Chapter 295 — Can I Make a Water Scroll?
After finding the exit of the chamber, Aike realized he was standing at the tip of a tower — he was right at the tower’s apex.
Standing by the window, Aike looked into the distance.
The tower was over four hundred meters tall.
“Phew. Be careful — I should be able to get back.” Aike pumped himself up.
With the Power of Ideals, even if this was an advanced secret realm, he was confident he could leave alive.
…
The villa was destroyed, but Lu Li didn’t grieve for the building itself; what pained him was the supplies that had been inside.
Fortunately he had prepared a storage ring in advance and placed most of his belongings inside it — otherwise this loss would have been catastrophic.
Believing that letting go of the old makes room for the new, Lu Li decided to rebuild the villa and expand it into an estate.
He asked Qu Tongtong to recruit the top construction firm in the southern region.
Lu Li planned to upgrade the villa into an estate. Yao Yifei supported the idea, and Wei didn’t object — she was wholly focused on training. Her only request was that the new estate have a better training ground.
The female manager, wearing black-rimmed glasses, said respectfully, “Young Master Lu Li, there’s something we should tell you in advance.”
Lu Li nodded, inviting her to speak.
“Although our company can build ecological training grounds, they’re expensive to construct and costly to maintain. Are you sure you want an ecological training ground?” the manager repeated.
“Money isn’t an issue.” Lu Li nodded.
He wasn’t short of money now. If he ever was, he could arrange funds with Qu Tongtong by trading secret treasures or Pokémon eggs.
“One ecological training ground costs around 20 million. Eight would be about 160 million, and annual maintenance would run into the millions,” the manager explained.
“That’s acceptable.” Lu Li wasn’t deterred by the large sum; he’d already researched this when deciding to build the ecological training ground.
The manager continued, “If you insist on eight ecological training grounds, we suggest building a small ecological park instead.”
“A small ecological park costs about the same as eight individual ecological training grounds, but if you combine the two, the total construction cost is around 200 million, and the annual maintenance cost would be similar.”
“Then do the ecological park.” Lu Li agreed.
With the estate construction plan settled, Lu Li fully threw himself into the Pokémon training program.
Over the next few days he didn’t assign himself other tasks; he focused on building coordination with his Charizard and the others and on assessing their growth.
A week passed in the blink of an eye. Although the ecological training grounds weren’t finished, the villa was habitable again.
To celebrate moving into the newly rebuilt home, Lu Li cooked a lavish dinner that night.
If this were before, Wei would have eaten like a champion, but after the recent attack she’d been distracted and singularly focused on getting stronger. Even Lu Li’s cooking didn’t fully capture her attention.
That attack made Wei painfully aware of how weak she was, and she had intensified her training accordingly.
But effort alone can’t always outmatch natural talent.
Although the Bear Disciple would be a Legendary after evolution, its pre-evolution form wasn’t especially remarkable — its base stats were only about 385.
That night, Wei finally knocked on Lu Li’s bedroom door. Lu Li, fresh from studying, opened it curiously. A girl knocking on a young man’s door late at night made his mind wander to improper thoughts for a moment — though to be clear, Wei wasn’t his type.
Wei had a well-built, athletic figure with a masculine edge; Lu Li had little interest. He wasn’t even close to pursuing Yao Yifei, let alone Wei.
“Come in.” Lu Li stepped aside.
Wei entered without a word. She clutched her fists nervously, then asked carefully, “You said my Bear Disciple’s evolved form is a Legendary, right?”
Relieved that she wasn’t there for flirtation, Lu Li explained, “More precisely, its evolved form is a Legendary.”
Wei looked puzzled.
Lu Li asked, “Have you ever heard the story of the Diamond Princess?”
Wei nodded. Even as a tomboy, she knew the legend of the Diamond Kingdom’s princess — who didn’t have a childhood princess fantasy?
Lu Li explained, “Diancie, known as the Diamond Princess, is a Legendary, but it’s actually a mutation of Carbink.”
“What?” Wei exclaimed.
If the secret that Diancie was a mutated Carbink got out, it would cause a shock in academic circles.
After the initial surprise, Wei understood. “You mean my Bear Disciple is like Carbink?”
Lu Li shook his head. “No. Diancie is a mutation of Carbink, but the Martial-Bear Master (Wu Dao Xiong Shi) is not a mutation of your Bear Disciple — it’s an evolved form.”
Wei breathed easier — evolution is easier to accept than mutation.
“How does the Bear Disciple evolve?” Wei asked excitedly.
“Have you heard of the martial arts of the Jiuzhou region?” Lu Li answered without directly replying.
“The Jiuzhou martial arts? I’ve heard rumors but never seen them,” Wei said, shaking her head. As a Fighting-type trainer, she’d heard of Jiuzhou martial arts; the lineage is kept in teacher-student succession, much like secret techniques in big families.
Everyone knows martial arts greatly enhance Fighting-type trainers, but 99.999% of Fighting trainers never consider improving a Pokémon’s power through martial arts. The secrecy surrounding the martial arts is as strict as noble families guarding secret skills.
Lu Li didn’t hold back his guess: “I think the Bear Disciple must study martial arts and achieve mastery. At minimum, it needs to reach the level of a Grandmaster (one-generation master).”
“Martial arts… Martial-Bear Master…” Wei pondered Lu Li’s words.
Lu Li let her think silently.
