Horse Meat

Sun Yong swept his gaze over the Martial Arts Hall disciples' faces and nodded slightly. "Xu Hong, two more new disciples joined the Martial Arts Hall today, didn't they?"

Senior Brother Xu Hong nodded at once. "Yes, Master. One yesterday and two today. Three disciples have joined the Martial Arts Hall over the past two days."

Sun Yong gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment and continued, "Since we have new disciples, I'll say a few extra words."

His voice was not loud, yet it rolled like thunder through every disciple's ears.

"What are martial arts? What makes a martial art?" Sun Yong's gaze swept over the new disciples' tense faces, then returned to the older disciples' composed expressions. His tone abruptly sharpened. "Flashy moves? Impressive names? Neither!"

"Remember this-if it lets you withstand an opponent's moves, break an opponent's bones, survive a life-and-death struggle and kill your way out, then it's a good martial art!"

As his words fell, Sun Yong suddenly moved.

Everyone's vision blurred. No one saw how he moved before a muffled boom sounded, and his right fist pressed against a large bluestone slab.

Stone chips flew. His fist had sunk half an inch into the surface, and cracks spread like a spiderweb for more than ten feet-the opening move of Mountain Collapse Fist.

"Watch closely!"

Sun Yong withdrew his fist and struck again, Fist Wind whipping through the air.

At times, they fell like heavy hammers, sending the surrounding disciples' robes fluttering.

At others, they lunged like a tiger pouncing on prey, his fists so fast that only an afterimage remained.

Every punch that landed on a stone slab or wooden post brought a cracking sound. Lethal ferocity lay hidden within those simple moves.

"Xu Hong, take the new disciples through tempering their qi and blood, horse stances, and fist forms. The rest of you, practice diligently and break through to the Bright Strength Realm as soon as possible—remember, you learn to fight to preserve your lives, but even more importantly, to win."

Sun Yong withdrew his fist and stood still, stone dust trickling between his fingers.

"Yes, Master. We will remember."

The next instant, every disciple, including his eldest disciple Xu Hong, bowed together in gratitude for their master's instruction.

The few newly admitted disciples reacted half a beat late, then hurriedly copied the senior brothers and sisters beside them and bowed.

A smile appeared on Sun Yong's face. Clearly pleased by the gesture, he nodded. "All right, get back to practice. Ask your Senior Brother if you have any questions. If even he can't resolve them, then come to me."

Yang Jing had listened very carefully.

He knew far too little about this world.

Although he had inherited the original owner's memories, the original owner had hardly been a man of extensive knowledge.

What concerned Yang Jing most was what the martial arts of this world were actually like.

Were they the kind from ancient tales, letting people skim over roofs and scale walls?

Or were they the wondrous cultivation methods and powerful martial arts found in novels?

Or were they what people called traditional Chinese martial arts?

Yang Jing had initially thought they might lean more toward traditional Chinese martial arts, because in his previous life he had read a passage in an old book whose divisions of mastery also included the terms bright strength and hidden strength.

Yet the school master's words had deeply shaken and enlightened him.

"What makes a martial art?" Yang Jing murmured, his eyes gradually brightening. "If it lets you withstand an opponent's moves, break an opponent's bones, survive a life-and-death struggle and kill your way out, then it's a good martial art!"

Although the original owner's memories contained similar words from Sun Yong, inheriting lifeless memories was entirely different from hearing those words from Sun Yong himself!

Perhaps my view of martial arts was too narrow before, or too rigid. Martial arts shouldn't be inflexible. They should be adaptable. Whatever lets you defeat your opponent and stay alive is a good martial art.

Yang Jing reflected silently.

With his hands behind his back, Sun Yong returned to the inner courtyard.

The disciples in the front courtyard resumed tempering their qi and blood and practicing Mountain Collapse Fist.

For now, Senior Brother Xu Hong personally instructed the new disciples.

Yang Jing returned to his previous training spot and resumed practicing Mountain Collapse Fist, each punch accompanied by a shout and a rush of wind.

Although he was still far from mastering bright strength, his prolonged, relentless training had made his physique much stronger than an ordinary person's.

In a straightforward fight, he could take on three to five ordinary men alone. If he seized the right opportunities, he could defeat even more.

He practiced until darkness fell and everyone else had left. Only then, his muscles aching and swollen, did Yang Jing walk over to the square stool by the wall and rest briefly before putting on his clothes and leaving the Martial Arts Hall.

Walking along the streets of Chengping Ward, Yang Jing willed it with a thought.

The next instant, the system panel appeared before his eyes-

[Mountain Collapse Fist Initiation (78/200)]

After a full day of practice, he had finally raised his Mountain Collapse Fist progress by another two points, bringing him one step closer to minor achievement.

Leaving Chengping Ward, he headed south along Vermilion Bird Street until he reached the West Market.

Although darkness had fallen, the West Market remained lively. Gauze lanterns hung from the eaves outside the shops lining the street, their warm light spilling across the bluestone paving and illuminating the gently swaying tavern flags and cloth banners on either side.

