Practicing Fists

Night had deepened. Song Changjing returned alone to the Supervising Official's office. The young Song Jixin had already gone back to Mud Bottle Alley, that dog kennel of a place. Song Changjing did not force the matter. As a battlefield general who had commanded troops for years, he could still snore away amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. So his nephew, left to fend for himself, had not lived in a manner befitting imperial nobility these past years. Song Changjing did not feel he had wronged the boy. It was good enough that he had made it back alive to the Great Li Capital City.

The aged steward of the office had been waiting by the entrance, a lantern in hand.

Song Changjing stepped over the threshold of the single open side gate first and strode forward. "No need to lead the way."

The old steward silently nodded, slowed his pace, then quietly departed.

This office on Fulu Street had not been built extravagantly. Its grounds were far smaller than the residences of the Lu and Li families. The previous Kiln Affairs Supervisor, a genuine one, had lived a frugal and straitened life, and the town's wealthy households had found nothing improper about it.

But Song Changjing was different. He was the younger brother, born of the same mother, of the current Great Li Emperor. He had rendered world-shaking merit in expanding the realm's borders, and he was also one of the foremost Martial Dao grandmasters on East Treasure Bottle Continent.

His arrival was like a Dragon Crossing the River crashing into a small lake. The local snakes and rats might not have been truly terrified, but before a man like Song Changjing, everyone would assume the proper posture of respect.

As Song Changjing passed a small courtyard, he saw someone still studying by lamplight inside. The man sat upright, meticulous even in solitude.

Worthy indeed of a righteous gentleman.

Song Changjing's great sleeves fluttered as he strode past, a mocking smile curling at his lips.

In years past, a Young Man had studied at Guanhu Academy. His calligraphy was divine, and his fame shook court and country. The country's ruler of Southern Wei summoned him into the imperial palace to draft edicts in a side hall. It was the depths of winter, with heavy snow falling, and his brush had frozen stiff, unable to write. The emperor ordered more than ten palace consorts to attend him at either side, breathing warm air upon his brush.

The tale swiftly swept through East Treasure Bottle Continent and became celebrated as a fine story.

Yet no one considered carefully just how tightly guarded the imperial city and palace precincts were. If the emperor did not speak of it, the eunuchs did not speak of it, and the consorts did not speak of it, how had the common people learned of it?

Walking down the shadowy path, Song Changjing suddenly burst into hearty laughter.

Song Jixin, dressed in immaculate pale robes, returned to Mud Bottle Alley. The courtyard gate was unlocked. After pushing open the door, he saw the maidservant Zhi Gui sitting in a chair in the Main hall, her eyes half-closed and her head tilted as she dozed. Whenever her head drooped too far, she immediately straightened up, only to begin leaning sideways again.

The girl truly seemed exhausted. Song Jixin bent down, gently shook her shoulder, and said softly, "Zhi Gui, Zhi Gui, wake up. Hurry back to your own room and sleep. Don't catch a chill."

The bleary-eyed girl rubbed her eyes and mumbled, "Young Master, why are you back so late?"

Song Jixin smiled. "I went to the Covered Bridge. It was a little far, so I came back late."

Zhi Gui noticed the unfamiliar ceremonial robes Song Jixin wore and asked in surprise, "Eh? Why did Young Master change clothes?"

Song Jixin did not wish to dwell on the subject. "Never mind that. After I lent you that local County Annals, how has your reading and writing been? Do you want me to teach you?"

The girl shook her head. "No need."

Song Jixin returned to his own room. It was pitch-black. He took off his outer robe, kicked away his boots, felt his way onto the bed, and murmured, "Wang Zhu, Wang Zhu... so that was it."

Zhi Gui returned to her own room, extinguished the lamp, and went to sleep. Curled up beneath the blankets, she made faint rustling sounds, as though she were secretly eating something, chewing away at whatever was in her mouth.

In the end, she even let out a full belch.

At the sword-forging workshop, Liu Xianyang had not yet formally become Master Ruan's disciple, but everyone could see that Master Ruan thought highly of the tall youth. Otherwise, he would not have personally taught him hand over hand how to hammer out sword billets. Those rows of sword-forging rooms were no longer places just anyone could enter.

During the noon break, a Young Man who had once worked as a Potter came running up to Liu Xianyang and said someone was looking for him. He waggled his brows with a teasing expression and said it was a beautiful married woman, even prettier than the ladies of Fulu Street, who had come seeking Liu Xianyang.

Liu Xianyang followed him with a grin, though his heart suddenly grew heavy.

Sure enough, beside a well stood a tall, slender woman. Around her, many sturdy young men digging the well and carrying earth worked with extraordinary vigor.

Just as Little Master Song Jixin had scornfully said, Liu Xianyang truly was a country bumpkin. But whether a woman was beautiful had nothing whatsoever to do with whether one had read books or knew how to read. Perhaps the tall youth did not know that within that broad and vague notion of beauty, there was one kind called charm—especially the kind that was dignified on the outside yet alluring within, enough to stir one's very soul.

If one broke down the character for "charm," it originally meant a woman painting her eyebrows.

