Technique Collection

Ten days passed, and every grain merchant in Green Rock City was in the same boat—if trouble came, they'd all bear it together.

And honestly, that "everyone's last in class, so why am I the only one being punished" kind of self-comfort actually worked a little.

Feng Xiu's mood lightened considerably.

"Go now?" he then asked Uncle Zheng.

The weather was so hot it could crack stones; training martial arts in this heat—wasn't anyone afraid of heatstroke?

"Mm."

Uncle Zheng nodded solemnly. The eldest young master had handled matters well these past few days, and he'd taken note. Privately, the family head had also praised him.

But there was one flaw—he wasn't ruthless enough!

He'd originally planned to teach martial arts after the spring planting, but since Feng Xiu had brought it up himself...

It was time to start tempering his character.

"Alright." Feng Xiu inclined his head.

Arriving at the western courtyard, a group of escort team members were still training under the blazing sun, with Zhou Gang instructing on the side.

"Come on, take off your shirt."

Zhou Gang's attitude toward Feng Xiu was natural, and his words and actions were as straightforward as any martial artist's—straight to the point.

Feng Xiu's intent was for him to train the body, not waste time on crude exercises that harmed the basics, but Zhou Gang didn't plan to listen.

Learning martial arts wasn't a matter of a day or two; sweat and talent were the true shortcuts.

There was no such thing as wasted effort.

"I'll start by loosening your muscles and bones." With that thought, Zhou Gang gave the order.

He'd expected Feng Xiu to resist, but instead, the young man unhesitatingly stripped off his upper garments, revealing fair skin.

"Please instruct me, Uncle Zhou."

The scorching, blazing light made Feng Xiu's whole body sting, but he kept his expression calm, mimicking the posture of a Jianghu wanderer as he cupped his fists in salute.

Zhou Gang froze, then burst into loud, hearty laughter.

"Good lad, I knew I hadn't misjudged you." His expression then turned serious.

"A martial artist's first hurdle is to rein in the restless heart and mind—to temper the muscles and bones, refine the blood and qi."

"So you'd better learn well."

With that, Zhou Gang's entire aura shifted. His feet shifted in a staggered stance, and he slowly began to perform a set of boxing techniques.

The movements seemed gentle and slow, but in truth, they stretched and flexed every tendon in the body, dissolving all stiffness. Each punch and kick was accompanied by the crisp crack of bones.

Feng Xiu watched without blinking, utterly focused.

Half a cup of tea later, Zhou Gang finished his forms and glanced at him. "How much did you remember?"

Feng Xiu opened his mouth, but Zhou Gang's movements had been too fast—his eyes couldn't keep up, and the images in his memory were already blurring.

He gritted his teeth. "Uncle Zhou, do it again."

Zhou Gang smiled. "Alright, you've got some stubbornness in you."

He then continued teaching at an even slower pace, afraid Feng Xiu wouldn't catch it, and demonstrated the forms three times in a row.

Each time slower than the last. Feng Xiu's eyes locked on, memorizing while making small hand gestures to mimic the moves.

"How much did you get this time?" Zhou Gang stopped and asked again.

Feng Xiu nodded slightly.

Since he couldn't remember everything, his method was simple: just memorize the beginning, middle, and end of each move.

Even so, Zhou Gang's set was still too complex.

Even in elementary school, it took a week to learn the radio calisthenics—how could he imprint it so quickly?

"This fist is called the Five Force Fist. It's the foundation for us martial artists roaming the Jianghu. Mastered, it allows the five forces of the chest, hands, and legs to merge into one."

"Wenzheng, don't push yourself. Just learn the first eight forms of the major frame."

Feng Xiu said nothing. He closed his eyes and carefully traced Zhou Gang's punching trajectory in his mind.

Then, imitating Zhou Gang's example, he made the fist salute as an opening move and began to practice, looking the part.

Thanks to two months of the Eight Sections Vajra Skill's subtle conditioning of his body, his perception of limb movements far surpassed ordinary people.

But still, his footwork was crooked, and the transitions between forms were too stiff—completely lacking in fluidity.

There was none of Zhou Gang's steady composure during the demonstration.

Just as he reached the third form, Feng Xiu's mind went blank. A piercing, needle-like pain shot through his entire body.

