That wasn't a straight punch from the Body Strengthening Fist.
A straight punch from the Body Strengthening Fist traveled in a line. The fist came from the waist and took the shortest path straight to its target.
But this punch followed a strange arc.
The fist cut an arc through the air, entering from the side like a snake's fangs striking a vital spot from an oblique angle.
"Bang!"
The fist bit into the Wooden Dummy.
The dummy shuddered violently. Its base scraped against the blue bricks with a piercing shriek.
Several more cracks appeared on the ironwood surface where it had been struck.
They were densely packed, as if it had been smashed with an iron rod.
Fang Shuwen didn't pause. His second punch followed right after.
This time he used his left fist, throwing it in the same arcing fashion, but in the opposite direction.
His right fist had arced from right to left; his left fist arced from left to right.
There was less than half a breath between the two punches.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Fang Shuwen began to speed up.
Right fist, left fist, right elbow, left palm, right knee, left leg—every joint in his body became a weapon. Each strike followed an arc, landing precisely on a different part of the Wooden Dummy.
His movements didn't look especially fast. There was none of the dazzling blur of fists.
But the transitions between his strikes were so fluid that he seemed nothing like someone who had only just learned this set of techniques.
By the time Fang Shuwen reached his thirtieth punch, the base of the Wooden Dummy had begun to loosen.
The ironwood post and its bluestone base had originally been secured together with a mortise-and-tenon joint, fitted so tightly there wasn't a gap.
But after dozens of consecutive heavy blows, the tenon had begun to work loose. The post rocked back and forth several times with every punch, and the scraping sound between the base and the ground grew more and more grating.
At that moment,
Fang Shuwen paused for half a beat.
He wasn't tired. He was waiting.
Waiting for the post to spring back to center.
Fang Shuwen threw his punch in an instant.
His breathing was steady and deep, his heartbeat unhurried, while every muscle in his body held a subtle tension.
His spine twisted, one vertebra at a time, starting from the tailbone. In that instant, his center of gravity sank below his dantian, and his waist and hips exploded into motion.
"Soaring Serpent Stance!"
His fist tore through the air.
This punch was unlike all the ones before it.
The air split beneath his fist with a short, sharp crack.
It wasn't a bone crack, but the pure sound of a fist breaking through the air—a faint explosion caused by the sheer friction.
"BANG!!"
The fist bit into the deepest crack in the center of the Wooden Dummy.
The ironwood burst apart with a roar.
It didn't fly apart piece by piece. The entire post split down the middle, and chunks of wood shot in every direction, wrapped in fierce gusts of wind.
They clattered against the blue-brick ground, the weapon rack, and the courtyard wall.
The tenon between the base and the ground was wrenched right out of the bluestone base by that immense force. It flew three paces, trailing a spray of wood chips, and crashed beside the white wall.
Fang Shuwen held his punching stance, then slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.
"That punch must have carried around fifteen hundred pounds of force!"
"If I unleashed it without warning, even a Bright Force expert would suffer badly from taking a hit."
Fang Shuwen thought back to his half-month of training at the martial arts school.
The previous owner hadn't accomplished much, but he had learned plenty about martial arts.
For instance, the divisions and standards of the basic stages of martial cultivation.
Among them were the Three-Sound Bone Crack and the Bright Force martial artist.
Aside from the number of bone cracks, the clearest sign was an arm strength of around eight hundred pounds, with the ability to unleash a punch carrying two thousand pounds of force.
"Once tomorrow's assessment results come in, I'll have something to show Old Fang. After that, I'll have to figure out how to make money and raise my martial arts level. I'll do my best to reach Bright Force as soon as possible."
In this godforsaken world, only Bright Force gave someone the real ability to protect himself—and the strength to seek out more resources and fight for a better life.
Fang Shuwen was no exception.
Night had fallen deep,
in Guo Mansion, North District, Xikou County Town.
