Horse Meat

Sun Yong swept his gaze across the martial arts school disciples and nodded slightly. "Xu Hong, two more new disciples joined the school today, didn't they?"

Senior Brother Xu Hong hurriedly nodded. "Yes, Master. One came yesterday and two today. Three have joined the school over these past two days."

Sun Yong gave a faint grunt and continued, "Since new disciples have entered the school, I'll say a few more words."

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

"What is martial arts? What does martial arts mean?" Sun Yong's gaze passed over the tense faces of the new disciples before returning to the calm expressions of the older ones. His tone suddenly sharpened. "Fancy moves? Impressive-sounding names? Neither!"

"Remember this—if it can catch your opponent's moves, break your opponent's bones, and let you survive a life-and-death struggle and kill your way out, then it is good martial arts!"

As his words fell, Sun Yong suddenly moved.

Everyone merely saw a blur before their eyes. No one could make out how he moved, but they heard a muffled boom as his right fist pressed into a massive bluestone slab.

Stone chips flew, and a fist mark sank half an inch into the slab's surface. Cracks spread outward like a spiderweb for more than ten feet—it was precisely the opening stance of the Mountain Collapse Fist.

"Watch carefully!"

Sun Yong withdrew his fist and struck again, his fist wind howling.

At times, it fell like a heavy hammer, making the surrounding disciples' robes flap wildly.

At times, it pounced like a fierce tiger upon its prey, the fist shadows so fast that only an afterimage remained.

Every blow that landed on stone slabs or wooden posts came with a cracking burst. Lethal ruthlessness lay hidden within those simple moves.

"Xu Hong, lead the new disciples in tempering their Qi and Blood, practicing horse stance, and drilling the forms. The other senior disciples should practice well and break through to Bright Strength as soon as possible. Remember: you learn boxing to preserve your lives, but even more so, to win."

Sun Yong stood still after withdrawing his fist, stone dust trickling from between his fingers.

"Yes, this disciple will remember."

The next moment, every disciple, including chief disciple Xu Hong, bowed together in salute, thanking their master for his teachings.

The few newly inducted disciples reacted half a beat slower, then hurriedly copied their senior brothers and sisters and bowed as well.

A smile appeared on Sun Yong's face. He clearly enjoyed this gesture. Nodding, he said, "All right, go practice. If you have any questions, ask your Senior Brother first. If even he cannot solve them, then ask me."

Yang Jing had listened very attentively just now.

He knew too little about this world.

Though he had inherited the original owner's memories, the original owner had never been a particularly knowledgeable man.

What Yang Jing cared about most was what martial arts in this world were like.

Were they the kind of ancient martial arts that let one leap across rooftops and run along walls?

Or were they the miraculous cultivation methods from novels, powerful martial techniques?

Or were they so-called traditional martial arts?

Yang Jing had originally thought they might lean more toward traditional martial arts, because in his previous life, he had seen a passage in an ancient book stating that traditional martial arts also had realms known as Bright Strength and Hidden Strength.

Yet the school master's words had deeply shaken and inspired Yang Jing.

"What is martial arts?" Yang Jing murmured, his eyes gradually brightening. "If it can catch your opponent's moves, break your opponent's bones, and let you survive a life-and-death struggle and kill your way out, then it is good martial arts!"

Though the original owner's memories contained similar words Sun Yong had once spoken, dead memories inherited from another man were wholly different from hearing those words from Sun Yong's own mouth!

Perhaps I had thought of martial arts too narrowly before—or rather, too rigidly. Martial arts should not be inflexible. The martial art that can defeat an opponent and keep me alive is good martial arts.

Yang Jing silently reflected.

Sun Yong returned to the inner courtyard with his hands clasped behind his back.

The disciples in the front courtyard resumed tempering their Qi and Blood and practicing the Mountain Collapse Fist.

Those newly inducted disciples were temporarily taught personally by Senior Brother Xu Hong.

Yang Jing returned to where he had been practicing and continued drilling the Mountain Collapse Fist. Every punch he threw came with a sharp exhalation and the sound of wind.

Although he was still far from cultivating Bright Strength, Yang Jing's long-term, frenzied training had already made his physical condition far stronger than that of ordinary people.

In a normal fight, he could take on three to five ordinary men alone. If he seized the right opportunities, he could even press the advantage further.

He trained until darkness fell. Only after everyone else had left did Yang Jing, his muscles aching and swollen with fatigue, walk to the square stool by the wall to rest briefly. Then he put on his clothes and left the martial arts school.

As he walked along the streets of Chengping Ward, Yang Jing's thoughts stirred.

The next moment, the System Panel appeared before his eyes—

[Mountain Collapse Fist Initiation (78/200)]

After punching all day, he had finally raised the Mountain Collapse Fist's 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 West Market.

Though night had already fallen, West Market was still bustling. Gauze lanterns hanging before the shops on either side of the street were raised one by one beneath the eaves, their warm light spreading over the bluestone road and reflecting off the wine banners and cloth streamers swaying gently on both sides.

