039 Duel or Just Pound the Keyboard?

Opening his eyes, Li Daniu found himself looking at the familiar ceiling he hadn't seen in so long.

“It feels so good to be back. There’s nothing quite like your own bed,” he murmured.

Li Daniu climbed out of bed and checked the time. The interval since his last journey was even shorter this time, likely because in that film world there was an eight-year gap in the plot that he himself had not experienced.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, palms facing upward. Striking this posture now felt utterly effortless and natural to him.

Focusing his mind, Li Daniu could clearly sense the abundant internal energy surging within him. Out of habit, he circulated his energy through one complete cycle, then opened his eyes.

“System, why does it feel like I have a little less inner strength than before?”

“You are still at the ninth level of the Nine Yang Divine Skill. The total amount of inner power hasn’t changed after your return. The reason you feel a slight decrease is because, before coming back, you learned and practiced Tai Chi, Tai Chi Sword, and the Cloud Ladder technique, which consumed some energy. You'll recover quickly.”

Relieved by the system’s answer, Li Daniu’s heart was set at ease. So it hadn’t been cut down after all.

He walked to the window and gazed out at the silent night in Tuvalu. A foolish grin spread across his face before he opened the back window and leapt out.

Behind the palace where Li Daniu lived stretched a grove of banana trees, and beyond the grove lay the sea.

Activating the Cloud Ladder technique, Li Daniu floated as lightly as a downy feather, landing atop a banana tree. The leaf under his foot quivered slightly, and before it could bend, he was off again, each stride covering more than ten meters.

Lightness skills generally fall into four categories: light, agile, vertical, and horizontal. “Light” refers to those that defy gravity, like crossing a river on a reed. “Agile” denotes nimble and shifting footwork, as in the Ripple Technique. “Vertical” covers those like the Cloud Ladder, where the focus is leaping high—so long as the inner strength suffices, a person could leap to the heavens. “Horizontal” describes skills for rapid travel, like the Eight-step Cicada.

But just because a technique specializes in one area doesn’t mean it’s limited to that alone. Duan Yu could hurry along with the Ripple Technique and match Qiao Feng stride for stride.

Li Daniu’s mastery of the Wudang Cloud Ladder, one of the most supreme lightness skills in Jin Yong’s novels, had often been criticized: How could someone rise by stepping on their own foot? It didn’t fit the laws of physics.

But now that Li Daniu had learned it himself, he scoffed at such doubts. Physics? Perhaps, but do you even understand what inner strength is? Do you know the Nine Yang Divine Skill?

As he neared the end of the banana grove, about to descend, Li Daniu drew on his inner energy, pressed his left foot atop his right, and felt himself lifted as if by an invisible hand—rising another three or four meters. Not only that, but at the apex, he repeated the maneuver, ascending yet again. Repeating this process, he soared over thirty meters before his inner strength began to wane, and he floated gently down.

At such a height, the old Li Daniu would have been smashed to a bloody pulp, but now, endowed with the ninth level of the Nine Yang Divine Skill and the supreme Wudang lightness technique, he floated down without even damaging a single banana leaf.

“Exhilarating!”

He shouted, caring little if anyone heard—there wasn’t a soul around.

“But this move really does drain energy,” Li Daniu reflected. That thirty-meter ascent using the left-foot-over-right trick had consumed more than half his inner strength—no small feat, considering it was ninth-level Nine Yang energy.

Inner strength is measured by quantity—usually in years of cultivation—and by quality, which varies depending on the skill. Nine Yang Divine Skill is leagues above something basic like the Songhe Heart Method.

Take Abbess Miejue, who trained in Emei internal energy for thirty or forty years, yet in contests of strength, she couldn’t match the much younger Zhang Wuji—a testament to the superiority of Nine Yang Divine Skill.

To put it plainly, training in Nine Yang is like being Bill Gates, earning millions every day, while a basic practitioner is like a struggling writer eking out a meager wage. In a contest of resources, even a lifetime of effort from the latter can’t match a day’s earnings from the former.

That top-tier Cloud Ladder leap was like buying a private jet; even the wealthiest can’t keep up if they purchase one every minute.

After trying out the difficult move, Li Daniu, wary of ending up crippled like the pyromaniac monk, chose to stick to easier moves, floating from treetop to treetop.

At that moment, he felt like a banished immortal descending to earth—but to any onlooker, it would have been a ghostly sight: a shadow flitting about in the darkness, laughing wildly, more specter than man.

When his energy was nearly spent, Li Daniu finally reined himself in. He couldn’t be blamed—he’d been in a rush, had barely enjoyed his new skills before being flung back to reality. He deserved a little indulgence.

Back in his room, Li Daniu meditated, regaining some inner strength, then leapt to his feet. At the ninth level, Nine Yang energy regenerated almost on its own; as long as a baseline remained, even normal activity would replenish it.

His mind was too wired for sleep. He thought about having a good meal, but decided against disturbing anyone at this hour. After all, Li Daniu prided himself on being a kind and benevolent king, one who loved his people as his own children.

