Tracking, Please Read, Please Read

Zheng Yuanpei said, "Follow me," and walked toward the backyard, leaning on his cane.

Fang Shuwen followed, passing through a short corridor until the view suddenly opened up before him.

This backyard was more than three times the size of the Zhao Estate training grounds.

Three rows of wooden dummy stakes were arranged in an orderly fashion, their surfaces covered in fist and palm marks of varying depths.

The weapon rack was fully stocked with blades, spears, swords, and halberds, along with two peculiar crescent-shaped weapons.

A row of stone locks was stacked in the corner, the smallest weighing at least a hundred catties.

The largest one was the size of a water vat!

Zheng Yuanpei leaned his cane against a pillar, walked to the center of the yard, and turned around.

"What kind of fist technique do you practice? Show me a set."

Fang Shuwen walked to the center of the yard and assumed the starting stance of the Soaring Snake Fist.

Facing an expert of this caliber, there was no point in hiding his skills.

He relaxed his spine section by section, starting from the tailbone, his entire body coiling like a lurking snake.

He then twisted his waist to generate force, the power exploding from his feet, winding up through his hips and waist, and channeling into his right fist.

The fist tip tore through the air, moving not in a straight line, but in a strange, eerie arc.

Snake Fang Thrust.

The air was ripped apart, and a sharp, explosive sound rang out.

He did not pause, and though his movements were not fast, the transitions were as smooth as flowing water.

Zheng Yuanpei stared at him for a long time before speaking: "Three bone cracks, single-arm strength around seven hundred catties. What is this fist technique called?"

"Soaring Snake Fist."

Zheng Yuanpei repeated the name under his breath, his brows slightly furrowed. "Never heard of it. It doesn't look like a lineage from around Xikou. It has traces of the ancient Snake Form, yet it's different. Did someone teach you?"

"I practiced it by following a manual."

Fang Shuwen did not mention that it was actually a legacy from a giant snake phantom.

Zheng Yuanpei nodded.

"No wonder. Although the level of your fist technique is quite high, it has a fatal flaw: your force is not unified, and you haven't truly integrated the skill into your body."

He splayed his five fingers and pressed them lightly against a wooden dummy stake.

Without gathering strength or twisting his waist, he simply pressed.

With a "bang," a palm print with smooth edges appeared on the stake, as if branded by a hot iron.

The force was not great, but the power had penetrated deep into the wood.

"Your three bone cracks sound separately. One from the foot, one from the waist, one from the shoulder. The force is scattered and not integrated. True force doesn't sound three times; it sounds as one."

Fang Shuwen frowned.

He remembered that martial arts theory did indeed mention "three sounds as one," but he had always assumed it was just a figure of speech.

"When you can achieve three sounds as one, it will mean you are capable of controlling this strength of yours."

Fang Shuwen understood.

No wonder that despite having seven hundred catties of strength, the impact on the stake was far less than expected.

"Then how should I train?"

"What you need now isn't training, it's correction."

Zheng Yuanpei pulled a seven-foot-long, thumb-thick white wax wood pole from the weapon rack and handed it over.

"Use this to replace your arm and perform the Soaring Snake Fist again."

Fang Shuwen took it; it weighed at least ten catties.

He assumed the starting stance and threw a punch.

The pole snapped out from his waist, but halfway through, it began to vibrate violently like a struggling snake, nearly slipping from his grip.

"Do you feel it? The force didn't travel upward once it passed your waist. The pole shaking means the force was broken."

Fang Shuwen threw the punch again, deliberately focusing on the transmission of force.

He pushed off the ground, twisted his waist and hips, and snapped his spine.

But when it reached his shoulder, there was a clear stagnation, and the force could not pass through.

The pole vibrated again.

"Again."

He did not stop, throwing punch after punch.

Sweat soaked his collar.

By the twentieth repetition, my right shoulder began to ache—not a muscular soreness, but a deep, swelling ache within the joint, as if something were slowly loosening.

