Manifest Force

Deputy Leader Ma stared at Xu Qing for a long while.

His face was white as paper, tears and snot smeared all over it, his whole body shaking like chaff in a sieve.

At last, Deputy Leader Ma impatiently waved his hand.

The two burly men let go, and Xu Qing collapsed to the ground like a puddle of mud.

"Get lost." Deputy Leader Ma spat out only one word.

Xu Qing was still, after all, a disciple of the Zhao Family Martial Hall. Without evidence, Deputy Leader Ma did not dare do anything to him in broad daylight. Beating him up was one thing; beating him to death or crippling him was another.

Hearing that, Xu Qing felt as though he had been granted a pardon. He scrambled to his feet, a huge patch of his trousers soaked through, but he had no mind to hide it. Staggering, he ran deeper into the alley without daring to look back.

Deputy Leader Ma watched his retreating back and spat.

He was certain Xu Qing had not done it.

That coward had not even reached Manifest Force. Judging by the way he had cowered just now, he had been scared into wetting himself. A piece of trash like that would not dare kill anyone even if he were given ten times the courage.

"Let's go." Deputy Leader Ma waved a hand and led his men away.

Yet the discussions on the street did not die down.

"So he was just boasting." At the entrance of the general store, Old Madam Wang stood with her hands on her hips, her voice loud enough for half the street to hear. "I really thought he'd found someone to beat Chen Jiang to death and rid the neighborhood of a scourge. Turns out he was just gilding his own face."

"Look at that cowardly state of his. He was scared into wetting himself, and he still wanted to play the hero." The cloth shop owner's wife covered her mouth and laughed. "And he said some young master of the Wu Clan had stood up for him. Young Master Wu did not acknowledge any such thing at all. That is not gilding his own face—that is jumping straight into a cesspit."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. He has disgraced the entire Xu family." The barber shook his head. "That boy seemed quite clever when he was little. How did he grow up backward?"

The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving only that puddle of urine on the ground, slowly evaporating beneath the sun.

Xu Yan stood at the mouth of the alley, frozen where she was.

She had five taels of silver tucked in her clothes and had come to thank her eldest sister-in-law. After her eldest sister-in-law had explained what happened last time, she and Xu Cheng had discussed it: no matter what, Xu Qing had been a great help this time. Though her eldest sister-in-law had no filter on her mouth, the child had good intentions.

They had decided to bring five taels of silver as a token of thanks and to give their eldest sister-in-law's family an explanation.

She had only just arrived on the street where Xu Qing's family ran their clothing shop when she saw what happened at the street corner.

She saw Xu Qing pinned against the wall, heard him crying out, "It wasn't me!" and "It has nothing to do with me!" She saw the urine stains on his trouser legs and the wet patch on the ground.

Her hand began to shake, and the silver in her clothes felt unbearably heavy.

So... it was not Xu Qing.

Those rumors, that taking of credit, that smug boasting—it had all been fake, all blown out of thin air, all gold leaf he had pasted onto his own face.

She had nearly delivered those five taels of silver. She had nearly thanked the wrong person.

Xu Yan stood at the street corner, watching Xu Qing's retreating figure, and opened her mouth, wanting to call him back. Not to scold him, but to see whether he was hurt. The child surely had no face left to show anyone now. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him, "It's all right."

But Xu Qing ran too fast, as if ghosts were chasing him from behind.

He heard Xu Yan's voice, the words "Qing" drifting over from the alley entrance, and his steps faltered.

His face reddened even more, from the base of his neck all the way to his ears, red as though it would drip blood. He did not dare turn around or look at her. Gritting his teeth, he plunged headlong into his family's clothing shop.

Xu Yan's outstretched hand hung in the air before slowly falling back down.

She sighed, turned around, and returned to the steamed bun shop.

Xu Cheng was kneading dough. Seeing her return looking somewhat dejected, he paused, his hands stopping. "What's wrong? Did Eldest Sister-in-law think the silver was too little?"

Xu Yan shook her head, her eyes slightly red, and told him what she had just seen.

Xu Cheng's expression changed again and again, from confusion to shock, from shock to anger, from anger to helplessness, until only weariness remained.

"...Forget it." He said only those two words, then lowered his head again and continued kneading the dough, once, then again, his movements much slower than before.

Deputy Leader Ma returned to Azure Flood Dragon Hall, leaned back in his grand chair, and took a huge gulp from his teacup.

He had no intention of investigating Chen Jiang's matter any further.

First, the leads had run dry. The Xu Qing lead was false, and Wu Mingyuan had cleared himself as well. If he kept digging, he would have to turn the entire western district upside down. Not only would that take time and effort, it might not even yield any results.

Second, he had never thought highly of Chen Jiang to begin with. That brother-in-law of his had no skills beyond eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling. He had relied on Deputy Leader Ma's name to stir up plenty of trouble outside. Dead was dead; it meant one less scourge and one less source of trouble.

