Seven to Three

Tian Peng crossed his palms, left hand forward, right hand hidden beneath his ribs. His fingers curled slightly like iron hooks.

The opening stance of Thunder-Bolt Hand was called "Thunder Hidden in Clouds." It looked plain and unremarkable, but in truth it stored power, ready to unleash a thunderous strike at any moment.

Chen Yuan did not move.

He stood in Three-Body Stance, front hand poised in Eagle Catch, rear hand guarding his heart. His whole body was like an iron stake driven into a blue-brick wall.

The two faced off for three full breaths.

Tian Peng moved first.

Not because he was impatient, but because he suddenly realized something.

With Chen Yuan standing there in that posture, there wasn't a single opening on his entire body to exploit.

His front hand guarded his throat, his rear hand protected his heart, his knees were slightly bent, and his center of gravity was steady.

There was no point in continuing the standoff.

He stepped forward with his right foot, planting it heavily. The blue bricks gave a dull thud, and his whole foot ground half an inch into the ground.

At the same time, his left palm flashed out like a sudden clap of thunder, fingers pressed together into a blade as he thrust straight at Chen Yuan's face.

"Thunder-Bolt Stab!"

This wasn't a slap or a chop. It was a thrust.

The palm-blade cut through the air with a sharp hiss.

The edge of his palm sliced through the air, and the gust of wind struck Chen Yuan between the brows before the palm itself could reach him.

Chen Yuan pushed off with his rear foot and charged forward instead of retreating.

He didn't advance in a straight line.

His Three-Body Stance turned into Dragon Folding Body. His spine twisted like a cable, and his upper body tilted aside, slipping past the sharp edge of the thrust as his left hand flipped out from his waist.

Splitting Fist traveled in a vertical arc, chopping down like an axe splitting wood. The heel of his palm aimed straight at Tian Peng's wrist.

"Smack!"

The heel of his palm struck the wrist joint with a crisp crack.

Tian Peng's wrist went numb. The strength in his entire left arm was split in two by that chop. The force behind his palm-blade drained away, while the blood and energy in his forearm were jolted backward.

His heart tightened. His right palm had already flipped out from beneath his ribs, fingers curling into a fist, knuckles upward, as he drove a punch toward Chen Yuan's chest.

This punch was called "Thunder Hammer." It was a variation of Thunder-Bolt Hand that shifted from palm to fist. It carried immense force, and the wind of the punch whistled.

Chen Yuan did not withdraw his right hand after the chop. Instead, his left hand moved.

His left hand had been guarding his heart all along. Now it suddenly flipped upward—Drill Fist.

With his palm facing upward and his fist spiraling, he neither blocked nor parried. He drilled straight into the path of Tian Peng's punch.

Fist against fist.

"Thud!"

Their fists collided with a muffled, heavy impact, like two bullhide drums being struck at once.

Tian Peng's punch carried direct Clear Force, like an iron hammer pounding on a door. Chen Yuan's punch carried spiraling force, like a steel awl boring through a hole.

The instant their fists collided, the stronger force prevailed—the spiraling force bored through the direct strike, and Tian Peng's fist was forcibly knocked off course. His balance faltered, and his upper body involuntarily leaned back half an inch.

Half an inch was enough.

Chen Yuan's right foot had already stepped between Tian Peng's feet.

He had stepped through the central gate.

He didn't throw Crushing Fist. Instead, he bent his right arm at the elbow and swept his forearm sideways like an iron bar. It was the "Horizontal Lean" from the Coiling Body Horizontal Fist.

The outside of his forearm slammed into the center of Tian Peng's chest. The force was delivered in a short, compact burst, released the moment it made contact, like a bowstring twanging.

"Thump!"

The front of Tian Peng's shirt billowed from the impact. He staggered back four steps before regaining his balance.

He looked down to see the faint imprint of an arm across his chest, his skin tingling with heat.

Several guards at the edge of the Martial Arts Arena had stopped what they were doing and gathered around.

"This new guy's got some skill. Tian Peng hasn't gotten the better of him once in two moves."

"That's putting it mildly. Did you see that last exchange? Fist against fist—he knocked Tian Peng's Thunder Hammer off course with a direct clash."

"D-Grade Bone Structure? Doesn't look like it."

Tian Peng drew a deep breath. The dull ache in his chest hadn't fully faded.

He knew he had underestimated Chen Yuan.

Head Fan had said Chen Yuan had broken through in two and a half months. Tian Peng had instinctively assumed he had barely managed it and had an unstable foundation.

How solid could he possibly be after just two and a half months?

Yet in those two exchanges, his opponent's stance was as steady as that of a veteran who had practiced postures for two years. How could he look like someone who had only just broken through?

