Chapter 41: Practicing Fists
The night was deep, and the Supervisor's office was quiet. Song Changjing returned alone, while the young Song Jixin had already gone to the Dog's Nest-like Mud Vase Alley. The man did not force the issue. As a seasoned general who had commanded troops for years, he could still snore loudly amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood. So his adopted nephew, who had been left to fend for himself over the years, had lived a life far removed from the dignity befitting a member of the imperial family. Song Changjing didn't think he owed the boy anything. Being able to return alive to the Great Li capital was already good enough.
The elderly steward of the office had been waiting at the gate, holding a lantern.
Song Changjing was the first to step over the threshold of the side door, which was only half-open, and strode forward, saying, "No need to guide me."
The elderly steward nodded silently, slowed his pace, and then quietly slipped away.
This office building on Fortune Dew Street was not built lavishly, far smaller in area than the residences of the Lu and Li families. The previous incumbent, a genuine Supervisor of Kiln Affairs, lived a frugal and tight existence, and the wealthy households of the town saw nothing wrong with it.
But Song Changjing was different. The younger blood brother of the current Great Li Emperor, he had accomplished the unparalleled feat of expanding the empire's territory and was also a top-tier martial arts grandmaster in Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent.
His arrival was like a river-dragon barging into a small lake. Even if the local powers were not exactly afraid, when facing someone like Song Changjing, everyone would put on the proper respectful demeanor.
As Song Changjing passed by a small courtyard, he saw someone still studying by lamplight inside a room, sitting upright, even when alone, meticulous in every way.
Truly a gentleman of integrity.
Song Changjing's wide sleeves billowed as he walked quickly past, a hint of sarcastic smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
Years ago, a young man had studied at Observation Lake Academy. His calligraphy reached divine realms and stirred the court and countryside. The Southern Wei ruler summoned him into the imperial palace, where he drafted edicts in a side hall. It was the height of winter with heavy snow, and the brush froze and could not write. The emperor ordered over a dozen palace women to attend him, warming his brush with their breath.
This incident quickly spread across Eastern Treasure Bottle Continent, celebrated as a fine story.
But no one pondered how, with the imperial palace’s strict security, could the common folk know such details unless the emperor, eunuchs, or concubines spoke of them?
Walking along the deep, secluded path, Song Changjing suddenly burst into hearty laughter.
—
Dressed in plain, clean clothes, Song Jixin returned to Mud Vase Alley. The courtyard gate was unlocked. After pushing open the house door, he saw the maidservant Zhigui sitting on a chair in the main hall, half-closed eyes, head nodding as she dozed off. When her head tilted to a certain angle, she would immediately sit upright, then start tilting again.
It seemed the girl was truly exhausted. Song Jixin bent down, gently shook her shoulder, and said softly, "Zhigui, Zhigui, wake up. Hurry and go sleep in your own room, or you’ll catch cold."
Rubbing her sleepy eyes, the girl mumbled, "Master, why are you back so late?"
Song Jixin smiled. "I went to the gallery bridge area. The journey was a bit far, so I’m late."
Zhigui noticed his unfamiliar formal attire and exclaimed in surprise, "Huh? Master, why did you change clothes?"
Unwilling to dwell on the topic, Song Jixin said, "Let's not talk about that. How is your reading and writing coming along with that local county gazetteer I lent you? Want me to teach you?"
The girl shook her head. "No need."
Song Jixin went back to his own room, pitch dark. He took off his outer robe, kicked off his boots, fumbled his way onto the bed, and muttered to himself, "Wang Zhu, Wang Zhu, so that’s how it is."
Zhigui returned to her room, extinguished the lamp, and climbed into bed. She curled up under the covers, making faint sounds as if sneaking food, chewing on something.
In the end, she even let out a small burp.
—
At the sword-forging workshop, Liu Xianyang had not yet officially become Master Ruan’s apprentice, but everyone could see that Master Ruan highly valued this tall youth. Otherwise, he wouldn't have personally taught him how to forge sword blanks. That row of forging chambers was no longer accessible to just anyone now.
During the midday break, a young man who had originally been a kiln worker ran up to Liu Xianyang and said someone was looking for him. He winked, a playful expression on his face, saying it was a beautiful woman, even more beautiful than the ladies of Fortune Dew Street, seeking Liu Xianyang.
With a roguish grin, Liu Xianyang followed him, but his heart suddenly grew heavy.
Sure enough, beside a well stood a tall, graceful woman. All around, sturdy men carrying soil and digging the well worked with extra vigor.
As Song Jixin had disdainfully remarked, Liu Xianyang was indeed a country bumpkin. But whether a woman was beautiful or not had nothing to do with being educated or literate. Perhaps the tall youth didn’t know that the vague term "beautiful" actually encompassed something called "charm," especially the kind that was dignified and inwardly alluring—this kind stirred the soul most deeply.
The character "mei" (charm), when broken down, originally meant a woman who paints her eyebrows.
