Zhang Xiaohu nodded thoughtfully and said no more. After pondering for a moment, he went back to practicing his fist techniques. This time, his movements were exceptionally slow. Uneasy, Zhang Xiaohua watched him for a while but could make neither head nor tail of it. Still, seeing his second brother's steps flow like drifting clouds and running water, he guessed everything was normal and finally set his mind at ease.
His attention returned to the fist manual before him, but after reading for a while, his vision blurred, and he soon drifted into dreamland. Since his injury, Zhang Xiaohua had been falling asleep much earlier than before, often sinking into deep slumber before midnight. His body was probably weak and needed rest.
In his dream, an unknown ripple silently spread from his left hand throughout his body.
In his dream, that flickering continued.
The next day, as soon as Zhang Xiaohua woke, the first thing he did was hurriedly recall the Erlang Fist moves he had committed to memory the day before. Once again, he was disappointed. But after being disappointed so many times, he had grown used to it. He patted the two fist manuals beside him, his face expressionless.
After breakfast, Zhang Xiaohu tucked the borrowed Erlang Fist Manual into his clothes and headed out. Not long afterward, Li Jinfeng—Mister Li—arrived. He first asked after Zhang Xiaohua's condition, then mysteriously pulled a thick book from his chest, grinning wickedly as he said, "Xiaohua, look at the good thing I brought you."
A very bad feeling rose from the depths of Zhang Xiaohua's heart. "Brother Li, I really can't guess what sort of good thing it is."
Li Jinfeng placed the book before Zhang Xiaohua. "Look. What's written on its cover?"
Looking at the cover, Zhang Xiaohua vaguely recognized