He put aside his thoughts of underestimating Chen Yuan and crossed his palms again, the joints in his fingers cracking.

He summoned his Clear Force.

"Crack, crack, crack—"

The muscles and bones in Tian Peng's arms rang out together. From shoulder to fingertips, a string of sharp cracks rolled on like popping beans.

This wasn't ordinary Clear Force. It was the Thunder-Bolt Hand's signature "Thunder Sound Arm Infusion," driving Clear Force to its limit and channeling it through every joint in his fingers.

Suddenly, he moved with blinding speed.

His right foot tapped the ground, and he closed in on Chen Yuan like a shadow. His left palm struck toward Chen Yuan's face, his right palm stabbed toward his ribs. Both palms struck in succession, each one faster and heavier than the last—Twelve Thunder-Gallop Palms, a continuous barrage!

"Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack!"

Palms blurred through the air as gusts of force scattered in every direction.

This Twelve Thunder-Gallop Palms set was the signature art of Thunder-Gallop Martial Hall. Its twelve strikes flowed one into another, each faster and heavier than the last.

By the sixth strike, the force of his palms already carried the faint rumble of muffled thunder.

Chen Yuan changed how he responded.

He had met the first two moves head-on, but now that Tian Peng had unleashed his palm technique, he stopped taking the strikes directly.

His footwork came alive.

The Chicken Leg Footwork of Three-Body Stance emphasized "lifting the foot no higher than necessary, planting it like a root." Now, he shortened his steps to the bare minimum, almost gliding along the ground.

When Tian Peng's palm chopped toward him, he shifted three inches to the left. When Tian Peng's palm thrust at him, he slipped two inches to the right.

Each step landed exactly at the point where Tian Peng transitioned between palms—not a fraction too much or too little, just enough for the edge of each palm to skim past his shirt.

His footwork was slick.

The guards at the edge of the arena exchanged looks.

They had sparred with Tian Peng before. Once he unleashed Twelve Thunder-Gallop Palms, hardly anyone could dodge every strike through footwork alone.

Usually, the answer was to block a few strikes and look for a chance to counterattack. But Chen Yuan wasn't playing by the usual rules at all.

His footwork wasn't random. Every step made it seem as if he knew in advance where Tian Peng's next palm would strike.

"Prediction," one of the older guards murmured. "He's reading Tian Peng's shoulders."

The others looked closely and saw that, sure enough, Tian Peng's shoulder dipped slightly before every strike.

The movement was so quick it was almost imperceptible, but Chen Yuan's body always started moving the instant Tian Peng's shoulder dipped—just a fraction before the force of the palm arrived.

Tian Peng noticed it too.

The more he fought, the more frustrated he became. He had thrown eight of his twelve palms, but hadn't even touched the hem of Chen Yuan's clothes.

What infuriated him more was that Chen Yuan could still find time to counterattack while dodging.

As his ninth palm was halfway through its strike, Chen Yuan suddenly stopped dodging. He planted his right foot and brought his left hand up from the flank—Cannon Fist.

Cannon Fist belonged to fire, like a cannonball blasting out of its barrel.

Chen Yuan's punch wasn't aimed at Tian Peng's face or chest, but at the elbow joint of the arm delivering the ninth palm.

His fist struck a spot exactly one inch above the point of Tian Peng's elbow, cutting off the path of force behind the palm.

"Thump!"

Tian Peng's ninth palm only made it halfway. The force in his entire arm was cut off, and it dropped limply at his side.

His face flushed crimson.

He had made nine strikes out of twelve, and three had been interrupted by counterattacks.

Thunder-Bolt Hand relied on "one continuous flow." The greatest strength of this chain of palms was that once it began, it rolled on like unending thunder. Its greatest weakness was that if it was interrupted, its rhythm fell apart completely.

Now he was completely thrown off. He didn't know whether to throw the tenth palm, couldn't connect with the rhythm for the eleventh, and the twelfth seemed impossibly far away.

Even more humiliating, it had all happened right before his fellow guards' eyes.

When he had passed the test half a month ago, all these guards had sparred with him. They knew how formidable his Twelve Thunder-Gallop Palms were.

But now, he hadn't even touched the hem of his opponent's clothes with all twelve strikes, and the other man had cut off the force in his elbow with a single punch.

A newcomer who had only just broken through, with D-Grade Bone Structure, after two and a half months—what gave him the right?

Tian Peng gritted his teeth, thin threads of red appearing in the whites of his eyes.

He suddenly withdrew the stance of Twelve Thunder-Gallop Palms, pressed both palms down, and his whole presence changed abruptly.

