Zheng Yuanpei said, "Come with me," then leaned on his cane and headed toward the back courtyard.
Fang Shuwen followed him through a short corridor, and the view suddenly opened up before them.
The back courtyard was more than three times the size of the training ground at the Zhao Estate.
Three rows of wooden dummies stood neatly arranged across the yard, their bodies covered in fist and palm marks of varying depths.
The weapon racks held a full array of swords, spears, and halberds, along with two unusual weapons shaped like crescent moons.
A row of stone locks was stacked in the corner; even the smallest weighed over a hundred pounds.
The largest was the size of a water vat!
Zheng Yuanpei rested his cane against a pillar, walked to the center of the yard, and turned around.
"What kind of fist do you practice? Show me a set."
Fang Shuwen walked into the yard and assumed the opening stance of Soaring Snake Fist.
There was no point in hiding his abilities in front of an expert of this caliber.
Starting from his tailbone, his spine relaxed one vertebra at a time. His whole body became like a coiled snake.
Then he twisted his waist and unleashed his strength. It burst from both feet, wound up through his hips and waist, and surged into his right fist.
His fist cut through the air, not in a straight line but along a strange arc.
Snake Fang Thrust.
The air split with a sharp crack.
He kept going without pause. His movements weren't fast, but they flowed together like drifting clouds and running water.
Zheng Yuanpei watched him. Only after a long moment did he speak. "Three-Sound Bone Crack. Your single-arm strength is around seven hundred pounds. What's this set called?"
"Soaring Snake Fist."
Zheng Yuanpei repeated the name under his breath, his brows drawing together slightly. "Never heard of it. It doesn't seem to come from around Xikou. It bears some resemblance to ancient Snake Form fist, but it's not quite the same. Did someone teach it to you?"
"I practiced it from a manual."
Fang Shuwen didn't mention that it was actually a legacy passed down from the giant snake apparition.
Zheng Yuanpei nodded.
"No wonder. Your mastery is clearly no low, yet the art has a fatal flaw. Your force isn't unified. You haven't trained the skill into your body."
He spread his five fingers and gently pressed them against a wooden dummy.
He didn't wind up or twist his waist. He simply pressed down.
With a bang, the dummy shuddered, and a palm print with smooth edges appeared on its surface, as if seared there by a branding iron.
The force wasn't great, but it had seeped deep into the wood.
"Your Three-Sound Bone Crack rings in separate beats: one from your feet, one from your waist, one from your shoulders. The force is scattered, not brought together. True force doesn't ring in three separate beats. It rings as one."
Fang Shuwen frowned.
He remembered that martial arts theory did talk about "Three-Sound Unity." He had always thought it was just a figure of speech.
"When you can achieve Three-Sound Unity, it means you're strong enough to control the power in your body."
Fang Shuwen understood.
No wonder his strikes barely made the dummy react, despite his having seven hundred pounds of strength.
"Then how should I train?"
"What you need now isn't training. It's correction."
Zheng Yuanpei took a seven-foot-long White Wax Pole, as thick as his thumb, from the weapon rack and handed it to him.
"Use this in place of your arm, then run through Soaring Snake Fist again."
Fang Shuwen took it. It weighed a good ten pounds.
He assumed the opening stance and threw a punch.
The pole snapped out from his waist, but halfway through the motion, it began to tremble violently like a struggling snake, nearly slipping from his grasp.
"Feel it? The force passes your waist, then doesn't travel any farther. The pole shakes because the force has broken."
Fang Shuwen punched again, deliberately focusing on how the force traveled through him.
He pushed off from the ground, twisted his hips, and snapped his spine upward.
But when the force reached his shoulder, it clearly bogged down. It couldn't get through.
The pole shook again.
"Again."
He didn't stop, throwing punch after punch.
Sweat soaked through his collar.
By the twentieth repetition, his right shoulder had begun to ache. It wasn't a muscle ache, but a deep soreness inside the joint, as if something were slowly coming loose.
By the thirtieth, the shoulder joint gave a faint click.
It wasn't the sound of bone cracking, but of a misaligned joint settling back into place, like a rusty hinge being forced open.
A rush of warmth swept through his shoulder and surged straight into his fist.
This time, the White Wax Pole didn't shake. It was taut as a drawn bow, tracing a perfect arc.
Then,
A sharp pop came from its tip, shriller than any of the previous ones.
"Feel it?"
There was a hint of satisfaction in Zheng Yuanpei's voice.
"I feel it. The force made it past my shoulder."
Fang Shuwen gasped for breath, but his eyes shone brilliantly.
"You've brushed against the threshold of true force. But to cross it, you still need to unite the bone cracks from your feet, waist, and shoulders. Remember that?"
Fang Shuwen bowed deeply. "I'll remember. Thank you for your guidance, sir."
"Enough of that."
Zheng Yuanpei turned and headed toward the side room.
"I taught you because you're good at chess. If you stop playing with me, just see what I'll do to you."
"Understood, sir."
Zheng Yuanpei pulled him into another game of chess.
This time, Fang Shuwen "lost."
He hadn't thrown the game. His mind simply wasn't on the board; he kept replaying the sensations from his training.
Zheng Yuanpei had won, and he was delighted, his goatee bobbing as he laughed.
"Ha ha! I told you, I've figured out your playing style. Next time, I'll beat you two games in a row!"
Fang Shuwen smiled without calling him out.
Time passed without his noticing. Outside the window, daylight faded to darkness, and dusk began to settle over the whole Zheng Mansion.
Fang Shuwen got up to take his leave.
Zheng Yuanpei didn't try to stop him. Leaning back in his chair, he waved a hand and let him go.
Fang Shuwen left the side room, crossed the covered corridor, and headed for the Zheng Mansion's main gate.
Just as he reached the lotus pond in the front courtyard, he heard a quick patter of footsteps behind him.
Soles slapped against the bluestone paving, quick and light.
"Fang Shuwen, wait!"
Fang Shuwen stopped and turned around.
Zheng Shulan came trotting out from behind the Moon Gate, carrying a light blue cloth bundle embroidered with an orchid.
The stitches were fine, and it was made from the same material as the bag she had carried last time.
She had run in a hurry, and her cheeks were slightly flushed. The wisps of hair on her forehead fluttered in the evening breeze.
She stopped in front of Fang Shuwen, caught her breath, and held out the cloth bundle.
"This... is for you."
"Thank you for what you did that day."
Before Fang Shuwen could respond, she turned and ran off in a flash.
After Zheng Shulan disappeared behind the Moon Gate, Fang Shuwen lowered his eyes to the blue cloth bundle in his hands.
"Hm?"
He untied the cord. Inside lay five pieces of jade, each about the size of his palm.
Their quality varied, but even the poorest piece was far better than the inferior jade he'd bought at the National Martial Arts Hall.
One piece was dark green all the way through. A faint chill seeped into his palm as he held it, and the concentration of its anomalous energy far exceeded that of any piece he had absorbed before.
As expected, the Zheng Family had deep foundations.
Fang Shuwen tucked the cloth bundle into his robe, crossed the front courtyard, and left through the Zheng Mansion's main gate.
Dusk had fully settled.
The streets of North District were eerily quiet, lined with high walls and deep courtyards.
Now and then, a black car glided by without a sound, its headlights sweeping a patch of white across the blue-brick walls.
Fang Shuwen headed south along the main road at an unhurried pace.
Once he left North District, the number of pedestrians gradually increased.
He turned onto East Street, intending to take a shortcut back to the Zhao Estate.
He hadn't walked for even a quarter of an hour when his pace suddenly slowed.
There were footsteps behind him.