Martial Arts Training

"Old Li, are you planning to learn martial arts like Master Zhang of the East City, that eighty-year-old who took an eighteen-year-old bride?"

A pockmarked guard let out a strange howl.

The people around them immediately joined in the jeering.

"Children from the southern village bully me for being old and weak."

Li Rui was nearly seventy now, with practically no potential left to speak of. In the eyes of these young guards, he was naturally an easy target. They had only ever heard, "Do not mock a poor youngster," never, "Do not mock a poor old man."

At fifty, one knew one's fate.

It meant that if someone passed fifty without achieving anything, they could only live with their neck tucked in.

These burly guards had even less reason to show an old man like him the slightest respect.

Li Rui had long grown used to it. "Old Yang, are you giving it to me or not? Give me a straight answer."

Seeing that Li Rui was serious, Yang Yong was even more taken aback. He pulled a yellowed book from his robes and handed it over. "Old Li, this Eight Section Brocade may be easy, but be careful. Don't throw out your back."

He was reminding him out of kindness. After all, he had few friends in the Zhu Family with whom he could truly speak his heart.

In his eyes, Li Rui was already seventy. Any casual fall could cost him his life.

But to the young guards, those words were an even bigger joke. The guards in the Martial Arts Arena clutched their stomachs, nearly laughing themselves to tears.

Li Rui took the Cultivation Method from Yang Yong and walked away calmly.

In the past, he might have felt stifled and wronged.

But ever since gaining Martial Bones, such mockery had become nothing more than wind in his ears, unable to stir the slightest ripple.

"Master."

"Master."

In the stables, two youngsters—one tall, one short—looked at Li Rui with different expressions.

These two youngsters were Li Rui's disciples.

The tall one was Ma Yang, and the short one was Wang Zhao.

Being a Groom for a wealthy household was a coveted job. Back then, Li Rui had suffered greatly to learn the craft of horse-raising from the previous old Groom. As the ancients often said, teach an apprentice and starve the master. How could one learn a craft well without enduring hardship?

Li Rui rummaged through the dry feed with his hand, then patted a horse's belly.

"Add three eggs and two jin of beans."

Wang Zhao hurriedly answered respectfully, "Yes, Master. I'll go right away."

Compared to him, Ma Yang's attitude was far more perfunctory.

Ma Yang had come to the stables seven years before Wang Zhao, and had learned more than half of Li Rui's skills. But Li Rui had discovered that Ma Yang's intentions were not upright. He was always thinking of bypassing Li Rui to curry favor with Master Zhu of the Zhu Family.

That undoubtedly violated the taboo between master and disciple.

Naturally, Li Rui could not allow the saying "teach an apprentice and starve the master" to truly come to pass. So he had held something back from Ma Yang and had not taught him all the secrets of raising horses.

Because of this, Ma Yang harbored some resentment toward his master.

People's hearts could change.

At first, Ma Yang and Li Rui had actually gotten along very well. Ma Yang had even kowtowed and sworn that he would care for Li Rui in his old age and see him through to the end.

But Li Rui was simply too good at staying alive, and time had worn Ma Yang's patience away.

Li Rui saw all of it clearly.

Managing disciples was like managing a household. What family did not have its own difficult scripture to recite?

In the past, after getting drunk, Li Rui would complain to Yang Yong that he had accepted the wrong disciple and feared his later years would not be preserved. But now, he had let it go.

Better rely on oneself than beg others.

Only after watching his two disciples finish mixing the fodder did Li Rui return to his room with peace of mind.

He opened the book whose cover bore the three neat characters: "Eight Section Brocade."

This Eight Section Brocade was not some profound martial art. It was common street merchandise found everywhere.

Yet even so, not just anyone could get hold of it. At the very least, most servants of the Zhu Family had no such opportunity.

At times like this, the benefit of living long became apparent.

Li Rui had lived too long and had plenty of time to waste. For instance, drinking with Yang Yong—on one hand, their temperaments suited each other; on the other, his desire to practice martial arts had never faded.

"Practice after midnight and before noon; creation joins Heaven and Earth. Turn through the cycle in sequence; the Eight Trigrams are the true cause."

The Eight Section Brocade was a widely circulated health-preserving exercise in the Yu Kingdom. It could strengthen the body and promote health. From eighty-year-olds to small children, anyone could practice it. That was why Yang Yong had handed it over so casually.

If it had been a profound Cultivation Method, that might not have been the case.

Still, it was enough for Li Rui at present.

Ever since gaining Martial Bones, he felt as though his entire body possessed inexhaustible strength.

Half an hour later, after completing a full set of Eight Section Brocade, he had not shed a single drop of sweat.

"Truly good bones!"

Li Rui felt that if he went running one li through the snow now, he could probably surpass half the guards of the Zhu Family. He had only just gained Martial Bones, and they were already this heaven-defying. If he mastered the Eight Section Brocade, what kind of scene would that be?

He could not help looking forward to it.

Want to throw punches at a nursing home?

Old men were not so easy to provoke either.

Late at night, during the Hour of the Ox.

Li Rui slowly opened his eyes from sleep. Looking at the moonlight beyond the window, he frowned slightly.

He had risen a quarter of an hour late.

The body clock he had maintained for decades had actually failed him today.

He quickly found the reason—training.

Practicing the Eight Section Brocade all night had consumed a great deal of his strength. Because he was exhausted, he had risen late.

A wary feeling rose in Li Rui's heart.

There had always been a saying in the Qinghe Martial Arts World: poor families pursued scholarship, rich families pursued martial arts. When a family produced a Martial Artist, not only did they lose a strong laborer, but more importantly, martial arts training consumed too much. One person could eat as much as three, and beyond that, medicinal herbs were needed to dispel hidden injuries. Otherwise, over time, income would fail to cover expenditure, and one would only train oneself into a cripple.

Fortunately, as a Groom, his food supply could still be guaranteed.

If the cook did not steal, the five grains would not grow.

The same principle applied to a Groom. Horses ate better than people. Besides dry fodder, they had refined rice, beans, and even eggs.

It was no great matter to secretly take a little, as long as the master's household did not catch him red-handed.

With his seniority, such things came even more naturally to him.

The advantage of being old showed itself at this moment.

Li Rui put on his padded jacket in the darkness and stepped out of his room, white vapor spilling from his mouth.

When he reached the stables, Wang Zhao was already diligently mixing fodder, while Ma Yang was nowhere to be seen.

Li Rui frowned. "Where is Ma Yang?"

As he worked, Wang Zhao replied, "Brother Ma said he wasn't feeling well and asked me to cover his shift tonight. He said he'd make it up in a few days."

Li Rui's experience was razor-sharp.

How could he fail to hear that Ma Yang was clearly bullying Wang Zhao for his lack of seniority? He already dared to drop his responsibilities now; later, he would likely be even harder to discipline.

"I understand."

Li Rui did not fly into a rage at once. Getting angry now would do nothing but make Wang Zhao overthink and damage his own authority.

He inspected the stables once, then went to the storeroom where the fodder was piled.

He dug five or six eggs out from the haystack.

He had hidden these here back in autumn, originally intending to fry them as drinking snacks. He had not expected them to come in handy now.

With these eggs, he should be able to get by for a while.

Once his martial arts bore fruit, he could find a way to obtain some medicinal herbs to nourish his body.

Slowly. He had already waited seventy years; a few more months made no difference.

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