He was going to get serious.

Thunder-Bolt Hand wasn't limited to Twelve Thunder-Gallop Palms. It also had a technique that was rarely used, called "Nine Thunder-Motion Styles."

It was a secret art passed down by Thunder-Gallop Martial Hall: fierce and explosive, with every move capable of killing.

It was rarely used in assessments or sparring, because once someone unleashed it, they might not be able to hold back, and someone could get hurt.

But now, he couldn't worry about that.

He stamped his right foot down. The blue bricks cracked with a sharp snap, and he shot forward like a bolt of thunder.

He swung his right arm in a wide arc, clenched his fingers into a fist, and bulging veins rose across the back of his hand. He smashed down toward Chen Yuan's head—this punch was called "Thunder Cleaves Five Mountains," the opening move of Nine Thunder-Motion Styles. It carried tremendous weight, and the wind of the punch howled like muffled thunder bearing down from above.

"Enough. This is just sparring. Hold back."

A deep voice exploded over the Martial Arts Arena like a clap of thunder.

Tian Peng's fist stopped dead in midair, less than a foot from Chen Yuan's head.

The force of the punch hadn't yet faded, and the short hair on Chen Yuan's forehead whipped in the wind.

Fan Dajiang came over from the edge of the arena. He didn't walk quickly, but each step seemed to land on Tian Peng's heartbeat.

"Nine Thunder-Motion Styles is for killing, not for testing newcomers."

Fan Dajiang stopped and looked at Tian Peng with a calm expression. "Put your fist away."

Tian Peng's chest heaved violently, and the red still hadn't faded from his eyes.

He glanced at Chen Yuan, who remained as calm and composed as before, without even breathing hard.

Tian Peng gritted his teeth, withdrew his fist, stepped back twice, and bowed with his fists clasped. "I overstepped, Head Fan. Please punish me."

Fan Dajiang didn't respond. Instead, he turned to Chen Yuan.

"You have a solid foundation in your stances. When you take Three-Body Stance, you don't move a hair. That kind of composure is rare among young men with restless hearts."

Chen Yuan smiled faintly. "I'm ashamed, sir. If Brother Tian had been serious, I definitely wouldn't have been his match."

You couldn't show mercy with your hands during a spar, but afterward you could show mercy with your words.

He didn't want to make enemies the moment he arrived.

Sure enough, Tian Peng's expression softened considerably at those words, and he took up the conversation:

"Brother Chen is a fine fighter. If I hadn't used my signature techniques, I'd have been helpless against him."

His opinion of Chen Yuan improved.

When you were away from home, respect went both ways.

Fan Dajiang thought even more highly of Chen Yuan. He had solid martial skills and knew how to handle social niceties. He was more than qualified to serve as a guard.

He smiled faintly. "Chen Yuan, you passed. Starting tomorrow, you'll be on duty. Your monthly pay will be seven taels. We'll arrange your lodgings and duties shortly."

Chen Yuan lowered his fists and bowed. "Thank you, Consultant Fan."

Then he followed Fan Dajiang out of the Martial Arts Arena.

The night breeze passed through the covered walkway, carrying the faint scent of some unknown flower from the flower beds.

The guards watched him go. Some were curious, some impressed, and one or two seemed to be sizing him up.

He walked steadily, his expression unchanged.

Fan Dajiang went into the storeroom, retrieved a set of guard's clothes and a waist token for Chen Yuan, and instructed him:

"When you come in tomorrow, change into the uniform and bring your waist token. You'll be on the morning shift at first, from the hour of the Dragon to the hour of the Goat—that is, from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. Remember to gather in the courtyard before the hour of the Dragon so they can assign your specific duties."

Chen Yuan took them and felt the material. It was even better than what he was wearing. No wonder they were loaded.

He nodded. "Head Fan, I'll remember."

Fan Dajiang nodded.

"The Li Family has quite a few attendants. I'm in charge of the residence's security, so the workload isn't heavy. There are three shifts in total.

"In your free time, you can practice martial arts at the arena. Sparring with the other guards is a good option, too.

"Also, you get four days off each month. Your monthly pay is issued all at once at the end of the month. For this month, you'll be paid according to the number of days you actually work. Is that all right?"

"No problem." Chen Yuan had no objections.

This job was already quite generous. He'd work eight hours a day, and from the look of the people at the arena, he could slack off for at least four of them. Most of the time, he'd just patrol the grounds, and basically no petty thief would dare cause trouble at the Li Family's residence.

If something really did happen, his first choice would be to run.

After leaving the Li Family, Chen Yuan hurried back to Huo Academy.

He'd been running all over the place and doing all this stuff, and he still hadn't eaten!