It was as if some switch had been flipped inside him, and wave after wave of tearing sensation kept amplifying.

Feng Xiu's face paled, the healthy flush draining away instantly, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

And Zhou Gang did not stop him, nor did he offer any guidance—he simply watched in silence.

Off to the side.

Uncle Zheng seemed to want to speak but held back, his expression carrying a hint of intent to intervene.

The young master might not understand, but did he not?

This Five Force Fist was hardly an entry-level martial art; it was the signature skill of the escort team's trail-hardened hands.

It was only passed down to those seasoned enough to stand on their own and lead a convoy on the road.

For a complete beginner who had never opened his meridians or even touched the path of martial arts, it was practically asking him to cripple himself!

No horse stance, no post training, no bone grinding.

Not even theory as a foundation—just straight into teaching the Five Force Fist!

"Young master, stop practicing. If you wish to learn martial arts, this old servant can teach you."

Uncle Zheng's heart ultimately softened, and he stepped forward to urge him.

But the moment his foot crossed, Zhou Gang blocked his path. "What, you think he can't see it through?"

"If even you won't believe in him, how can he believe in himself?" Zhou Gang cast a faint glance at Uncle Zheng.

"Captain Zhou!" Uncle Zheng's voice suddenly rose, his expression turning cold and hard.

Zhou Gang crossed his arms, standing like a mountain before Uncle Zheng, his demeanor as steady as iron:

"Brother Zheng, all you see is foundation." Zhou Gang looked at Feng Xiu gritting his teeth in the training ground, his voice low. "But in martial arts, spirit matters more than foundation. Wen Zheng has a steady temperament and handles things with measure—that's his strength."

"If he can get through this hurdle, things will be easier from here. If he can't, better to kill that hope now—it'll be good for him too."

The surrounding escort team members had long cleared a wide space, and seeing the two big shots at odds, none dared to intervene.

"Uncle Zheng, don't say anymore."

Feng Xiu paused mid-motion, his voice carrying heavy, ragged breaths as sweat poured from his body.

"I'm fine."

Learning martial arts was indeed no ordinary pain, but it was still bearable, all within his limits.

"Young master, you... ahh~"

Uncle Zheng let out a soft sigh at this and stopped trying to persuade him.

With that, Feng Xiu immediately sank back into practicing the movements.

The Five Force Fist appeared to have only sixteen major forms, but each major form contained six to twelve minor techniques, and it wasn't limited to just the hands.

With every minor technique he practiced, Feng Xiu felt his ankles, legs, and every muscle in his body being violently stretched.

Fortunately, Feng Xiu wasn't a complete novice; his body wasn't that fragile, thanks to the slight foundation laid by the Eight Sections Vajra Skill.

Finally, stumbling through it all, he completed every movement.

No sooner had he finished than the accumulated soreness, numbness, and tingling, mixed with the sharp sting of trembling muscles, struck him all at once. Feng Xiu felt the world spin.

[Recorded: Five Force Fist (None)]

In the floating light screen before him, the characters for Five Force Fist flickered faintly, but there was no progress yet.

Just a few simple words, yet a complex surge of exhaustion and surprise welled up in his heart.

In his mind, the somewhat chaotic trajectories of the fist techniques he had just practiced seemed to grow a bit clearer.

Though only for a brief moment—the feeling of how muscles should contract and coordinate when exerting force.

It was entirely different from his own Vajra Skill.

Feng Xiu stared at the light screen, frozen for a moment. He wanted to laugh, but the moment his lips parted, the pain made him suck in a sharp breath.

At least it wasn't wasted!

Just as he had thought—recording the martial art turned into visible, positive feedback!

At that moment, Uncle Zheng's face showed urgency as he hurried forward to support him.

But once again, Zhou Gang cut him off. "Don't go. Let him hold on."

This time, Uncle Zheng didn't move. He watched as Feng Xiu endured the discomfort, standing still in place to recover for a good while.

In his past life, though Feng Xiu had never been a soldier, he had undergone systematic militia training.

Some retired veterans had said that five kilometers wasn't hard—once you got past that threshold, everything after was easy.

That was exactly the state Feng Xiu was in now. The pain all over his body was still there, but it carried an indescribable lightness.

Overall, aside from feeling like his lungs were about to burst, every other part of him felt remarkably comfortable.