Yang Jing stopped before a butcher's shop with half its doorway still open. Pork belly and ribs hanging from iron hooks above the chopping block gleamed with fat, while chopped pork offal lay piled in a wooden basin nearby. The smell of blood mingled with the smoke and bustle of everyday life.

Yang Jing tightened his grip on the remaining half-string of coins in his sleeve. His gaze roamed over the various cuts before finally settling on a pile of slightly darker meat in the corner-horse meat. Its grain was coarser than pork's, and its edges had begun to darken. It was clearly a day old.

Martial training consumed enormous amounts of qi and blood. Ordinary coarse rice and mixed grains could not replenish that deficit. Only meat or even more valuable medicinal treasures could restore strength and nourish the sinews and bones after training.

During this period, he had tried quite a few kinds of meat. Pork was mild and filled his stomach well enough, but did little for his qi and blood. Beef was potent, but terribly expensive, and his money simply could not support buying much of it.

It was only a few days earlier, when Yang Jing happened to try horse meat, that he discovered how fierce its nature truly was-and how well it suited his training. Once stewed and eaten, its dense strength traveled straight down his throat into his Dantian, giving his punches more power even the following day and visibly speeding his progress.

"Shopkeeper, how much is this horse meat?" Yang Jing asked.

The shopkeeper was wiping the greasy chopping block with a rag. Hearing him, he looked up with a smile. "It's what's left from today. I'll let you have it cheap-fifty coins a jin."

That was nearly half the daytime price of fresh meat.

"Weigh out two jin," Yang Jing said, inwardly relieved, though his expression was resigned. "The price has gone up again. A few days ago, it was still forty-seven coins a jin."

War had broken out in Caozhou to the west, and he had heard that a Rebel Army had emerged in Yizhou to the east. Caught between them, Jizhou had been badly affected in many ways. Inflation and currency depreciation were only part of it.

The shopkeeper deftly cut the meat, weighed it, tied it with straw cord, and handed it over.

Yang Jing took it. It felt slightly cool in his hand and carried a faint raw smell.

Then he paid, leaving fewer coins in his sleeve.

The Great Qi Dynasty's currency was primarily based on silver taels, but silver was worth far too much for ordinary people. Their everyday purchases were almost always made with copper coins, with one tael of silver equal to seven hundred coins.

Yang Jing did not linger. He turned and strode into the deepening night, continuing south along Vermilion Bird Street.

Although Chengping Ward, where the Sun Clan Martial Arts School stood, was also in the outer city, it lay very close to the inner city. Yang Jing's usual lodgings, however, were in Datong Ward at the very edge of the county town.

As a martial artist with a strong physique, Yang Jing traveled quickly on foot.

A quarter of an hour later, he reached his rented lodgings in Datong Ward.

It was an ordinary courtyard, flanked by two rows of single-story rooms, five in each row. Yang Jing's room was the second from the east on the northern side.

As soon as Yang Jing returned to his room, he began stewing the meat.

The room was cramped. A small clay stove stood in the corner, its flames licking the bottom of an earthenware pot as a faint bubbling sounded.

Yang Jing had already placed the horse meat, cut into large chunks, into the pot. Water covered the meat, and apart from a small pinch of salt settling at the bottom, there were no other seasonings.

Yang Jing sat by the roadside, his gaze resting on the rolling surface of the water.

The horse meat was not particularly fresh, but as it stewed, its unmistakable raw odor gradually faded. Instead, a rich meaty aroma slowly wafted from the pot.

Once the meat was tender, Yang Jing immediately extinguished the fire. He waited for the pot to cool slightly, then lifted it directly. Without bothering with a bowl or chopsticks, he reached in for a chunk, blew on it, and put it into his mouth.

There was little flavor beyond the slight saltiness and the texture of the horse meat itself.

From time to time, sounds came from outside his door.

Yang Jing knew they were the courtyard's other tenants. Having smelled the meat cooking in his room, they passed his door a few extra times to catch a few more whiffs.

Yang Jing ignored them completely. He ate with great concentration, even sticking out his tongue to lick the juices from the pot until it was clean.

After setting down the pot, Yang Jing did not wash it immediately.

He felt a solid warmth slowly spreading through his belly, following his blood into every limb and bone-this was the unique strength of horse meat. Unlike ordinary meat, whose effects remained on the surface, it sank deep into his flesh, like a handful of warm fire slowly nurturing his sinews and bones.

A short while later, he rose and planted his feet, lowered his waist, gathered his breath, and slowly clenched both fists.

With a low shout, he began the opening move of Mountain Collapse Fist, Fist Wind whistling through the air.

His fierce punches made the window paper rustle faintly. Inside him, the heat stirred up by the horse meat seemed to be drawn along by those movements, suddenly surging.

Yang Jing practiced for more than another two hours. Only when he felt fatigue spreading through his body did he finish his form and stop.

With a thought, the system panel appeared before his eyes-

[Mountain Collapse Fist Initiation (79/200)]

Seeing that his progress had risen again, Yang Jing could not help breaking into a grin.