Volume One: All Things Awaken, and Every Season Is Spring Chapter Thirteen: Secret Art—Brilliance of the Milky Way

Inside the Superintendent’s office, Lin Xi’s words, though spoken softly, brimmed with unyielding confidence. Murong Bo narrowed his eyes, his expression growing ashen; the bravado in his tone could not conceal his underlying weakness as he warned Lin Xi.

“Miss Lin, you’re a clever woman. Don’t go stirring up unnecessary troubles.”

Lin Xi seemed to find this an utter joke, doubling over with laughter before abruptly cutting herself off. With a teasing lilt, she replied, “It was I who took Mo Wen to Mount Putuo. If you have the guts, arrest me. Is being at the Divine Pivot level so impressive? Try laying a finger on me if you dare. Not just you—even if the head of the Murong family came himself, he wouldn’t have the nerve!”

Mo Wen silently admired her—this was the Lin Xi he knew: indomitable and fearless.

Murong Bo’s face shifted between fury and restraint. After a tense silence, his gaze settled on Mo Wen, eyes as sharp as blades.

“Very good. Very well!”

With that, he slammed the door and stormed out. Su Qiang snapped to attention, saluting crisply, “Safe travels, sir. Come again soon to supervise our work!”

Su Qiang’s deadpan remark sent a ripple of laughter through the officers outside, who had been following the commotion inside. Murong Bo, not yet out of earshot, clenched his fists, on the verge of an outburst, but finally managed to restrain himself.

Once Murong Bo had left, the atmosphere inside the office instantly relaxed. Su Qiang regarded the door, now damaged by a kick, and said with a blank face, “Lin Xi, willful destruction of public property—knowing the law and breaking it as a police officer—your monthly allowance is docked.”

After a pause, Su Qiang continued, “Mo Wen, abandoning your post without permission. You are ordered not to leave the precinct for half a month.”

A wave of warmth flooded Mo Wen’s heart—he knew the chief was protecting him. If he left the precinct now, the Murong family might just snatch him away, and then he’d be completely at their mercy.

As for Lin Xi, she merely curled her lip, unconcerned about the deduction. She grabbed Mo Wen by the hand and marched him toward the records room. The officers around them grinned knowingly; one even gave Mo Wen a clandestine thumbs-up behind Lin Xi’s back.

“Mo, don’t forget to close the door!”

Laughter erupted again. Lin Xi pretended not to hear, and once inside, she herself locked the door behind them. She advanced on Mo Wen, her breath fragrant and close, and for a moment Mo Wen was seized by a sudden, animalistic urge.

But Lin Xi only smiled, and from her small bag she drew out a yellowed, thread-bound book, handing it to Mo Wen.

Whatever bold intention Mo Wen had was instantly cut short—he felt he’d been played again. Still, as if compelled, he took the ancient book with one hand while the other pressed Lin Xi’s shoulder against the door. He kissed her hard.

For a moment, Lin Xi’s mind went utterly blank. She had only one thought: How dare he!

Mo Wen let her go, whistling smugly as he slumped into a chair, propping his legs on the desk and sipping tea, his feet bouncing in contentment.

Lin Xi finally came to her senses. Mo Wen expected an outburst, but instead her face was flushed, as if an apple ripened in the sun, white tinged with red, her ears burning.

“You—you’ve got a death wish! Keep this book safe. I’ll come for it next week. Don’t tell anyone, or—or I’ll be done for!”

Rarely had Lin Xi ever stammered like this; it was as though she were a different person from the formidable woman who had just faced off against Murong Bo. With that, she hurried out of the records room.

As Lin Xi passed through the officers’ office, her bashful demeanor confirmed what everyone suspected. Monkey, who was usually on the receiving end of Lin Xi’s mischief, seized the opportunity.

“Lin, how was the taste of young flesh?”

Lin Xi’s expression shifted instantly as she dragged Monkey out by the collar.

“Looks like you’re itching for trouble. Muscles stiff? Let me loosen them up for you!”

Inside the records room, Mo Wen carefully locked the door. Lin Xi’s admonition made him realize the book was no ordinary thing. He solemnly opened the leather-bound cover; the pages inside were yellowed with age. On the first page, four bold characters blazed forth:

“The Splendor of the Milky Way!”