The brows of this lady, whose name and origins he did not know, were delicate as the feelers of a silkworm moth. Her forehead was like a cicada's—broad and square, smooth and full.

She had come here alone today, without the bearing of someone seeking to demand an accounting, nor did she seem intent on bullying others with her power. Liu Xianyang relaxed slightly.

Still, however beautiful this elegant and noble lady's face might be, Liu Xianyang did not deny that in the past, if he had encountered her on the street, he might even have whistled a few times. But that did not mean Liu Xianyang would be moved. The girl the tall youth loved had been the maidservant from Mud Bottle Alley before, was still her now, and would remain her in the future.

Liu Xianyang led the beautiful woman toward the stream and said firmly, "Madam, if you intend to persuade me to sell that family heirloom to you, then I advise you not to say it."

The woman smiled radiantly. "Don't refuse so quickly. Let me explain the stakes to you first, then you can make your decision."

The tall youth's expression did not change. He put on an easy manner, but his heart had already plunged straight into an abyss.

In the distance, the green-clothed girl squatted on the threshold of a sword-forging room, holding a bowl of rice. The white rice was piled into the sharp peak of a mountain, rising high above the rim of the large bowl. She was wolfing it down. After eating the "mountaintop," she happily found the braised pork she had hidden beneath it. Happiness shone from her entire body. She secretly turned around, putting her back to the man on the other end of the threshold, who was chewing his food slowly and carefully. "Father, aren't you going to do something about that foreign woman?"

The man replied in a muffled voice, "No."

The green-clothed girl worriedly said, "He's going to be your eldest disciple here. Aren't you afraid he'll take the wrong path?"

The man said calmly, "Then that boy simply lacks the good fortune."

The girl asked in confusion, "Father, you wouldn't find that a pity?"

For example, when she saw all those delicious and exquisite pastries in the workshop, it was one thing if she had no money. But if she had money, bought one, and then accidentally dropped it on the ground, she truly deserved to be struck by heaven's five thunderbolts.

The man answered with another question. "Is the braised pork good?"

The girl instinctively nodded happily. "Good, good!"

The girl suddenly stiffened. Her father had decreed that she could only eat one serving of meat each day. So she had pretended to serve herself only a bowl of white rice, hiding the braised pork inside. That way, she could openly eat another serving of meat that evening.

The girl turned her head awkwardly and raised the large white bowl high, saying with perfect righteousness, "There's only one piece, you know! I didn't break the rules!"

The man chuckled. "Then what about the piece of braised pork hidden at the bottom of the bowl? If you couldn't eat it, would you find that a pity?"

The girl's mouth opened slightly. She looked as though she had been struck by lightning, her heart reduced to ashes.

The man even rubbed salt into his own daughter's wound. "If you hadn't poked your nose into Liu Xianyang's affairs, Father would have turned a blind eye."

The girl said nothing, taking tiny bites of braised pork. One glance was enough to tell that she would certainly be diligent and thrifty in running a household someday.

After finishing his meal, the man looked toward the woman and youth by the stream. "So long as that boy does not enter the Middle Five Realms, Father will not concern himself with whether he lives or dies. Even after he enters the Middle Five Realms, Father may intervene once or twice, but never more than that. There should be no third time. Fortune and misfortune have no door; people summon them themselves."

The girl sulkily said, "Why won't you help?!"

The man snapped, "When scholars take students and martial artists take disciples, it is not like Jianghu Gangs gathering little underlings. It is not so that when disputes arise later, they can rely on their numbers to argue or fight with others. When all is said and done, in my eyes, whether teacher and student or master and disciple, they are Fellow Daoists walking the same path. Besides, Liu Xianyang is not yet my disciple."

The girl said nothing.

The man sighed. "Silly daughter, just this Great Li Dynasty tucked away in one corner of the world—do you know how many people it has? More than twenty million households! With so many people under heaven and so many troublesome matters, can you manage them all? Over the next sixty years, Father will take over this town from Qi Jingchun. You should stop wandering around all day and focus on forging swords and Practice Sword here at the sword furnace. Otherwise, if you cause trouble, should Father intervene or not?"

Before the man could finish, the girl blurted out, "No need for you to intervene."

Her words nearly gave the man internal injuries. Their force was no weaker than a certain Sword Immortal's trump card kept at the bottom of the chest.

The man truly wanted to knock hard on this silly daughter's elmwood head. How could Father possibly not care about your affairs?

The man felt rather melancholy.

The girl wore a "shocked" expression. "Eh, how did another piece of braised pork get into the bottom of my bowl? Sigh, I've already used up today's portion. Should I give it to you instead, Father?"

Without even turning his head, the man could sense the silly girl's clumsy acting. Helplessly, he said, "Forget it. You eat it. Father will just pretend you only ate one piece of braised pork today. Remember to stop slacking off when you hammer iron this afternoon."

This time, the girl's gratitude was utterly sincere. "Father, you're so good!"

The man laughed angrily. "It's the braised pork that's good, isn't it?"

The girl lowered her head, scooped up a mouthful of rice, and softly said, "Father is good too."

The man kept a straight face and barely managed to suppress his smile. After thinking it over, he felt that having a daughter was still better.

