Moonlit Fist Practice (Seeking Follow-up Reads)

Fang Shuwen accompanied Old Fang and Hu Da for a couple of cups of yellow wine.

He did not drink much, merely taking shallow sips, spending most of the time keeping the two company.

Hu Da had been reserved at first, but once a few cups of yellow wine were down, his chatterbox opened up.

He talked about everything from Master Zhao's businesses in Xikou County to the newly opened foreign goods factory.

From the recently concluded Central Plains War, he moved on to the Woguo concession that had just been demarcated at Xikou East Wharf.

Old Fang sat to the side, not saying much, just watching Fang Shuwen with a beaming smile, the wrinkles around his eyes stacking layer upon layer.

Soon, two bottles of yellow wine had entered their bellies, and the atmosphere was thoroughly warmed up.

Hu Da, his eyes hazy with drink, let out a hiccup and reached out to pat Fang Shuwen on the shoulder.

"Little Fang, this assessment doesn't matter."

"If you really don't pass, tell your Uncle Hu. Uncle Hu will find your brother Little Hu and have him find you a bookkeeping job at East District Wharf."

The moment these words left Hu Da's mouth, he froze.

His drunken stupor vanished by more than half; his hand, still resting on Fang Shuwen's shoulder, hung suspended in mid-air, neither retreating nor advancing.

The firelight from the kitchen stove shone upon his face, casting his rugged features in a dark, flushed red.

"Old Fang, I... I didn't mean it like that..."

"Little Fang has been working so hard lately, he's bound to pass the assessment."

Hu Da clumsily tried to make amends, but his tongue felt as though it were tied in knots.

He had been drinking happily just moments ago and, caught up in the flow of conversation, had momentarily forgotten the taboos.

Old Fang was least able to tolerate anyone saying that Little Fang was not up to the task.

Little Fang was the apple of Old Fang's eye, the entirety of his reason for living in this world.

You could tell him the sun wouldn't rise tomorrow, and he might not even get angry.

But if you said Little Fang wasn't studying well or had no future, he would get red-eyed with rage.

"Uncle Hu, thank you. Your nephew toasts you."

Fang Shuwen picked up his wine cup and raised it toward Hu Da, keeping the rim of his cup three parts lower than Hu Da's.

"I've relied on your care these days, Uncle Hu—the chicken noodles at night, the rice porridge in the morning—your nephew remembers it all in his heart."

He finished speaking and tilted his head back, draining the wine in one gulp.

The yellow wine was slightly astringent as it entered his mouth, sliding down his throat and blooming into a warmth in his stomach.

Hu Da was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly downed his own cup as well.

Wine dripped from his chin onto his apron; he wiped it away haphazardly with his sleeve and grinned:

"You child, why be so formal with your uncle! Your father has been at the Zhao Estate for so many years; we are one family, and one family doesn't speak two languages!"

Fang Shuwen set down his cup and picked up the wine pot to pour another for Hu Da and Old Fang.

His pouring motion was steady, not a single drop spilling from the spout.

"Uncle Hu, you mentioned just now that brother Little Hu works at East District Wharf?" he asked casually, steering the conversation away from the previous topic.

Mentioning Hu Da's son, Little Hu, finally caused the awkward atmosphere to dissipate completely.

Hu Da immediately began to speak with great animation; his son, Little Hu, worked for the Lu Family shipping company at the wharf.

He had been diligent over the past few years, was valued by his superiors, and had been promoted to a supervisor's position a few days ago.

He was responsible for twenty-some men and earned fifteen silver dollars a month—it was quite a prestigious job.

The more Hu Da spoke, the more excited he became, and he drank without restraint, cup after cup.

As Fang Shuwen responded and kept him company, he glanced at Old Fang.

Old Fang was not as he had imagined; his expression was as usual, as if he hadn't heard a word of what Hu Da had just said.

Only when he drank could one see something indistinct and unnameable within those cloudy eyes.

Before long, Hu Da passed out from the drink.

He slumped over the table, one arm cushioning his chin, the other still clutching his empty wine cup.

"Little Hu hasn't come back to see me in a long time... he must still be angry at me..."

His voice grew lower and lower, eventually turning into a series of heavy, coarse snores.

Old Fang set down his chopsticks, looked at the sleeping Hu Da, and then at Fang Shuwen.

"Shuwen, go back and study."

Old Fang stood up and rolled up his sleeves.

"I'll clean up here. You are destined for great things in the future; you shouldn't be doing this kind of menial labor."

"I'll be heading back now, then."

Fang Shuwen did not offer any empty words about taking over the chores, simply rising from the stone table.

Some things did not need to be spelled out.

Old Fang had his own principles, even if some of those principles seemed like a joke to others.

Fang Shuwen understood this, which was why he would never argue with Old Fang on such matters.

He stood up and left the small courtyard with crisp, decisive steps.

Without pausing, he walked through the covered corridor and turned into the adjacent courtyard.

The small courtyard was already locked for the night.

However, Steward Chen had given him the key during the day, so he twisted the brass lock, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

He took off his outer robe and draped it over an empty weapon rack, but instead of rushing to start, he walked a full circle around the training grounds.

He slowly regulated his breathing and channeled the power within his body to purge the alcohol he had just consumed.

Having adjusted his state quickly, Fang Shuwen came to a stop in front of a wooden dummy.

He did not strike immediately, choosing instead to recall the fight with those two ruffians earlier that afternoon.

"The Body Strengthening Fist has no offensive techniques; its moves are too plain. It might work against those without any foundation, but if I were to run into a real martial artist, I would definitely suffer a heavy loss."

"Furthermore, the realm of a fist technique is one thing, but how much power one can actually exert in combat and the experience gained from real fighting still depend on diligent practice."

That afternoon, Young Master Guo's two guards each possessed the strength of a single bone-cracking level.

While those two ruffians were certainly not weak, they could never have defeated the two guards in a fair, head-on fight.

Yet, relying solely on a bag of lime powder, they had easily taken down two guards who were stronger than them.

This proved that realm and power did not equate to actual combat effectiveness.

Even an expert could capsize in the gutter.

"Therefore, whenever I have free time in the future, I must practice diligently."

Fang Shuwen closed his eyes, and the phantom of the giant snake appeared in his mind once more.

This time, he "saw" it even more clearly.

The snake had no limbs, yet it could strangle prey several times its own size; it relied entirely on the twisting of its spine and the contraction of its muscles.

From the tailbone to the skull, every single vertebra could move independently, yet they could also coordinate instantly to unleash power, concentrating it all into a single point to explode.

This technique of force generation could unleash several, or even over a dozen times, the amount of instantaneous power.

He opened his eyes and took half a step forward with his left foot.

It was not a bow stance, nor a horse stance, but a more natural posture.

His center of gravity shifted slightly to the right, and his spine relaxed vertebra by vertebra starting from the tailbone, leaving him standing there as if his bones had been removed, loose and limp.

Yet, beneath this seemingly slack posture, every muscle in his body maintained a subtle tension.

He moved.

He did not lead with his fist, but with a twist of his waist.

His spine began to twist, vertebra by vertebra, starting from the tailbone—this was the continuous accumulation of power.

The force gathered from his feet, waist, and hips snaked up along his spine, flowing into his right shoulder, his right elbow, and finally his right fist.

His fist broke through the air.