Those four words seemed to brim with boundless power, filling Mo Wen with a surge of heroic spirit. He turned the pages. So this “Splendor of the Milky Way” was a secret art of boxing!

A secret art, as the name implied, was a clandestinely transmitted skill. The book, written in Song-style script with detailed illustrations, exuded an ancient aura. Mo Wen skimmed it, silently intoning the internal formula as instructed; at once, his blood surged, forcing him to calm his spirit—he was astonished.

“This secret art is extraordinary!”

At the end of the book, a signature caught his eye.

Wang Ao!

Mo Wen had read many obscure historical texts in his spare time and had heard of Wang Ao. In the Tang and Song dynasties, Wang Ao had spanned two eras, half man, half immortal, creating countless secret arts and, according to legend, ultimately ascending to immortality.

So he truly existed!

Mo Wen did not dare be careless. He regulated his breath, adjusting himself to optimum condition, then spread out a newspaper on the floor, sat cross-legged, fists on his knees, and began silently reciting the secret art.

“All things under heaven possess their own force; blade, sword, fist, and foot each have their own method. For the fist: first, be swift; second, be fierce…”

Mo Wen lost himself in the practice, unconsciously swinging his fists and following the illustrations. At first, the movements felt awkward, but gradually clarity dawned; his fists carried a gale, and detonations rang out in the air. Unfortunately, the space was too cramped to fully unleash the technique.

The morning passed quickly. Around noon, Monkey, noticing Mo Wen had not come out to eat, knocked on the door.

“Mo, what are you doing in there alone? Watching something spicy? Come eat, or there’ll be no food left!”

Interrupted by Monkey’s knocking, Mo Wen gathered his focus and stowed the Splendor of the Milky Way in his little sphere. “Coming, coming, why are you so eager for lunch?”

That afternoon, Mo Wen refrained from further practice—he wanted somewhere completely quiet to fully unleash his strength. Suddenly, a place occurred to him: at night, the school’s athletic field was always deserted. It was perfect, and he could check in on Zhou Sheng as well.

Thinking of Zhou Sheng, Mo Wen felt a pang of concern. How was he doing after his transformation?

When work ended, Mo Wen slipped away before he could be stopped—he was technically confined to the precinct, after all. Without alerting anyone, he took the subway back to campus.

On the tree-lined paths, couples strolled in pairs. Mo Wen’s mind flashed with Lin Xi’s face; recalling his bold kiss that morning, he couldn’t help but smile.

Back in the dorm, Zhou Sheng was absent. He called, and after a long wait, Zhou Sheng answered, his voice hoarse. He told Mo Wen he’d returned to his hometown—Sichuan, far from the city. Zhou Sheng rarely went home, sometimes only once a year, and this time was for the Spring Festival.

Mo Wen found it odd—Zhou Sheng merely said there was some family matter and he’d be back in a while. Seeing no choice, Mo Wen let it go, but his worry deepened.

He scrolled through his phone for a while, and before he knew it, midnight arrived. Mo Wen made his way to a secluded corner of the athletic field, recalling the secret art’s formula, fists dancing through the air; the sound of his strikes tore through the night. Splendor of the Milky Way comprised three forms.

The first: Fist that Shakes Mountains and Rivers!
The second: Universe Within Heaven and Earth!
The third: Eternal Boundless Ages!

Each form contained numerous smaller moves. Mo Wen practiced the first form over and over, feeling exhilarated, but the second form eluded his grasp—he could master only its shape, not its essence.

Fist that Shakes Mountains and Rivers was fierce and unyielding—a perfect match for Mo Wen’s own robust inner energy. With a single punch, he blasted a crater several meters deep into the athletic field’s ground!

Such power was unrivaled among his peers.

“Who is it, making a ruckus here?”

Without a sound, a middle-aged man had appeared behind Mo Wen. He was gaunt, wore glasses, a sharp suit, and gleaming leather shoes.

Startled, Mo Wen whirled around—only to see Zhao Tiansheng, his department dean!