Miao Youxiu chuckled and said, "Though the Miao family isn't wealthy, we do own several dozen manors across Great Lang, and more than ten mountain strongholds among famous peaks. This amount of money is nothing."
"Forget it. You risked your life to get those notes. They're yours now."
Sun Yanwan was shocked. "Master, our family's this rich?"
Miao replied lazily, "As long as you're strong, money comes easily. Why be surprised?"
Sun couldn't help but feel that the martial world here was completely different from the wuxia novels he'd read in his past life. He didn't ask further. Instead, he began counting the notes. Altogether, there were 586 flying cash notes, each worth twenty guan—over ten thousand guan in total. Back on Earth, that would count as a fortune.
In the Great Lang dynasty, one guan in copper coins could buy what five or six hundred yuan could on Earth. This was serious wealth.
After receiving such a windfall, Sun Yanwan didn't even care about the five money pouches anymore. He dumped them out—just loose silver, copper, and iron coins. Only the bearded man's pouch contained five silver ingots and a dozen flying cash notes.
He wrapped all the cash back in the bundle, discarded the pouches, and kept only the real money. His heart thumped wildly. "Never thought transmigrating would come with a golden opportunity like this. No more worrying about food."
But after the excitement faded, hunger hit him. He hadn't eaten anything since morning—left the city in a rush with Miao, hadn't even had time to grab a bite.
Just then, a hot flatbread flew into his hands. Delighted, he called out, "Master, you brought food?"
Miao Youxiu had tossed it over. "No matter how rich you are, money won't feed you in the wilderness."
"Remember this: always carry some rations when you're out in the world."
Sun nodded like a good student, biting into the flatbread. "Yes, Master. I've learned."
After eating, he patted off the dust and practiced several rounds of the Hunyuan Stances. In a world where strength ruled, he wasn't going to waste the opportunity to train.
Miao noticed his diligence and gave him a rare look of approval. "My martial skills are all passed down through the family. I wasn't planning to take on a real disciple—just let him use my name. It's not convenient to drag a kid across the jianghu."
"I was going to pass on the Hunyuan Stances and Demon-Slaying Sword, then part ways. But he saved my life, has talent, and works hard. Maybe I should give him more."
"I heard that Zhang Yuanqiao of the Songyang Sect had a falling out with his senior brother and wants to start a new sect. He's a real master—and needs a good disciple. If I place Yanwan under his wing, wouldn't that be perfect?"
That night, both had their own thoughts. Miao planned to find Sun a better future. Sun, on the other hand, was giddy with wealth but also anxious. He tossed and turned until dawn.
At daybreak, he jumped up to serve his master—but in the wilderness and a ruined temple, there was no clean water, no breakfast stalls. In the end, he just gathered dry grass for his master to sit on.
Miao meditated for half an hour before telling Sun to pack up. They set off again, still heading south.
By noon, Sun was exhausted. Then, in the distance—civilization! A town!
Joyfully, he followed Miao into the town. They found a noodle shop, wolfed down two big bowls, then checked into an inn.
Miao, still not fully recovered, stayed inside to rest and heal.
Sun wandered out, bought some dried rations and sewing supplies. Though not a tailor, he made a vest—just basic needlework. Inside it, he sewed dozens of hidden pockets and stashed all the flying cash inside. Then he layered it under his outerwear. Safer, less obvious. Much better for traveling.
With money in his vest and a bit of martial skill, he was in a far better position than when he first arrived.
"At least I'm not just some random transmigrator anymore," he thought. "Things are looking up. But Master always seems in a rush—like he won't be taking me around forever."
They stayed in the town a few days, then moved on.
Miao never lingered in one place. He traveled like a wandering swordsman, resting in towns, occasionally visiting friends—but never let Sun come along.
Apart from healing, he spent most of his time teaching. After completing the Hunyuan Thirty-Six Stances, Miao began instructing him in the Hu clan's Seventy-Two Demon-Slaying Sword Forms.
The techniques were complex and powerful. When performed, the blade moved like a sweeping storm. Even with Miao's guidance, Sun took over two months to become proficient.
He got used to the lifestyle—traveling, training, reading books when they passed through cities, learning the customs and history of this new world.
One day, while practicing Hunyuan Stances, he suddenly broke through. Internal energy surged and cleared a meridian in his leg. His steps became lighter. Without any instruction, he'd grasped the basics of lightness skill.
Combining lightness with swordplay, his techniques multiplied. The Demon-Slaying Sword Forms became sharper, faster, and deadlier.
When he completed the entire set in one flawless sequence, he felt the flow—fluid, smooth, effortless.
He sheathed his sword, beaming. "Too bad I don't have someone to test this on. Would be nice to know how strong I've actually become. But if I lose, I might die. So... maybe not yet."