The woman before him, whose name and background were unknown, had eyebrows as delicate as the antennae of a silkworm moth, a forehead broad and square like a cicada’s, smooth and full.
Today she had come alone, without the air of demanding an explanation or throwing her weight around. Liu Xianyang breathed a slight sigh of relief.
However, he didn’t deny that this elegant, noble lady had a face that was truly beautiful. In the past, he might even have whistled if he met her on the street. But that didn’t mean his heart was moved. The girl Liu Xianyang had his eyes set on was, before, the maidservant of Mud Vase Alley, and now it was the same, and always would be.
Liu Xianyang led the beautiful woman toward a small stream and said firmly, "Madam, if you’re here to persuade me to sell you that heirloom, I advise you not to even bring it up."
The woman smiled charmingly. "Don’t refuse so quickly. Let me explain the pros and cons clearly, and then you can make your decision."
The tall youth kept his expression unchanged, feigning ease, but his heart sank like a stone to the bottom of a valley.
—
In the distance, a young girl sat on the threshold of a forging chamber, holding a bowl of rice. The white rice was piled high into a little peak, towering above the edge of the large white bowl. She was wolfing it down. After eating the "peak," she saw with satisfaction the braised pork she had hidden underneath, her whole face glowing with happiness. She secretly turned around, back to the man sitting at the other end of the threshold, who was eating slowly and carefully. She asked, "Dad, aren’t you going to do something about that out-of-town woman?"
The man grunted, "No."
The girl in blue said worriedly, "He’s going to be your first disciple here. Aren’t you afraid he’ll go astray?"
The man said indifferently, "Then that boy has no fortune."
The girl asked in confusion, "Dad, won’t you feel regret?"
For example, she herself—when she saw delicious, delicate pastries in the shop and had no money, that was one thing; but if she had money, bought them, then accidentally dropped them on the ground, she’d rightly deserve to be struck by lightning.
The man answered irrelevantly, "Is the braised pork good?"
The girl instinctively nodded happily, "Good! Good!"
Suddenly, her body tensed. Her dad had decreed that she could only have one meat dish a day. So she had pretended to scoop just a bowl of plain rice, hiding the braised pork underneath, all so she could openly eat one meat dish in the evening.
The girl turned around awkwardly, raised the white bowl high, and said with justification, "Only one piece, you know! I didn’t break the rules!"
The man laughed dryly and asked, "Then that piece of pork hidden at the bottom of the bowl—if you can’t eat it, won’t you feel regret?"
The girl’s mouth fell slightly open. She looked as if struck by lightning, her heart like dead ashes.
The man rubbed salt into his daughter’s wound. "If you hadn’t butted in about Liu Xianyang, I would have turned a blind eye."
The girl said nothing, eating the braised pork in small bites. Anyone could tell she would definitely be thrifty in the future.
After finishing his meal, the man looked toward the woman and the youth by the stream and said, "As long as this boy doesn’t step into the Middle Five Realms, I won’t bother with whether he lives or dies. Even if he does enter the Middle Five Realms, I’ll step in once or twice, but not more than that. Three strikes, you know. Misfortune and fortune have no doors; only people invite them in."
The girl said sulkily, "Why don’t you care?!"
The man said irritably, "When a scholar takes on a student, or a martial artist takes on a disciple, it’s not like a gang recruiting thugs, thinking that if a quarrel arises later, you can rely on numbers to argue or fight. In the end, in my eyes, whether teacher-student or master-disciple, they are fellow travelers on the same path. Besides, Liu Xianyang isn’t my disciple yet."
The girl said nothing.
The man sighed. "Silly girl, do you know how many people there are just in this secluded Great Li dynasty? Over twenty million households! So many people in the world, so many worries—can you manage them all? Over the next sixty years, I will take over the town from Qi Jingchun. Don’t just wander around all day. Stay here at the sword furnace, forge swords and practice swordsmanship. Otherwise, if you get into trouble, should I care or not?"
Before the man could finish, the girl blurted out, "You don’t need to care."
This sentence nearly gave the man internal injuries; its power was no weaker than a certain sword immortal’s ultimate move.
The man really wanted to knock some sense into this silly girl’s thick skull. "If you’re in trouble, could your father possibly not care?"
The man felt a little melancholic.
The girl’s face showed "shock." "Oh! How did an extra piece of braised pork appear at the bottom of the bowl? Ah, I’ve already used up my portion for today. Want me to give it to you? Dad?"
Without even turning his head, the man could sense his silly daughter’s poor acting. Helpless, he said, "Forget it. Eat it yourself. I’ll count it as if you only ate one piece of braised pork today. Remember, don’t slack off when you work the forge this afternoon."
This time, the girl’s gratitude was utterly genuine. "Dad, you’re so kind!"
The man laughed mirthlessly. "It’s the braised pork that’s kind, you mean."
The girl lowered her head, took a mouthful of rice, and murmured, "Dad’s kind too."
