Chapter 11: The Bow and the Arrow

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Bai Chenxiang did not answer immediately. She simply summoned all her strength to hold the heavy metal orb tightly against her chest, feeling the overwhelming weight that seemed ready to crush her. Her arms trembled, her breath grew labored, yet her gaze was more focused than ever before.

Beside her, Bai He remained silent, quietly observing. Unlike the other elders who hastened to dismiss her, he understood that every seemingly rebellious decision his granddaughter made was underpinned by a logic far beyond ordinary comprehension—her own unique reasoning.

Sure enough, after adjusting to the weight, Bai Chenxiang raised her head and faced everyone. Her clear voice, slightly trembling from exertion, asked:

“Elder grandfathers, what do you think is the ultimate essence of speed?”

This question struck at the very heart of the Minzhi tribe.

“Of course, it’s swiftness! In all martial arts, nothing is invincible except speed!” an elder replied without hesitation, the creed etched deep into their bloodline.

“It’s about finishing the fight before the enemy even reacts.”

“Like the wind—shadowless, formless, coming and going at will.”

The elders exchanged words, recounting the centuries-old wisdom passed down through the Minzhi clan.

Bai Chenxiang listened quietly, then gently shook her head.

“You’re all right, but those are merely the outcomes.”

Cradling the heavy iron orb, she shifted her posture with difficulty to stabilize her center of gravity.

“Have you ever considered what underpins speed?”

She glanced around and continued, “It’s the explosive force—the body’s ability to instantly accelerate from stillness to top speed or to abruptly change direction or halt while at high velocity.”

“This instantaneous change places a far greater burden on the body than merely maintaining high speed.”

Pausing, she offered a vivid metaphor:

“It’s like archery: to shoot far and fast, the bow must be resilient and strong.”

“If the bow is fragile, you can’t even pull the string fully. Even if you manage to release the arrow, it will be weak, and the bow itself may break first.”

“My body is that bow. My speed is the arrow.”

“Right now, my bow is too fragile—I don’t even dare to draw it fully.”

“Yesterday, in the Thousand-Mechanism Formation, I was thrown into the air with no leverage because my ‘bow’ wasn’t strong enough to tense and release a second ‘arrow’ midair.”

“I chose these,” she looked down at the heavy iron orb in her arms, eyes shining with wisdom, “not to build muscle, but to strengthen my ‘bow.’”

“I want every bone, every inch of muscle in my body to become accustomed to, even crave, this heavy burden.”

“So that when I finally unload this weight, my body will feel as light as a feather to me.”

“Then air resistance, the inertia of rapid direction changes, will no longer be burdens—they will become strings I can pluck at will.”

“Every burst of speed I unleash will be genuine, wholehearted, and without reservation.”

When she finished speaking, the entire treasure chamber fell into a prolonged silence.

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The elders stared at her in stunned silence, the metaphor of the bow and arrow reverberating in their minds.

They had spent their lives striving to make the “arrow” faster, neglecting the truth that the arrow’s power depends first and foremost on the quality of the “bow.”

This truth was simple and straightforward, yet so profound that none of them, immersed in their lifelong path, had ever contemplated it so systematically.

They pursued lightness, the utmost lightness, even at the expense of strength and defense.

Yet this girl was doing the opposite—choosing extreme heaviness.

Seeking lightness through weight.

Seeking speed through slowness.

What a daring and philosophically rich approach to cultivation!

Elder Bai Shan looked at the black iron orb Bai Chenxiang struggled to hold, his eyes filled with complexity.

Suddenly, he recalled a drunken remark made centuries ago by a power-type soul master who lost a wager. Pointing to these iron orbs, he slurred to their ancestor:

“You Minzhi tribe folks are like leaves in the wind—fast, yes, but when the wind stops, you fall.”

“We’re different—we’re mountains. The wind can’t topple us, and when we move, the earth itself trembles with a single step!”

Back then, the Minzhi ancestor dismissed the words as the ramblings of a brute, passing them off as a joke.

But now, hearing a deeper echo of that sentiment from his six-year-old granddaughter, Bai Shan felt a stirring within.

She wasn’t trying to become a mountain. She wanted to become a star—unbreakable in the wind, yet capable of erupting with the thunderous power of a storm in an instant!

“I understand,” Bai He finally spoke, stepping forward and effortlessly taking the heavy iron orb from his granddaughter’s arms. With his other hand, he tenderly stroked her hair.

“We will take all of these.”

Turning to the four elders who stood frozen in shock, he spoke with an unyielding tone:

“Also, find the finest golden nanmu wood in the treasury.”

“Chief, why golden nanmu wood?” Bai Shan asked instinctively.

Bai He grinned, revealing a row of white teeth, his smile tinged with both hope and madness.

“Of course, to make the most durable and comfortable wheelchair for our Xiangxiang. I reckon this little girl won’t be able to walk for a long time to come.”

The elders were speechless.

As it turned out, Bai He’s foresight was sometimes painfully accurate.

When he personally crafted the iron orbs into exquisite wrist guards, ankle guards, and a weighted belt for Bai Chenxiang, her first time wearing them was a disaster.

Just strapping on two wrist guards, each weighing ten pounds, made her arms feel leaden—she struggled even to lift them.

When the heavier ankle guards were fastened to her wrists, she collapsed with a thud, weighed down to sit hard on the floor.

Finally, Bai He personally fastened the thirty-pound belt around her waist.

Seventy pounds of weight was evenly distributed across her slender body.

This amount might be trivial for a grown man, but for a six-year-old girl weighing less than fifty pounds, it was like carrying a mountain.

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Her face flushed crimson in an instant, every bone in her body groaning under the unbearable strain.

She tried to stand, but her legs trembled like noodles. After several attempts, all ended in failure.

Sweat quickly soaked her forehead and dripped down her cheeks.

The four elders watched anxiously, their hearts clenched.

“Chief, isn’t this too much? Haste makes waste. Why not start with just one wrist guard?” Bai Shan couldn’t help but suggest.

Bai He shook his head, never taking his eyes off his granddaughter. His gaze held pain, but even more, trust.

“This is her own choice.”

Just when everyone thought Bai Chenxiang would give up, she bit her lip hard.

Instead of trying to stand on trembling legs, she propped herself up with her hands, summoning every ounce of strength to slowly push her body upright from the ground.

Her arms bulged with veins under immense pressure.

Her body was like a bow stretched to its limit; every muscle trembled violently.

Finally, with a sudden surge of effort, she steadied herself against the wall and stood upright, shaky and unsteady.

Though her posture was crooked and she could fall at any moment, she had risen on her own strength.

Only the sound of her heavy, rapid breathing filled the room.

She said nothing, simply leaning against the wall, dedicating all her energy to resisting the relentless weight pulling her down.

Then, under the breathless gaze of all present, she lifted her right foot and took a small, yet weighty step forward.

“Thud.”

The sound was not a footfall, but a heavy impact.

Then the left foot followed.

Step by step.

She moved painfully slowly, each step leaving a faint sweat mark on the polished floor.

The distance from one end of the room to the other was barely a dozen meters, but to her, it felt like walking through an endless century.

When she finally reached the window and steadied herself on the sill, she was drenched in sweat as though pulled from water.

Yet her face bore no trace of pain or retreat.

Turning to face her astonished grandfather and the elders, she cracked a pale but radiant smile.

That smile seemed to declare that a new stage—one more arduous, yet more glorious—had been set.

Raising her heavy hand, she pointed far toward the back mountain, to the rocky forest where she first tasted defeat but also glimpsed the grand path ahead.

“Tomorrow, training continues.”