Martial Arts Is Not Practiced Like This

Early the next morning, Blue Martial Arts Hall was quieter than usual.

It was not that no one spoke.

Only fewer people were speaking, and their voices were low.

The Outer Courtyard held roll call as usual, stood in stance as usual, and practiced the Seventy-Three Forms Basic Fist as usual.

Instructor Li still said the same few lines.

"Plant your feet firmly."

"Don't let your waist sag."

"Don't just think about your hands when throwing a punch."

"Again."

Everything looked the same.

Yet a careful look revealed that quite a few things were different.

Previously, when someone grew tired from practicing fist forms, they would sit directly on the ground and pant.

Today, no one did.

Previously, if someone slacked off, the people nearby would laugh.

Today, there was none of that either.

Even someone like Zhao Chuan, whose mouth could never stay idle, practiced the fist forms twice that morning without saying much of anything.

When the first round of training ended, Instructor Li told everyone to rest for half an incense stick of time.

As soon as Zhao Chuan sat down, he saw two handyman disciples carrying water basins out from the backyard.

The water in the basins had turned a pale red.

It was not very thick.

Yet Zhao Chuan still froze for a moment.

Those two handymen did not stop either, carrying the basins straight away.

Zhou Ye looked over in the direction of his gaze.

"Stop looking."

Zhao Chuan said in a low voice:

"I wasn't looking at anything."

"Your face has changed color."

"I was just..."

Zhao Chuan paused.

"Are they hurt badly?"

Zhou Ye did not answer.

Wang Lie, standing nearby, suddenly spoke up.

"Whether it's bad or not, you'll know soon enough."

Zhao Chuan looked at him.

"How do you know?"

"Someone came out of the backyard yesterday, and I saw it."

"Who?"

"Old Wei."

Zhao Chuan frowned.

"You mean the one who practices leg techniques?"

"Mn."

"How is he?"

Wang Lie fell silent for a moment.

"His right leg is injured quite seriously."

Zhao Chuan asked instinctively:

"Broken?"

"Not broken."

Wang Lie shook his head.

"But he can't walk steadily."

None of them spoke again for a while.

After a moment, Zhao Ming walked over from nearby.

He was holding a dry cloth in his hand, wiping away sweat.

Hearing the others' words, he paused.

"Why are you guys talking about this?"

Zhao Chuan looked at him.

"What do you mean, talking about this?"

"The people who came back yesterday."

Zhao Ming pressed his lips together.

"They were veteran trainees to begin with."

"They have experience."

"It's completely normal to get a little hurt."

Zhou Ye looked at him.

"No one said it wasn't normal."

"Then you keep talking about it."

Zhao Ming's voice was somewhat stiff.

"What's the use of talking about these things?"

Zhao Chuan was stunned.

"I was just asking."

Zhao Ming said nothing more, turned around, and walked away.

Wang Lie watched his retreating back.

"His temper isn't quite right today."

Zhao Chuan lowered his voice.

"He wasn't right yesterday either."

Chen Mo sat nearby, listening to the others talk without joining in.

He merely raised his hand and looked at his own palms.

The calluses on his palms were already much thicker than when he first entered the martial arts hall.

Previously, he felt these calluses were proof of practicing martial arts.

The longer one practiced, the harder the fists.

Looking at it now, however, he felt things were not that simple.

His hands were harder.

His punches were heavier.

But when they truly reached the mountains, were these things enough?

He did not know.

Soon, the second round of training began.

This time, Instructor Li did not make them practice sparring.

It was still the basic fist.

Over and over again.

The sun slowly climbed, and the blue stone ground was baked until it turned pale white.

Some practiced until sweat soaked their backs and chests.

Some slipped underfoot.

Some saw their movements begin to distort.

Instructor Li corrected them one by one.

By noon, while Chen Mo was throwing his sixth repetition, a dull thud suddenly came from the backyard.

It sounded like something had fallen to the ground.

Quite a few people stopped.

Instructor Li frowned.

"Continue."

No one dared to move.

"I said continue."

Only then did everyone begin throwing punches again.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

The sound of fists striking wooden stakes rang out once more.

Yet everyone knew their ears were actually still listening to the backyard.

Before long, a voice came from inside.

"Slower."

Then came the sound of a few people moving objects.

Chen Mo did not turn his head.

Yet his punches were noticeably half a beat slower.

Instructor Li walked up in front of him.

"What are you thinking about?"

Chen Mo retracted his fist.

"Thinking about nothing."

"Then continue."

"Yes."

In the afternoon, the master of the hall had someone hang a wooden sign in the Outer Courtyard.

A few sentences were written on it.

Recently, tasks in the western mountain forests have increased.

Those without tasks are strictly prohibited from entering the mountain forests on their own authority.

All trainees, without permission, are forbidden from approaching the western periphery privately.

After reading it, Zhao Chuan stood there for a long time.

"Weren't we not allowed to go before?"

Zhou Ye said:

"Before, it was just a reminder."

"Now it's written on a wooden sign."

"So don't go even more."

Zhao Chuan rubbed his nose.

"I didn't say I was going."

"You'd better not."

Several new trainees nearby also crowded over to look.

Someone said in a low voice:

"What on earth happened?"

"Who knows."

"Could something really fierce have come out of the mountains?"

As soon as this sentence came out, the people nearby immediately glared at him.

"Don't talk nonsense."

"I was just asking casually."

"Don't say it casually either."

Chen Mo stood at the back of the crowd.

He looked at that wooden sign and did not make a sound.

After a moment, Zhao Chuan poked him in the arm.

"Let's go."

"Where to?"

"To eat."

"Now?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Hungry."

"Then what are you waiting for."