In the anime and games, the Bear Disciple’s evolution requirements are to learn the Water Scroll or Dark Scroll martial arts styles. But in the real world, that may not exist — Lu Li hadn’t heard any reports of a Martial-Bear Master, not even from Eguipeng. So perhaps the world has never produced a Martial-Bear Master. Maybe the Water Scroll and Dark Scroll don’t exist here at all.
However, based on anime speculation, the appearance of a Martial-Bear Master would be linked to the true meaning of martial arts; the first Martial-Bear Master to emerge might even hold a portion of martial authority.
Frankly, Lu Li wanted a Bear Disciple too.
He comforted Wei: “Don’t be anxious. I’ve started searching for martial arts lineage in the Jiuzhou region.”
Wei acknowledged she was being irrational; thinking of Baobao being snatched in front of her made it hard to calm down.
Speaking of martial arts, Lu Li suddenly remembered something.
Before he transmigrated, he had learned a bit of performance-style boxing. Since cultivating, his memory had improved, and he could recall his old boxing training quite clearly.
A lightbulb flashed in his mind.
Maybe there was something worth trying.
He jumped up. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll go into seclusion to work on it. Don’t worry about the Bear Disciple — I might figure out a way soon.”
In the basement, he eagerly took out A4 paper and began drawing.
“Baji Quan ≈ one-strike style.
Wing Chun ≈ combo/chain-strike style.”
If he could master both boxing styles to the level of a Grandmaster and paint the essence of those martial arts into a scroll, could the Bear Disciple evolve by absorbing that scroll?
As for infusing it with rule power — that wasn’t hard. Eguipeng, the Thousand-Faced God, could temporarily channel rule power and help fuse it into a painting. Just like the last time he made the well mask, Eguipeng had crystallized water-rule power and integrated water’s rules into the mask.
Now the tricky part might be obtaining a rule crystal.
This was only a trial; success wasn’t certain.
Lu Li wasn’t worried about encoding martial essence into an image. As a master-level performer (xiān líng), he could act the part of a boxing grandmaster and imbue the painting with the form and intent of the martial art.
The Dark Scroll (representing one-strike style) wouldn’t work — he didn’t have a dark crystal. But the Water Scroll, representing combo attacks, was different: Eguipeng had left some leftover water crystal from the last time. If Eguipeng would come help, this might work.
If it succeeded, he would personally create a new deity — arguably pushing events forward, but so what?
Lu Li wanted to call Eguipeng immediately, but such things required careful confirmation. Eguipeng was busy; he didn’t want to waste his goodwill. Lowering a god’s favor was not something to do lightly.
He first needed to verify his primary hypothesis: could he convincingly act as a martial-master and embed the essence of martial arts into a painting?
A performer’s necessary tool is a divine-aspect mask (shén gé miàn jù). He also needed to collect the spiritual energy people release when they worship a deity and seal it into the mask.
When necessary, he’d perform — until others believed, until he believed — to become a god through performance and presence.
That’s a performer’s craft. Lu Li, however, would play a cultivator-turned-martial master — an above-down performance that didn’t require the masses’ faith.
Making a divine-aspect mask is difficult. Before meeting Eguipeng it had been a hefty task. But with Eguipeng — the Thousand-Faced God who presides over masks — the process became almost trivial.
If he couldn’t make a mask that could be personified under those conditions, he might as well hang himself from a crooked tree.
Materials were simple — common wood sufficed — but the difficulty lay in the pigments.
Luckily, when he made the well mask last time he had many pigments left, enough for making a divine-aspect mask.
After calling Iron Dumbbell to guard the door, Lu Li set to work on the mask.
Art needs uninterrupted focus; inspiration can be ruined by sudden disturbances. He worked for six hours straight. At 4 a.m. he finished the divine-aspect mask.
The mask, representing a Wing Chun master, was ready. Next came testing whether he could enter the role.
“I am Wing Chun — Yip Man!”
“I’ll take on ten opponents!”
He knew the only real famous Wing Chun representative he could imitate was Yip Man, so he acted the role.
Entering the state, Lu Li seized a fleeting inspiration and began rapidly sketching intricate Wing Chun techniques on Xuan paper.
But as he drew, he realized something was off.
After finishing, he surveyed the paper with satisfaction — then frowned.
These weren’t Wing Chun diagrams. Instead, the moves were a boxing system he’d never seen in three-dimensional reality; he’d only encountered something like it in anime. He certainly wouldn’t be able to perform it.
“How did Wing Chun turn into Flowing Rock Shattering Fist?” Lu Li wondered.
He was certain he’d portrayed Yip Man. The depiction had the look, spirit, and intent, but it lacked the circulation of rule-power.
For that, he needed Eguipeng’s help.
Infusing rules into a painting means linking rule-power to the artwork so it becomes part of the world’s rules. Eguipeng’s water-well mask had been made that way; when it became part of the world’s rules, it also integrated into Eguipeng himself.
Since Eguipeng had just left not long ago, Lu Li didn’t have the heart to call him back immediately.
He checked the time — it was still before dawn — and began studying the Meltan specimens.
Their caps were becoming shinier, glowing silver under the light.
Most importantly, the Meltan showed faint traces of life-origin energy, meaning a godling was forming.
Unfortunately, these Meltan lacked the aura of authority and rules — they were divine beasts in formation but not true deities.
(End of chapter)
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