National Treasure and the Martial Artist in the Park Part I

“Ahh, the novel you said you have been writing. This Tai Si Kong ballad is brilliant. You are good at using words,” said Xi Lua.

“You flatter me too much. I don’t think my language is good enough (at least for this world),” said Bai Zhe.

“Did you bring your manuscript? I want to see the progress of your writing, or if there is anything that needs to be edited.” Xi Lua asked.

“Yes, sir.” Bai Zhe opened his bag and handed over the notebook in which he had written the novel. 'Yu Gong, the Greatest Swordsman' was written on its cover.

Xi Lua opened the notebook to read its contents. He saw the unique, yet easily legible, handwriting of Bai Zhe. Once he had read it, the man could imagine all the situations that had been described in the story as if he had been a part of them himself.

“This… This is…” Meng Dong, who also read the book with his friend, was amazed. He had never read martial arts fiction whose scenarios were written in such vivid language.

Time passed. Mr. Fu did not dare to interrupt the two men who were concentrating on reading Bai Zhe’s novel.

Bai Zhe was waiting expectantly for the feedback on the novel from the men. He wanted to know whether it reached their standard or not because it was written in a style that was outdated by millennia for this world.

Thud.

Xi Lua closed the notebook. At first, his face was filled with satisfaction, but that changed to curiosity afterward. Meng Dong, who was beside him, had the same reaction.

“Do you have more?” asked Xi Lua.

“I finished writing the one you’ve just read last night. Is the writing…good?”

“It’s not just good. With the story this enjoyable, you could win this year's new writer award,” said Meng Dong.

“Is it to that level?” asked Bai Zhe. He had never thought that people in this world would like ancient literature.

“Yes, that’s right. Meng Dong and I could not stop reading it until we finished it all. I can guarantee that it will be a bestseller. Only a stupid publisher would reject your novel,” said Xi Lua.

“Mr. Xi, do you know how to send this to a publisher? I don’t have any knowledge in this area,” the boy asked.

“I know someone. There will soon be an exhibition for the calligraphy painting that you made for me yesterday. Apart from having you here to do calligraphy for Meng Dong, I wanted to bring you an invitation to the exhibition. I will introduce you to the head of the editorial team of a famous publisher at the event,” said Xi Lua, handing Bai Zhe a simple, yet elegant, white gold-rimmed invitation card.

“Thank you, sir.” Bai Zhe bowed, accepting the card.

“No need. I am glad to do this. You showed me your intention of taking care of yourself and your parents. Remember. When you get the money, use it wisely. Be its master, not its servant,” Xi Lua said. His tone was not overly serious because he had been given a report about how Bai Zhe had spent the money he had withdrawn. He had deemed it to be appropriate, so he wanted to continue supporting the boy.

Ring, ring.

The bell at the front door of the shop rang. When the door opened, a young man who was an up-and-coming male model walked into the shop, his eyes searching for his grandfather.

“Grandpa!” exclaimed Xi Mo immediately when he saw his grandfather.

“Oh, Xiao Xi. You’re here,” said Meng Dong, opening his arms wide. Xi Mo gave him a hug, which the old man returned.

“Long time no see, Grandpa Meng,” said Xi Mo, loosening his embrace. He regarded Meng Dong as his own grandfather, the same way that Qing Qing also regarded Xi Lua as her own grandfather.

“Xiao Xi, are you free today?” Xi Lua came over to hug his grandson before noticing that Qi Fong, Xi Mo’s manager, was behind him and looking at his watch.

“I’m free for about 2 hours. First, I went to your company and your secretary said that you were running an errand at the Nightfall Antique Shop. Now, we have about 5 minutes left. I have work after this,” said Xi Mo.

“That’s all right. Knowing that you haven’t forgotten me makes me happy enough,” Xi Lua said.

“And who is this boy behind you?” asked Xi Mo.

“Oh, this is Bai Zhe. I made an appointment with him to do a calligraphy painting for Old Man Meng,” answered Xi Lua.

“Ahh, so this is Master Bai,” said Xi Mo. He bowed to the boy instantly. At first, he had thought Bai Zhe was just an ordinary boy. But after Xi Lua introduced Bai Zhe, he immediately paid his respects. The boy must be a talented calligrapher. If not, his grandfather would not have asked him to do calligraphy.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m younger than you,” said Bai Zhe.

“We respect people for their ability, not their seniority,” Xi Mo said.

“Then, do as you like.” Bai Zhe did not want to argue with him over this. He knew the model had less than 5 minutes to talk with Xi Lua.

After Xi Lua and Xi Mo spoke for a short while, Qi Fong said that it was time to go. Xi Mo and his manager said goodbye to Meng Dong, Xi Lua, and Bai Zhe before leaving the shop and getting into a car parked in front of it.

‘I was standing right here the whole time. Did Xi Mo not notice me?” Elder Fu could not help but feel slighted that he had been treated as nothing more than air.