The canteen was much quieter than usual.

The meals were still the same.

Coarse-grain rice, greens, and stewed meat.

Usually at this time, Zhao Chuan would already have started fighting for the meat.

Today, though, he only kept his head down and shoveled in rice.

Zhou Ye had eaten a few bites when he suddenly asked:

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

Zhao Chuan looked up.

"I'm eating."

"You talk while you eat normally."

"I don't feel like talking today."

Wang Lie sat on the other side.

He had been staring at his bowl the whole time.

Only after a long while did he say:

"I asked a senior disciple yesterday."

Zhao Chuan immediately looked up.

"What did you ask?"

"He said the things in the mountains weren't quite the same as before."

"How weren't they the same?"

Wang Lie shook his head.

"He didn't say."

Zhao Chuan frowned.

"Why not?"

"He didn't want to say."

"You didn't press him?"

"I did."

"And then?"

"He said one thing."

Wang Lie raised his head.

"He said that if you lost on the training ground, you could start over."

Zhao Chuan said nothing.

Wang Lie continued:

"But not in the mountains."

Silence settled around the table.

Chen Mo lowered his head and ate.

He remembered the way those people had looked when they returned yesterday.

He also remembered that distinctly unnatural leg.

In the past, he had always thought that as long as he trained his fists well enough, he could step up whenever danger came.

But now, for the first time, he realized something.

True danger might not give you a fair chance to fight it head-on at all.

In the afternoon, someone finally came out of the rear courtyard.

It was Old Wei.

His right leg was wrapped in thick cloth.

One hand leaned against the wall.

When several new disciples saw him, they instinctively moved aside.

Old Wei merely smiled.

"What are you looking at?"

No one answered.

He looked toward one of the younger disciples.

"What? Never seen a wounded person before?"

The disciple hurriedly shook his head.

"I have."

"Then go do whatever you're supposed to be doing."

"Yes."

Old Wei took two steps.

His right foot landed noticeably more lightly.

He clenched his teeth.

Someone beside him moved to support him.

"I can do it myself."

"Senior Brother..."

"Really, I'm fine."

He spoke very calmly.

Yet after that person disappeared around the corner, Chen Mo saw him lean against the wall and stop for quite a while.

As if he were waiting for the wave of pain in his leg to pass.

Chen Mo remained where he was and did not follow.

At night, the Outer Courtyard lights went out.

The room was quieter than usual.

Someone turned over.

Someone coughed.

Someone murmured a few words.

"Are you really planning to keep studying?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I just feel..."

"Feel what?"

"Nothing."

After a while, another voice spoke.

"If you're really afraid, go home."

"What about you?"

"I haven't decided yet."

The voices soon fell silent.

Chen Mo lay on his bed.

His eyes were closed.

But he could not fall asleep.

No one knew how much time had passed when a sudden burst of ragged breathing came from outside.

"Huff..."

"Huff..."

Someone abruptly sat up.

The bedboard gave a faint creak.

Chen Mo opened his eyes.

In the darkness, he saw one of the senior disciples who had returned a few days earlier sitting on the edge of his bed.

The man's back was turned to everyone.

His shoulders rose and fell, again and again.

The person beside him asked:

"What's wrong?"

There was no answer.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

After a while.

"Mm."

"What did you dream about?"

The man remained silent for a long time.

"Nothing."

The person beside him turned over.

"Then go to sleep."

"Mm."

But the senior disciple did not lie down right away.

He simply sat there.

Both hands gripped his knees tightly.

Chen Mo watched for a while, then closed his eyes again.

The next day.

The man got up as usual.

Ate as usual.

Practiced his punches as usual.

No one asked what he had dreamed about the night before.

It was as if everyone had silently agreed on one thing.

Some things might not yield an answer even if you asked about them.

When they reached the third repetition of their practice that morning, Zhao Ming suddenly stopped.

He looked at the wooden post in front of him.

"Do you think..."

Zhao Chuan was panting.

"Think what?"

"If we go to a place like that someday..."

Zhao Ming paused.

"Would being strong enough mean we wouldn't end up like them?"

Zhao Chuan did not answer at once.

Neither did Zhou Ye.

Wang Lie wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Who knows?"

Zhao Ming frowned.

"How could you not know?"

"Because we haven't been there."

Wang Lie spoke.

"You haven't been there, I haven't been there, and neither have they."

"So you can't take the version of yourself in your imagination and compare it with people who actually went inside."

Zhao Ming fell silent.

Only after a long while did he say:

"But they weren't that powerful from the very beginning either."

"Right."

Wang Lie nodded.

"So train."

Zhao Ming looked at him.

"You're still training?"

"Training."

"Aren't you afraid?"

Wang Lie did not answer.

He merely settled back into his stance.

"Even if I'm afraid, I'll still train."

The words were not loud.

Yet everyone nearby heard them.

Chen Mo stood before the wooden post.

He looked at his fists.

Then he raised his hands again.

Bang!

A fist slammed into the wooden post.

It hurt.

It hurt badly.

He did not stop.

Another punch.

Then another.

Instructor Li walked past. He only glanced over and said nothing.

After Chen Mo finished the set, he settled into a steady stance.

Sweat trickled from his forehead down to his chin.

He raised a hand and wiped it away.

"Again."

Zhao Chuan froze for a moment.

"Again?"

Chen Mo nodded.

"Again."

Zhao Chuan bared his teeth in a grin.

"All right."

Several people took their positions again.

The sound of fists against the wooden post rang out once more.

No one discussed what had really happened in the mountains anymore.

At least, not at that moment.

Yet from that day onward, whenever many people at the Blue Martial Arts Hall brought up the words "going out on assignment," their voices were a little quieter than before.