Two steam lamps lit the living room as brightly as day. Guo Ziming huddled in a leather sofa, still wearing silk pajamas, his chubby face filled with the terror of someone dragged out of bed.
His father, Guo Huaili, stood beneath the crystal chandelier, his face livid.
"Section Chief Lin, you've come by in the middle of the night. May I ask what brings you here?"
Guo Huaili cupped his hands, his tone stiff.
He was the chairman of the Xikou Chamber of Commerce and a man of some standing in town.
Naturally, he wasn't pleased to have someone show up at his door in the middle of the night.
If the man before him weren't someone special, never mind a section chief or an inspector—he'd have had him thrown out long ago.
But the visitor had introduced himself as being from the
Folklore and Antiquities Investigation Division.
Section Chief Lin Xiu.
Ordinary people might never have heard of that bureau, but Guo Huaili knew all too well what it was.
Three years ago, a group of Nanyang merchants had smuggled antiques through Xikou Wharf. The Investigation Division caught them in a warehouse.
The next day, those Nanyang merchants and their bodyguards—more than a dozen people in all—had vanished from Xikou County. Not even a bone had been found.
The Public Security Bureau claimed they had fled, but the dockworkers swore blind that screams had come from the Investigation Division's courtyard that night, loud enough to be heard three streets away.
It seemed those Investigation Division people had been behind it.
He wasn't afraid of them, but he still had to show them the respect they were due.
"Chairman Guo, forgive me for disturbing you so late."
Lin Xiu took a seat on the sofa and accepted the hot tea his attendant handed him, but didn't drink it. He merely set it on the coffee table.
A practiced smile hung on his face. He didn't beat around the bush, getting straight to the point. "I came here today because there are a few things I'd like to confirm with Young Master Hu."
Guo Huaili's brow furrowed slightly. He turned and glared at Guo Ziming.
Startled by his father's glare, Guo Ziming shrank his neck and stammered out a few words:
"What... what is it? I've been on my best behavior these past few days. I haven't been stealing chickens or dogs!"
Lin Xiu smiled and took out a photograph, sliding it across the coffee table.
"Does Young Master Guo know this man?"
Hearing the question, Guo Ziming leaned forward to look. The person in the photograph was pale-faced, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. He was obviously dead.
He stared for two seconds, and his face turned white.
No wonder he hadn't seen Liu Mang around lately. That fellow was dead.
"I... I know him. His name is Liu Mang. He was... one of my followers."
"But I haven't seen him for several days."
Guo Ziming's voice began to tremble.
He was just a spoiled young master. He could keep lackeys and fight roosters, eat, drink, and make merry.
But he didn't have the guts to kill anyone!
Lin Xiu slid over a second photograph.
It was an enlarged photo of a copper piece. Crooked Wild Curse Script was carved into its front, and a vertical pupil was etched into the back.
"Have you seen this thing, Young Master Guo?"
"I think I have?" Guo Ziming answered uncertainly.
The moment the words left his mouth, his head hurt.
Immediately after, Guo Huaili's voice rang out.
"If you've seen it, then you've seen it. If you haven't, then you haven't. Speak properly!"
After taking a blow to the head, Guo Ziming answered aggrievedly:
"Well, the last time I saw Liu Mang, a few days ago, he was holding this copper piece and said he wanted to sell it to me. It's a piece of junk. I'd never buy it."
Hearing this, Lin Xiu asked a few more detailed questions.
He wrote and sketched in his notebook, recording what had happened as well as Liu Mang's connections to Guo Ziming.
"Oh, right. Tell me this too. Based on what you know, who did Liu Mang have a grudge against? Or who might have killed him?"
Who might have?
At the question, Fang Shuwen's face instantly appeared in Guo Ziming's mind.
He shuddered at once.
But it seemed too absurd. Even if Fang Shuwen had changed somewhat, that kid wouldn't dare kill anyone!
Thinking of this, Guo Ziming shook his head.
"No. I don't know."