Cracks Beneath the Glitter

The popularity of the Advanced Fist Manual had never died down.

Instead, it only grew hotter and hotter.

The next morning, Chen Mo had barely entered the training ground when he saw several people gathered together, discussing the new fist art.

"Was that move just now done like this?"

"No, you have to turn your waist first."

"What about the feet?"

"Your feet follow your body."

As they talked, they began gesturing through the moves nearby.

At first glance, they did look quite impressive.

Especially after they had grown familiar with the movements, the coordination between fists and kicks was clearly far more complex than the Seventy-Three Forms.

Chen Mo stood to the side and watched for a while.

"What do you think?"

Zhao Chuan sidled over.

"Impressive, right?"

Chen Mo nodded.

"Pretty impressive."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Not snatching a fist manual."

Chen Mo laughed.

"It's too late for regrets now."

Zhao Chuan sighed.

"I managed to borrow one, though."

"You borrowed one?"

Chen Mo was a little surprised.

With a smug look, Zhao Chuan pulled a thin booklet from his clothes.

"A damaged copy."

Chen Mo took it and glanced through it.

Even the cover was somewhat worn, and the corners had been badly frayed.

"Where did you get this?"

"There was still one unwanted copy in the library."

Zhao Chuan flipped through it.

"Though part of it is missing, it's still better than having nothing."

Chen Mo returned the booklet to him.

"You practice first."

"Once I learn it, don't go getting jealous."

"Fine."

Zhao Chuan smiled brightly.

But just two days later, he could no longer smile.

The Advanced Fist Manual was not as easy to practice as they had imagined.

Or rather, there was nothing wrong with the manual itself.

The real problem was their own bodies.

Zhao Chuan followed the movements in the manual for half a day. The motions looked increasingly practiced, but the moment he tried to link them together, the problems emerged.

When he turned and followed up with a punch, his feet were a beat too slow.

His waist had turned, but his legs had not kept up.

The next form rushed forward again, and his breathing immediately fell into disarray.

When he threw the final punch, he nearly pitched forward himself.

"Stop, stop, stop."

Zhao Chuan leaned against a wooden post, gasping for breath.

Chen Mo watched from the side, thoroughly amused.

"Wasn't it pretty impressive?"

"Shut up."

"Why not keep going?"

"There's something wrong with this thing."

Chen Mo shook his head.

"The manual isn't going to trip you by itself."

Zhao Chuan glared at him in anger.

"If you laugh at me again, I'll give you the manual."

"I don't want it."

"Didn't you want one?"

"I used to."

Chen Mo was startled by his own words the moment he said them.

Zhao Chuan did not notice and lowered his head to flip through the manual again.

"I refuse to believe I can't learn it."

With that, he continued practicing.

Over on the other side, Zhou Ye's situation was clearly much better.

He had always been more hardworking than Zhao Chuan, and his body was sturdier too.

After obtaining the manual, he practically soaked in the training ground every day.

After several days, he had already practiced the new fist art to a respectable degree.

Once, when he threw a punch, the edge of his fist swept past a wooden post with a dull thud.

Several youths nearby could not help cheering.

"Zhou Ye, that move is getting faster and faster."

"Do it again."

Zhou Ye was fired up as well.

"Watch closely."

He assumed his stance again.

Chen Mo watched from afar.

He had to admit it.

Zhou Ye truly had improved.

Compared to before, his punches were faster, and his body moved with greater agility.

If he kept practicing this fist manual, he might really achieve a good result in the quarterly assessment.

But problems slowly began to appear as well.

After practicing continuously more than a dozen times, Zhou Ye stopped to catch his breath.

His legs were clearly heavier than before.

Especially when turning, his footing was no longer as steady as it had been at the beginning.

"Take a rest."

Chen Mo walked over.

Zhou Ye waved a hand.

"I'm still a little short."

"Your footwork is a little messy."

Zhou Ye lowered his head and glanced down.

"How is it messy?"

"When you turned just now, your back foot didn't keep up."

Zhou Ye frowned.

"Did that happen?"

"It did."

Chen Mo answered with certainty.

Zhou Ye fell silent for a moment, then assumed his stance again.

"One more time."

Chen Mo did not try to persuade him further.

He knew what kind of person Zhou Ye was.

Once Zhou Ye set his mind on something, it was hard for him to stop before he was satisfied with his practice.