“Bai Zhe…oh no, Master Bai, here is your cheque.” Meng Dong handed Bai Zhe a cheque with a figure on it that was equal to Xi Lua’s previous one.

Bai Zhe tried to object to Meng Dong calling him ‘master’, but his objection was not successful. He eventually let the man and Xi Lua call him Master Bai and accepted the cheque before excusing himself to continue writing his novel. For certain, he went to deposit the cheque at the bank on his way home. The female bank teller recognized him. She tried to have a conversation with Bai Zhe, but it seemed like he had no interest in her at all.

In Xi Mo and Qi Fong’s car

“It seems you’re more refreshed, right?” Qi Fong asked Xi Mo who was sitting in the backseat.

“Yes. It is strange, isn’t it? I think Master Bai’s calligraphy painting has some sort of power radiating from it. My tiredness completely disappeared even after just seeing the name of the painting. Didn’t you also notice that the grandfathers looked strangely energetic?” answered Xi Mo.

“Oh, I might have to ask to look at that picture next time,” said Qi Fong, thinking that Xi Mo was joking with him.

“I’m serious. I never thought Master Bai was this talented,” Xi Mo tried to affirm what he felt.

“It’s not like I don’t believe you. When I was in high school, I trained at a martial arts school. I wanted to protect myself from jerks at my school. My master taught me that we could use our minds to fight, like psychic powers. There are 3 of them: martial psychic power, deadly psychic power, and intention. From what you’ve said, I think maybe Master Bai is an expert using his intention. Anyway, I do not really believe in such things,” said Qi Fong.

“Intention? What is that?” asked Xi Mo.

“It is a psychic power which contains our focus and intent, and it can be sealed in objects or letters. For example, when you touch an antique and get goosebumps, that is called intention. You could say that it’s a strong psychic power that will not deteriorate and people in general can feel it,” answered Qi Fong.

“Wow, even though he is younger than me, he’s already achieved this level of success. If he gets famous, he will be much more successful than me in the blink of an eye,” said Xi Mo.

“Nothing is certain. Maybe you two will work together in the near future,” said Qi Fong.

The Bai family’s apartment

Bai Zhe came back to find his apartment empty. His parents were still at work, so he must use this time as profitably as he could.

He first prepared dinner for his mother and father before continuing to practice his qi. His practice was different from yesterday, as this time, he used qi characters to help him gather the qi power in the room and purify it so he could absorb it directly into his Dantian.

The next day

Bai Zhe went to school as usual. However, after he got home, he put down his bag and went to take a shower. He dressed in a shirt and covered it with a suit jacket and paired it with slacks and leather shoes.

It was clear that everything belonged to his father, and he had asked to borrow them all last night. At first, his dad was worried about the size, but the boy assured him that he had a way to fix that, so his father gave them up to him, thinking Bai Zhe would alter the clothes by himself.

Bai Zhe used qi characters to make the clothes and the shoes fit him. He even revitalized them, so they looked new before leaving his apartment. Then, he took a taxi to go to the calligraphy painting exhibition location which was stated on the card.

A hotel under the LSA company

In a large reception room, two calligraphy paintings, each covered with white cloth, had been placed in the middle of the stage because they were the highlight of this event.

Xi Lua's collected calligraphy paintings were placed around the hall. The food was being served on a dining table in the middle of the room.

“Good evening, Mr. Qian,” Xi Lua, who was the host, rushed to welcome Mr. Qian or Qian Mo. He was the president of the National Writers’ Association, which was the reason why Xi Lua treated him with a rather large amount of respect.

“Xi Lua, this event is decorated very well. It’s Meng Dong’s work, isn’t it?” Qian Mo said.

“I’m beyond flattered, sir,” said Meng Dong.

“Well, why are there two paintings on the stage? Is there not just one?” asked Qian Mo.

“I just got another one yesterday, sir. So, I wanted to show it to everyone,” answered Meng Dong.

“Oh, I do not regret coming here at all. Hmm, which master is the artist? Is it someone I know?” asked Qian Mo.

“He’s a new artist. He’ll arrive soon,” answered Xi Lua.

“He’s coming? Great. Will he show off his skills today?” Qian Mo asked.

“We probably have to ask him. He’s young, and this is his first official event. If he does anything inappropriate, I must apologize on his behalf,” said Xi Lua.

“All right. Well, I have to go. I need to have a chat with Xiao Yi about his latest novel,” said Qian Mo before he walked off.

As Qian Mo was leaving, Xi Lua saw a man sitting alone with his head in his hands, pouring liquor into a cup and sipping it little by little. He was a stark contrast to others at the table who were in groups conversing about the paintings. Of course, Xi Lua knew him very well. He was Chen Feng, a highly successful television series producer. He had produced many successful television series. He basically turned any series he touched into a surefire hit.

“Chen Feng? Why such a long face?”