Jianghu Martial Arts, and indeed the entire world, were all in a state of uproar.
In an ordinary valley, however, there was profound tranquility.
A few thatched cottages huddled together, wisps of cooking smoke rising, a fence enclosing an old hen strutting about with her chicks, an atmosphere of peace and joy pervading the scene.
Zhong Shenxiu wore a coarse hemp robe, nonchalantly watching Shi Yu practice on an open piece of ground.
The boy had finally mastered the Medicine Sand Palm to its limits and could now turn to cultivating other profound martial arts.
But Zhong Shenxiu saw his dim-witted disciple had limited achievements, fearing he might only reach the level of Grandmaster in his lifetime—if smoke was rising from his ancestral grave, that is—if he didn't lend a hand.
However, after seeing the Mad Daoist, some of his own thoughts began to gradually change.