The man kept a straight face, barely holding back a smile. After thinking for a moment, he concluded: Having a daughter really is good.
Suddenly, a voice reached his ears. "Dad, can I have another piece tonight? Two and three aren’t that different, right? Dad, if you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a yes?"
The girl sped away with lightning speed.
The last sentence came after she was already far off.
The man rubbed his cheeks and muttered to himself, "My Xiuxiu lives by the motto: food is heaven."
—
Chen Ping'an finished delivering letters, winding through streets and alleys. He bought a morning snack and took it to Miss Ning at Mud Vase Alley, then began to decoct the medicinal herbs, familiar with the routine.
Ning Yao was wearing a brand-new ink-green robe today, neat and crisp. She was naturally vigorous and spirited, and this outfit, along with the long saber at her waist, made her seem even more aristocratic than the young masters from Fortune Dew Street and Peach Leaf Alley.
Ning Yao hesitated for a moment, then said, "For now, if you truly want to study that 'Mountain-Shaking Manual,' before learning the fist forms, you need to do three things: standing post, walking post, and sleeping post. The last one involves some subtlety with acupoint accumulation and qi circulation that’s hard to describe in words, so let’s set that aside. Anyway, the first two don’t require much consideration of talent or bone structure. If you honestly follow the postures drawn in the manual and persist over time, it will eventually be useful. Even if it can’t help you enter the door of martial arts, it’s not impossible to strengthen your body and prolong your life."
Chen Ping'an voiced an idea of his own. "Would practicing walking post in the stream also work?"
Ning Yao nodded. "Of course. Start with water up to your knees, then up to your waist, and finally up to your neck."
Following her train of thought, Chen Ping'an asked, "In the end, wouldn’t I be completely submerged?"
Ning Yao sneered, "What, you want to practice holding your breath at the bottom of the water and turn into a thousand-year-old turtle or a ten-thousand-year-old tortoise?"
Chen Ping'an fell silent, looking a bit deflated.
Ning Yao thought for a moment. "Come, I’ll demonstrate walking post for you. Watch carefully!"
Ning Yao had Chen Ping'an move the table aside. Then she took six steps forward: three small and three large. On the last step, as she stomped heavily down, the earthen floor of the entire house seemed to emit a dull tremor.
The girl executed it in one smooth motion.
It seemed effortless, but it was fluid and natural, giving the straw-sandal boy an indescribable feeling.
Like a waterfall plunging straight down, perfectly natural, yet containing immense force. Or like a leaf spinning in a stream, perfectly circular, soft and gentle to the extreme.
Everything was correct, but Chen Ping'an only knew the "what," not the "why."
Seeing the boy’s bewildered expression, Ning Yao retreated to her original position and demonstrated again.
She stopped, turned her head, and asked, "Did you understand? Try it?"
Chen Ping'an took a deep breath and attempted it.
He wobbled like a drunken sot.
Standing in place, Chen Ping'an scratched his head. Obviously, even he felt it was far from acceptable.
Ning Yao’s face darkened. She said in a low voice, "Again!"
After three tries, Chen Ping'an had improved slightly, but Ning Yao’s face was as gloomy as if a storm were about to break.
She couldn’t imagine how there could be such an idiot in the world as Chen Ping'an. So little comprehension in martial arts, such terrible innate talent!
No way around it.
Ning Yao was someone who had stood at the very peak of the sword path since childhood. Her birth, bone structure, talent, and vision were all like that.
So the girl simply couldn’t understand how those people at the foot of the mountain, a hundred thousand miles away from her, climbed step by step, nor could she grasp why they stumbled so clumsily.
In the end, at her wit’s end, afraid she might lose control and draw her blade, she had a brainwave. Patting the straw-sandal boy on the shoulder, she forced herself to console him. "Chen Ping'an, reading a hundred times reveals the meaning; it’s the same for martial arts. If you practice a fist ten thousand times and it doesn’t have the feel, then do it a hundred thousand, a million times! Go pick your stones. The slow bird must fly early. Don’t lose heart. Take it slow. Practice this walking post in the stream over and over."
Chen Ping'an thought: That really makes sense.
He once heard Song Jixin say something similar to Miss Ning’s "reading a hundred times reveals the meaning": "After reading ten thousand books, writing flows like a spirit."
But what the boy found even more sensible was Miss Ning’s suggestion: if tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands weren’t enough, then practice it a million times.
Chen Ping'an smiled and ran out of Mud Vase Alley, muttering "three small, three large" under his breath along the way, imitating Ning Yao’s gait from memory.
The straw-sandal boy told himself the "truth" in his heart: after practicing a million times, perhaps he would start to get the fist technique down.
So the starting point for practicing fists according to this "Mountain-Shaking Manual" was a million repetitions. Only after that would Chen Ping'an be qualified to talk about anything else.
Ning Yao sat alone on the threshold, muttering to herself, "Why do I feel like I just dug a huge pit? I wonder if that guy can climb out?"