He grabbed some snacks and a long-missed drink from the fridge, then perched on a stool and turned on his computer.

Though once a semi-homebody, Li Daniu was never truly enamored with online life—it was just that entertainment options were scarce, and the internet was cheap. A single night out at karaoke could pay for a year’s internet bill.

He thought of finding a game to relax, but suddenly remembered that his novel had been on the shelves for a few days now. No wonder he’d forgotten—after more than half a month of review, printing, and distribution, his novel had finally made it to libraries across major cities in the United States. The publisher hadn’t taken him seriously, still planning to revise and rework the manuscript, so he hadn’t been notified in time.

By the time Li Daniu found out, several days had passed. He’d been preoccupied with his impending journey to another world, and the matter of the book was far from his mind. Though only minutes had passed in the real world, he’d suffered for three months in the other one.

He opened a search engine and typed in the title of his novel—“The Lord of the Rings.”

A few messages popped up, and Li Daniu clicked on them at random.

“I never imagined a novel could be so gripping and thrilling. Yesterday morning, while browsing a bookstore, I stumbled across a new book called ‘The Lord of the Rings’ by an author named Tarek. I’d never heard of him before, but with nothing else to read, I picked it up. God, I thank my whimsy—otherwise I would have missed out on a world-class novel. No, not missed, because I believe that even if I hadn’t picked it up then, it would have come before me eventually, laden with glory and recommendations. If I hadn’t read it, I’d simply have found it later.”

“I’m over forty, and reading is my greatest passion, but in recent years I’ve followed a strict routine—never letting books disrupt my work or rest. Until I found ‘The Lord of the Rings.’ After reading part of it in the store, I simply couldn’t stand it—I had to finish it at home, in my garden, reclining with a pot of coffee, savoring the sweeping grandeur in peace. After buying it, I skipped my afternoon duties, missed dinner with friends, didn’t even make coffee, and never unlocked my front door. I just sat in my yard and read it straight through.”

“Do you think that’s the end? No. When night fell, I went inside, skipped dinner, turned on the light, and read it again. My wife says I’m mad. Maybe I am, because once I finish this review, I’ll read it again. I won’t discuss the plot, because I believe nobody wants spoilers—that would be the greatest loss of your life. Let me thank the author—Tarek, you have created a world.”

This comment, written by someone named Jack on a review site, made Li Daniu blush. “It wasn’t me who created it, honestly—it was plagiarism, haha.”

Li Daniu scrolled through the replies beneath the review.

“Is book marketing so emotional these days?”

“If my wife didn’t tear up my books or cut the power whenever I skip meals for reading or gaming, I’d believe it.”

“Sympathy to the one above. My wife’s angry glare almost convinced me too.”

“As a single guy, I must say these displays of affection are a critical hit to my heart.”

“Going off-topic is shameful. I too am single.”

“The original poster isn’t shilling. I read ‘The Lord of the Rings’ as well—it’s truly excellent. I’m already on my second read. The author really has created a world.”

“Caught a wild paid poster—@sixth reply.”

…

After reading the replies, Li Daniu realized that American netizens could ramble just as much as those back in the Celestial Empire.

He clicked on another search result and immediately felt a surge of anger.

“Anyone who knows me knows I love to rant, especially about those who chase fame or fortune by publishing books after gaining some status. A friend in publishing told me recently that a king wrote a book, self-published it, and printed a first run of 100,000 copies. I was thrilled—another target for my scorn. I asked my friend about the book’s content and where to start my critique, but he said the publishers didn’t even bother reading it—they just sent it straight to print.”

“They couldn’t be bothered, not even the publishers. What does that say about the book? So I bought this ‘The Lord of the Rings’ and Googled the author—Tarek. The encyclopedia says he’s the King of Tuvalu.”

“Tuvalu? Is that even a country? I’ve never heard of it. Let’s see—an island nation near Fiji, 26 square kilometers, population 11,000, the fourth smallest country in the world, and one of the UN’s least developed nations.”

“Does that even count as a country? And this King Tarek, who’s only just ascended to the throne, has already written a book? Is he planning to give a copy to every citizen? Does he really think Americans are so easy to fool? A first printing of 100,000—is he going to make every citizen pay for ten copies?”

“I advise everyone not to waste their money like I did. Once my copy arrives, I’ll tear this book to shreds in my review.”

This review came from a verified account on America’s largest social network. Li Daniu noted the account had 1.7 million followers, with this post already netting 50,000 likes and over 10,000 comments.

“If you were right in front of me, I’d lay you out with one palm strike!” Li Daniu shouted at his screen.

Just then, the page refreshed, and he saw a new post from that same verified account.

“The book has arrived. Time to read. My urge to rant can barely be contained.” Attached was a photo—Li Daniu’s own “The Lord of the Rings.”

“You’re eager? I’m even more eager,” Li Daniu muttered, clicking the register button in the corner.

“Today I’ll show you what a real keyboard warrior looks like.”