A voice suddenly sounded beside his ear. "Father, can I eat another piece tonight? Two pieces and three pieces aren't all that different, right? If Father doesn't say anything, I'll take that as agreement, okay?"

The girl ran away with the speed of lightning, too fast for the ears to cover.

That last sentence had only been spoken after the girl had already run far away.

The man rubbed his cheeks and muttered to himself, "My Xiuxiu treats food as heaven."

After Chen Ping'an finished delivering letters through the streets and alleys, he bought some breakfast and brought it to Miss Ning in Mud Bottle Alley. Then he began brewing medicine with familiar ease.

Ning Yao wore a brand-new dark green long robe today, clean and neat. She already possessed a heroic air, and with these clothes and the long blade at her waist, she carried more nobility than the wealthy children of Fulu Street and Taoye Lane.

Ning Yao hesitated for a moment. "For now, if you truly want to study that Mountain Shaking Manual, before learning the fist stances, you must first do three things: standing stances, walking stances, and sleeping stances. The last one is rather particular about the accumulation in Acupoints and the circulation of breath. It is difficult to describe in words, so let us leave it aside for now. In any case, the first two do not require you to worry too much about talent or natural physique. If you honestly follow the postures drawn in the manual and persist for a long time, it will eventually be useful. Even if it cannot let you enter the hall of Martial Dao, it may still strengthen your body and extend your years."

Chen Ping'an voiced a thought of his own. "Would it work if I practiced the walking stance in the stream?"

Ning Yao nodded. "Of course. Start with water reaching your knees, then your waist, and finally your neck."

Chen Ping'an followed her words and asked, "Wouldn't that mean being entirely underwater in the end?"

Ning Yao sneered. "What, do you want to practice holding your breath underwater and turn yourself into a thousand-year-old turtle and ten-thousand-year-old tortoise?"

Chen Ping'an fell silent in embarrassment.

Ning Yao thought for a moment. "Come, I'll demonstrate the walking stance for you. Watch carefully!"

Ning Yao had Chen Ping'an move the table aside, then walked six steps forward. The sequence was three small steps followed by three large ones. On the final step, when she heavily stamped down with one foot, the earthen floor of the entire house seemed to give a dull shudder.

The girl completed it in one smooth flow.

It looked casual and understated, yet it flowed like drifting clouds and running water, giving the straw-sandaled youth a feeling he could neither describe nor explain.

It was like a waterfall plunging straight down—only natural and right, yet containing tremendous force. It was also like a leaf turning once in a stream, perfectly round and free, incomparably gentle.

Everything was correct, but Chen Ping'an only knew that it was so, not why it was so.

Seeing the blank look on the youth's face, Ning Yao returned to her original position and demonstrated it once more.

Ning Yao came to a stop, turned, and asked, "Do you understand? Come, try it."

Chen Ping'an took a deep breath and gave it a try.

He swayed and staggered like a drunken drunkard.

Chen Ping'an stood where he was and scratched his head. Clearly, even he felt it was rather disgraceful.

Ning Yao's face darkened as she said heavily, "Again!"

After three attempts, Chen Ping'an had improved slightly, but Ning Yao's expression had become as dark as though a torrential storm were about to break.

She could not imagine how there could be such an idiot as Chen Ping'an in this world—so lacking in comprehension when practicing martial arts, with talent so abysmal!

There was no helping it.

Ning Yao had stood at an extremely high point in the path of the sword since childhood. Her background, natural physique, talent, and judgment were all the same.

Thus, the girl simply could not understand how those people at the foot of the mountain, a hundred thousand miles away from her, climbed step by step. Nor could she understand why they had to walk so unsteadily.

In the end, the girl was truly out of options. Afraid that if she lost control for even a moment she would draw her blade and chop someone down, she suddenly had an idea. She patted the straw-sandaled youth's shoulder and forced herself to comfort him. "Chen Ping'an, read a book a hundred times and its meaning will reveal itself. Martial arts are the same. Practice a fist stance tens of thousands of times. If you still cannot find its flavor, then do it hundreds of thousands of times—a million times! Go collect your stones. The clumsy bird flies first. Don't lose heart. Take it slowly, and practice this walking stance again and again in the stream."

Chen Ping'an thought about it and felt she was absolutely right.

He had once heard Song Jixin say something with roughly the same meaning as Miss Ning's "read a book a hundred times": read ten thousand volumes, and writing will flow as if aided by a god.

But what the youth found even more reasonable was Miss Ning's words: if tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of repetitions were not enough, then practice a million times.

Chen Ping'an smiled and ran out of Mud Bottle Alley, silently repeating, "Three small, three large," as he imitated Ning Yao's gait from memory.

In the straw-sandaled youth's heart, the "truth" he told himself was that after practicing a million times, he might perhaps achieve minor success in fist training.

Therefore, the beginning of fist training in this Mountain Shaking Manual was one million repetitions. Only after that would Chen Ping'an be qualified to speak of anything else.

Ning Yao sat alone on the threshold and muttered to herself, "Why do I feel like I've dug a bottomless pit? Will that fellow be able to climb out of it?"