Human Head Noodles (Part Two)

Good, he had come prepared.

Chen Ying said goodbye to Wu Jie and ambled along the path outside the little building, following the footwork Wen Ruzhi had taught him, varying the depth of his steps and exerting strength throughout his body.

In martial arts, power began at the feet, so regardless of school or style, stance training was the most fundamental skill.

But stance training was not as simple as holding a horse stance. Almost every style of martial arts had three kinds.

The first was called static stance training. The postures might differ between styles, but at their root, almost all involved holding a horse stance to build strength in the legs. Some unscrupulous masters deliberately withheld genuine teachings and often fooled gullible youngsters into holding horse stances to swindle more money out of them.

It was not entirely useless, but even if you practiced it for ten years, it would still be no use at all in an actual fight.

The second was moving stance training, the true training method that united footwork with power generation. For example, Wing Chun's character-two goat-clamping stance was a static stance exercise, but to practice generating power, one still had to start with stance-turning exercises.

Once static and moving stance training had been thoroughly mastered, the final stage was the so-called "formless stance": incorporating the methods of generating power into everyday habits, following them whether walking, moving, lying down, or reclining. Reaching this stage meant shedding the original confines and restoring the martial art to its true form, finally crossing the threshold into genuine proficiency.

Naturally, Chen Ying had not understood any of this himself. Wen Ruzhi had just explained it all to him.

"I could try using martial arts to strengthen myself internally."

Following Wen Ruzhi's instructions, Chen Ying slowly practiced the footwork of Eight Trigram Palm.

According to Mr. Wen, Eight Trigram Palm demanded little static stance training and emphasized moving stance work. Its moving footwork was the mud-wading step, like wading through muddy ground, carefully sliding each foot forward close to the surface. The steps did not need to be large, and the movements could be slow, but they had to be small.

Taiji was crafty, Eight Trigram slippery, but none was more vicious than Xingyi.

From a distance, it looked little different from ordinary walking, but the key lay in drawing power from the steps.

How to generate power and how to redirect it made for a lengthy discourse. Wen Ruzhi had held nothing back and taught him carefully. Since it concerned his own well-being, Chen Ying had learned attentively too.

With nothing else to do anyway, he obediently took his steps as instructed.

He kept walking for quite some time, simply following the main road. He had no idea how long he had walked, but there were people on either side anyway, so he was in no hurry and continued slowly.

Suddenly, he heard someone speaking nearby.

"Pretty boy, you walk funny. Step over here for a word."

Chen Ying looked up and saw three youths standing by the roadside. Dressed in garishly colored clothes, they approached with scowling brows and half-smiles.

"What?"

Chen Ying watched the three approach. None looked like a decent sort. They seemed about sixteen or seventeen, and it went without saying that they were street punks.

"Nothing much. Brother, which outfit are you with? Whose mountain have you paid respects at? Help some brothers out of a tight spot. Lend us a few bucks to spend."

The three crowded closer as they spoke.

Chen Ying instinctively felt his trouser pocket. The handgun Wen Ruzhi had given him was still there.

He was not afraid of a fight, but if the weapon showed during a scuffle, it would inevitably cause trouble in broad daylight.

"Hey, hey, hey, bosses, hold on. We're all on the same side."

A short fellow in a floral shirt came running from somewhere and darted in front of Chen Ying.

"Three bosses, I'm Hua Shanrong from Wo On Sing. Just call me Rong."

As he spoke, he fished a few cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Bosses, this handsome fellow is my brother. Do me this little favor."

"Fuck me, Cheung Shing?"

"That's right. My boss is Brother Fat Bear. Which outfit are you brothers with?"

"So you're Brother Fat Bear's man. We're from Lo Lok. Forget it, then. We just saw this kid dressed so nicely and thought we'd ask for a little lucky money and wish him prosperity. Since he's one of your Cheung Shing people, and we're all Wo outfits, let it go."