Not far away, Wang Lie was still the same as always.

Horse stance.

Weight training.

Seventy-Three Forms.

He had not skipped a single one.

When people passed by, they could not help laughing at him.

"Wang Lie, why are you still practicing this stuff?"

"Everyone is learning the new fist art, yet you're still clinging to Basic Fist."

Wang Lie did not get angry.

He simply carried his weights through the final lap.

Only after setting them down did he say, "Without enough strength, no matter how many moves you know, you can't receive them."

Then he continued holding his stance.

When Chen Mo heard those words, he glanced at Wang Lie.

That guy still spoke as simply as ever.

But on closer thought, there did not seem to be anything wrong with what he said.

That evening, people began sparring on the training ground.

This was also when problems were easiest to see.

When practicing alone according to the manual, the moves naturally looked graceful.

But once someone stood in front of you, things became different.

One youth was practicing the Advanced Fist Manual.

At first, he seized quite a few openings through the changes in his moves.

Fists and kicks came one after another, and the onlookers nodded repeatedly.

But the moment his opponent pressed forward, his footing immediately fell into chaos.

To evade a punch, he stepped to the side.

Before his body had even steadied itself, the second punch had already come.

He could only hastily withdraw his fist.

His originally beautiful sequence of punches was abruptly broken.

His opponent seized the gap and shoved a palm into his chest.

Bang!

The youth staggered back several steps.

People around them could not help laughing.

The youth's face instantly turned red.

"Again."

The second time, he still lost very quickly.

Chen Mo did not laugh.

He watched closely.

Those fist arts truly were good.

Their punching paths, methods of exerting force, and bodily transitions were all more refined than the Seventy-Three Forms.

But the more refined something was, the greater its demands on the body seemed to be.

If you could not stand firm, if your waist and legs could not keep up, what use was it to merely memorize the moves?

Chen Mo suddenly recalled that time in the mountains.

When the mad wolf had pounced, the ground had been full of pits and hollows.

If he had misplaced even one step, he could have been knocked down.

At a time like that, where would he have found the time to properly assume a stance?

Then he thought of the last monthly assessment.

He had clearly seen through his opponent's movements, yet because his strength and physical reactions had been insufficient, he had still been forced to retreat again and again.

He lowered his head and looked at his feet.

If I really encounter danger...

The thought had barely surfaced when he thought of Paulownia River again.

He did not know whether what those people had said was true or false.

But what if it was true?

What if the situation in the mountains truly grew worse and worse, until one day it reached Qinghe Town...

Chen Mo's heart sank slightly.

But soon, he thought of the pharmacy again.

When he had passed by the pharmacy that afternoon, the line had still been very long.

Some people held medicine bottles, their faces brimming with joy.

Others had queued for ages, only to receive ordinary medicinal liquid in the end.

There were only so many resources.

If you wanted something better, you had to fight your way forward.

The quarterly exam rankings were still very important.

Chen Mo stood where he was, his thoughts in disarray.

"What a pain."

He muttered under his breath.

"Even practicing a fist art comes with this much trouble."

Zhao Chuan happened to walk over.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Then practice it with me one more time."

"Didn't you just say there was something wrong with this fist manual?"

"I said there was something wrong with me."

Zhao Chuan said seriously, "There's nothing wrong with the fist manual."

Chen Mo froze for a moment, then laughed.

"That's the first thing you've said right."

Zhao Chuan rolled his eyes.

The two found an open patch of ground.

But Zhao Chuan did not practice the advanced fist art again.

He began performing the Seventy-Three Forms anew.

Chen Mo followed along.

Once.

Twice.

By the third time, Zhao Chuan was already grimacing in exhaustion.

"Why is even Basic Fist this tiring?"

"You never practiced it properly before."

"I know that now."

Chen Mo smiled.

The sky gradually darkened.

There were still quite a few people around practicing advanced fist arts.

The sounds of fists cutting through the air and footsteps rang out without pause.

Those new moves were still beautiful.

Chen Mo watched for a while, then finally withdrew his gaze.

Nor did he make any decision right away.

He merely stood where he was and completed his own Seventy-Three Forms once more.

His fists came down.

The soles of his feet planted firmly on the ground.

That night, for the first time, he began seriously considering one thing.

What path should he take, exactly?

And that question still had no answer.