mind was now completely occupied with the second opening of his martial soul's eyes. What exactly was in that vortex?
Where did that dragon shadow go after it was sucked in? What will it gain after opening its eyes?
These questions buzzed around in his head like a swarm of bees, urging him to hurry home and find a quiet place to study them properly.
Having finished the courtesies, settled the score, and obtained the treasure, why would I stay at the Sun family's house for dinner and wait for all the dishes to be served? I don't have the time for that.
Seeing Lin Fan's resolute attitude, Sun Zhengming did not try to stop him. He escorted Lin Fan and Zhao Xiaoyue all the way to the villa's gate, standing between the two stone lions, and watched them get into the black minivan.
The car started, and its taillights gradually shrank under the shade of the plane trees, eventually disappearing around the street corner.
Sun Hao walked out of the foyer and stood beside his father. He hadn't dared to stay in the main hall earlier—he felt extremely uncomfortable with Lin Fan around, unsure whether to stand or sit, so he simply hid in the side hall to listen to what was happening.
He only dared to come out now that the person had left.
He glanced in the direction the car had disappeared, then at the unprecedentedly relaxed expression on his father's face, grunted, and finally mustered the courage to ask a question.
"Dad...how is it?"
Sun Zhengming didn't answer immediately. He turned around, looked at his son's still somewhat uneasy face, and let out a heavy sigh.
He took a deep, long breath, as if he were exhaling all the worries and anxieties that had been building up in his heart all this time.
"It's resolved. The grudges between you two are wiped clean." Sun Zhengming's tone carried a hint of relief at escaping a disaster, but his expression quickly turned serious, his gaze sharpening. "However, you remember this—never, ever again provoke this person. Do you hear me?"
Sun Hao's shoulders suddenly relaxed, as if a heavy burden that had been weighing him down for days had finally been lifted.
His lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something like "That's great," but he swallowed the words back and just nodded.
Seeing his son's expression, Sun Zhengming's sternness slowly softened. He paused for two seconds, then added,
The tone of this sentence is different from the previous one—it is not a command, nor is it stern, but rather a father's advice to his son, carrying a calm and helpless feeling after seeing through certain things.
"Also, don't contact Zhao Xiaoyue anymore."
Sun Hao raised his head, his lips trembled slightly, and a hint of resentment flashed in his eyes. Zhao Xiaoyue was someone he had pursued for over a year, someone he had always dreamed of being with day and night once he entered the Shanghai Martial Arts University. Now, was he supposed to give up?
But when he saw the undisguised heaviness in his father's eyes, his resentment dimmed like a candle flame being extinguished.
He was the eldest son of the Sun family, arrogant for eighteen years, but today he finally learned one thing—some things are beyond his reach, and some people are beyond his control.
"I understand." He lowered his head, his voice very soft, as if he were saying it to himself.