Third, the person who had truly acted was an exceptional master of Hidden Force. He did not want to provoke someone like that, nor could he afford to. If he did, he feared he might even lose his life.

Deputy Leader Ma set down his teacup and said to his trusted subordinate beside him, "Chen Jiang's matter ends here. Tell the men below not to investigate it any further."

The confidant nodded and withdrew.

Deputy Leader Ma rubbed his temples and let out a long breath. "If this keeps escalating over that worthless brother-in-law of mine, it might bring even greater trouble upon the gang. It is not worth it."

Thus, Chen Jiang's death was left unresolved. No one mentioned it again, and no one investigated it again. Like a pebble cast into a river, its ripples faded, and the water's surface returned to calm.

Only Xu Qing's flushed face and the wet patch on his trouser legs became a joke for the neighbors to laugh over after tea and meals.

Xu Qing did not dare leave home for several days. He did not even dare go to the martial hall, afraid people would point and gossip.

In the blink of an eye, Xu Qing had been at the martial hall for twenty days.

Early that morning, before dawn had broken, he was the only person on the training ground.

The fog was thick, like a thin veil draped over the plum blossom stakes. Dew ran down the stakes and dripped into the yellow earth, spreading into dark spots one after another.

Xu Qing stood atop the plum blossom stakes, his feet apart, shoulders lowered and elbows sunk, his breathing long and steady. Dew had soaked his lapels, making them cling to his body with a chilly dampness, but he did not notice at all.

These days, he had trained harder than anyone.

Every day, he rose before dawn. At night, even after everyone else had gone to sleep, he was still practicing his fists. Not a single day missed, rain or shine. Sometimes, when Qin Liang got up in the middle of the night to relieve himself, he could still see Xu Qing standing in stance practice in the courtyard.

His stance was firm and steady, like a tree rooted in the earth—unmoved by wind, unshaken by rain.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of heat rise from his lower abdomen.

It was not the warmth that welled up from his stomach after drinking medicinal broth. This heat seeped out from the gaps between his bones, as though someone had lit a fire in his marrow.

The heat crawled up along his spine, spreading through his shoulders, arms, and fingertips, then flowing down his thighs and pouring into the soles of his feet.

Heat poured from every pore across his body, and he felt as if he had been set over a fire to roast.

His heartbeat quickened, blood surged through his veins, and a fine layer of sweat formed on his skin, only to be evaporated by the heat radiating from his body. It dried, then emerged again, over and over.

His sinews and bones crackled. It was not the sound of bones breaking, but like bowstrings being drawn—every tendon stretching open, tightening, then stretching again.

From his ankles to his knees, from his knees to his hips, from his hips to his shoulders, it surged upward, as if a sleeping dragon within him had suddenly awakened and turned over.

The progress of his stance technique surfaced in his mind—

[Three Talents Stake (Beginner): 99/100]

Only the final step remained.

The heat grew fiercer and fiercer, crashing through his body like tides, wave after wave, each more violent and higher than the last.

He felt like a leather sack stuffed full of air, on the verge of bursting at any moment. Every inch of muscle was swelling, every bone burning hot, even his teeth grinding with a clack.

Suddenly—

Boom!

It was as if something had exploded inside him.

It was not pain, but an indescribable feeling of utter clarity.

Like a river channel blocked for twenty days finally opening, all the heat found an outlet in an instant. It surged from his dantian, raced through his meridians, and flooded his limbs and bones.

Every joint was forced open, every meridian cleared. His blood and qi circulated through his body without hindrance, like spring waters overflowing their banks—vast and mighty, unstoppable.

In that instant, his body became lighter.

Not the lightness of weakness, but as though every shackle had been cast aside. Every joint came alive, every muscle loosened, yet loose without scattering, relaxed but filled with strength.

He clenched his fist—

Crackle!

A string of crisp pops rang out from his joints. Not the two or three sounds from before, but a long chain, from his fingers to his wrist, from his wrist to his elbow, from his elbow to his shoulder, bursting all the way through like a string of firecrackers.

He threw a punch.

He did not strike the wooden dummy, only sent a Crushing Punch into the empty air.

Crack!

The wind from his fist burst with a sharp report, like the snap of a whip.

The fog rippled visibly from the blow, spreading outward until it struck the courtyard wall two zhang away, then bounced back and brushed against his face with a cool chill.

His sinews and bones rang as one.

That was the mark of Manifest Force.

He had stepped into Manifest Force!

It had happened as naturally as water flowing into a channel, without the slightest obstruction.

The bottleneck that barred countless martial artists. The hurdle that trapped so many for a lifetime, until their hair turned white and their sinews and bones broke from training, yet they still could not cross.

For him, it did not exist.