Yang Jing stopped before a butcher shop whose door was still half open. Marbled pork and ribs glistened with oil from iron hooks above the chopping block, while a wooden basin beside it was piled with chopped pork offal. The scent of blood mingled with the earthy bustle of the market.

Yang Jing clenched the half-string of large coins remaining in his sleeve. His gaze swept over the different cuts of meat before finally settling on a pile of slightly darker meat in the corner—Horse Meat. Its grain was coarser than pork, and its edges had already turned faintly black, clearly having sat for a day.

Martial arts training consumed Qi and Blood more than anything else. Ordinary coarse rice and mixed grains could not fill that hollow deficit. Only meat, or more valuable medicinal treasures, could replenish his strength and nourish his muscles and bones after tempering.

During this time, he had tried quite a few kinds of meat. Pork was mild and decent for filling the stomach, but did little for Qi and Blood. Beef was potent, but terribly expensive; the money in his hands could not support buying much of it.

It was not until Yang Jing had happened to try Horse Meat a few days ago that he discovered its nature was truly fierce, yet exceptionally suited to his martial arts training. Once stewed and eaten, its heavy force seemed to travel straight down his throat to his Dantian. The next day, he would have more strength when throwing punches, and his training progress visibly quickened by a few degrees.

"Shopkeeper, how much is this Horse Meat?" Yang Jing asked.

The shopkeeper was wiping down the greasy chopping block with a rag. Hearing him, he looked up with a smile. "What's left today, I'll let you have it cheap. Fifty large coins per catty."

It was nearly half the price of fresh meat sold during the day.

"Give me two catties." Yang Jing sighed inwardly in relief, though his face showed helplessness. "The price has gone up again. A few days ago, it was still forty-seven large coins per catty."

War had broken out in Caozhou to the west, while Yizhou in the east was said to have rebel forces rising up. Jizhou lay between them and had been heavily affected in every respect. Inflation and currency depreciation were only part of it.

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

Yang Jing took it. It felt faintly cool in his hand and carried a slight bloody smell.

Then Yang Jing paid, leaving even fewer large coins in his sleeve.

The Great Qi Dynasty used silver taels as its primary currency, but silver was too valuable for common folk. For everyday purchases, people generally used large coins. One tael of silver equaled seven hundred large coins.

Yang Jing did not linger. Turning around, he quickly melted into the deepening night and continued south along Vermilion Bird Street.

Though 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 residence, meanwhile, was in Datong Ward at the very edge of the county town.

Yang Jing was, after all, a martial artist. His physical condition was excellent, and he traveled swiftly.

A quarter of an hour later, he arrived at the place he rented in Datong Ward.

It was an ordinary courtyard, with two rows of single-story rooms on either side. Each row had five rooms, and Yang Jing's room was the second from the east on the north side.

The moment Yang Jing returned to his room, he began stewing the meat.

The room was cramped. A small clay stove stood in one corner, its flames licking the bottom of a clay pot and making soft bubbling sounds.

Yang Jing had already put the Horse Meat, cut into large chunks, into the clay pot. Clear water covered the meat, and apart from a small pinch of salt settled at the bottom, there were no other seasonings.

Yang Jing sat by the roadside, his eyes fixed on the rolling water.

The Horse Meat was not particularly fresh. After stewing for a long time, its hard-to-conceal bloody odor gradually faded. In its place, a rich fragrance of meat slowly overflowed from the clay pot.

Once the meat was soft enough, Yang Jing immediately put out the fire. When the clay pot had cooled slightly, he simply lifted it up. He did not need a bowl or chopsticks, reaching in to grab a piece, blowing on it, and stuffing it into his mouth.

There was little flavor, only a touch of saltiness and the texture of the Horse Meat itself.

Sounds occasionally rose from outside the door.

Yang Jing knew they came from the other tenants in the courtyard. Having caught the scent of meat from his room, they passed by his doorway a few more times, taking in the smell a few more times.

Yang Jing paid them no mind whatsoever. He ate with great concentration, even stretching out his tongue to lick the meat broth from the clay pot completely clean.

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

He felt a solid warmth slowly spreading through his belly, flowing with his blood into all four limbs and every bone in his body—this was the unique force of Horse Meat. Unlike ordinary meat, which floated on the surface, it sank deep into the flesh, like a handful of warm fire slowly simmering his muscles and bones.

A moment later, he rose and planted his feet firmly, sinking his waist and gathering his breath as his fists slowly clenched.

With a low shout, he unfolded the opening stance of the Mountain Collapse Fist, his fists tearing through the air.

As his fierce, forceful punches swept out, the window paper trembled faintly. Within him, the warm current stirred up by the Horse Meat seemed drawn by the momentum of his fists and suddenly surged.

Yang Jing practiced for another hour before the exhaustion in his body became too great, and only then did he withdraw his stance and stop.

At 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.