By the thirtieth repetition, the shoulder joint emitted a faint "click."

It wasn't the sound of bone cracking, but the reset of a displaced joint, like a rusted door hinge finally being pushed open.

A surge of heat flooded through my shoulder, channeling straight into the tip of my fist.

This time, the white wax wood pole did not tremble; it held taut like a drawn bow, carving a perfect arc through the air.

Then, The tip snapped with a sharp "crack," more piercing than any time before.

"Feel it?"

Zheng Yuanpei's voice carried a hint of satisfaction.

"I felt it. The force has passed through the shoulder."

Fang Shuwen gasped for air, his eyes shining with startling intensity.

"You've touched the threshold of force. But to cross it, you must unify the bone-cracking of your feet, waist, and shoulders. Do you remember?"

Fang Shuwen bowed deeply. "I remember. Thank you for your guidance, sir."

"Spare me that."

Zheng Yuanpei turned and walked toward the side chamber.

"I only guided you because you play a decent game of chess. If you stop playing with me in the future, see how I deal with you."

"Understood, sir."

Zheng Yuanpei pulled him into another game of chess.

Fang Shuwen 'lost' this one.

It wasn't that he threw the game intentionally; his mind simply wasn't on the board, constantly replaying the sensation from his practice earlier.

Zheng Yuanpei won, his mood soaring, his goatee twitching with laughter.

"Haha, I told you! I've figured out your style, boy. I'll win two more off you next time!"

Fang Shuwen smiled, choosing not to expose the truth.

Time slipped away unnoticed; the sky outside the window shifted from bright to dim, and twilight began to shroud the entire Zheng Mansion.

Fang Shuwen rose to take his leave.

Zheng Yuanpei did not press him to stay, leaning back in his chair and waving a hand to let him see himself out.

Fang Shuwen stepped out of the side chamber, crossed the covered walkway, and headed toward the main gate of the Zheng Mansion.

Just as he reached the lotus pond in the front courtyard, he heard a flurry of hurried footsteps behind him.

The soles of shoes struck the bluestone path with a rapid, light patter-patter.

"Fang Shuwen, wait!"

Fang Shuwen paused and turned around.

Zheng Shulan came jogging out from behind the Moon Gate, holding a cloth bundle—pale blue, embroidered with a single orchid.

The stitching was fine and dense, made of the same fabric as the satchel she had carried last time.

She had run in such a hurry that her cheeks were slightly flushed, and the stray hairs on her forehead fluttered in the breeze, dancing in the twilight.

Stopping before Fang Shuwen, she caught her breath for a moment and held out the bundle.

"This... is for you."

"Thank you for what happened the other day."

Before Fang Shuwen could respond, she turned and darted away in a flash.

As Zheng Shulan's silhouette vanished behind the Moon Gate, Fang Shuwen looked down at the blue cloth bundle in his hands.

"Hm?"

He untied the knot to find five palm-sized jade stones resting inside.

The quality varied, but even the worst piece was far superior to the rejects he had bought at the National Martial Arts Hall.

One of them was a deep, solid ink-green; holding it in his palm, he could feel a faint chill, and the concentration of exotic energy within it far exceeded anything he had absorbed before.

The Zheng Family truly had deep foundations.

Fang Shuwen tucked the bundle into his tunic, crossed the front courtyard, and exited the gates of the Zheng Mansion.

Twilight had fully descended.

The streets of the North District were unnaturally quiet, lined with high walls and deep estates.

Occasionally, a black car would glide by in silence, its headlights sweeping a swathe of white across the grey brick walls.

Fang Shuwen walked south along the main road at a steady pace.

Once he left the North District, pedestrians began to appear more frequently.

He turned into East Street, intending to take a shortcut back to the Zhao Estate.

He hadn't walked for even the time it takes to brew a cup of tea when his pace suddenly slowed.

There were footsteps behind him.