The lead punk chuckled.

"My boss is Long Hair Fat. I'm Skinny Dog. Let's get better acquainted sometime."

"Sorry about this. Normally, I'd definitely buy you a couple of beers, Brother Skinny Dog, but my boss is watching a show nearby. I'm afraid he'll blame me for neglecting him."

"No problem, no problem."

The three punks exchanged a few casual words and left.

Having talked the three punks away, Hua Shanrong turned to greet Chen Ying.

"Brother Ying, weren't you sick with a fever? Better now?"

This guy seemed to be a friend of "mine."

"A bit better. I came out for a stroll."

"Great, Brother Ying. You have to help me."

"Help you?"

"My boss is gathering the boys for a show of force. Everyone has to bring five people to await orders, or they'll face gang punishment. You know I've got no standing in the underworld and can't get anyone to come. How about helping me make up the numbers?"

"Make up the numbers?"

"We're brothers, aren't we? You can't just leave me to die, boss."

"Isn't Fat Bear your boss?"

"All right, Brother Ying, I shouldn't have ignored your advice and become a gangster, but I didn't have a choice. I've got to make a living."

"A living?"

"Yeah, you get paid for showing up. You hold a watermelon knife and stand at the back for appearances. You don't actually have to chop anyone. When they yell 'fuck your mother,' you yell 'fuck your mother' too. Everyone fucks each other's mothers back and forth, and you stand around for a few dozen minutes. At worst, your throat gets dry from shouting. The bosses go negotiate, and everyone gets a fifty-dollar red envelope for tea."

"Other people work their asses off for three hundred bucks a month, and you get fifty just for standing there. What a fine way to stimulate Hong Kong and Kowloon's economy and put wealth in the people's hands."

"If it's such a great deal, why can't you find enough people?"

"Brother Ying, seriously? We've been friends for years, and you're still making fun of me at a time like this? It's not my fault my parents love each other so much they had all those kids. I only became a gangster to help support the family and skim a little off the red envelopes to buy roast pork for my younger siblings. Nobody wants to help me."

Hua Shanrong looked dejected.

"You even skim that money? My friend, you really aren't cut out for gang life."

"If I can't round up enough people this time, I'm afraid they won't even let me join the chopping, and there'll be no more perks for me. I don't mind, but my poor seventh sister is still waiting for me to bring home pork ribs for soup..."

Chen Ying found this amusing, but he knew perfectly well that this was not a favor he could do.

For one thing, he really did not know who this Hua Shanrong was.

For another, he still had a handgun in his pocket, and getting caught up in underworld affairs could easily cause trouble.

"Never mind. I've still got some money. Let's go buy some ribs..."

Chen Ying was still talking to Hua Shanrong when he heard someone shout behind them.

"Hua Shanrong, you fucking prick, you only brought one pretty boy?"

He turned and saw a dense crowd bearing down on them. Leading them was a short man wearing nothing but a suit jacket over his fully exposed belly, with a finger-thick gold chain around his neck. He looked like a shar-pei that had bitten through its leash.

"Yes, boss. My good brother Twin-Blade Ying. He's a brilliant fighter. Trains in Choy Li Fut."

"Fall in behind, for fuck's sake."

The crowd surged over like a tide, sweeping Chen Ying and Hua Shanrong straight into its midst. A few punks who knew Hua Shanrong even came over to say hello.

Somehow, someone handed Chen Ying a hollow steel rod, while Hua Shanrong pulled out a Western-style kitchen knife.

There were nearly a hundred of them, crawling along the street like a worm, while the vendors and residents around them seemed entirely accustomed to it and carried on with their business.

Looking at the weapon in his hand, Chen Ying found it inexplicably funny.

Life really was one muddle after another.

"Twin-Blade Ying?"

"Brother Ying, if you're in the underworld, of course you need an impressive name. You're not becoming a gigolo. Would Old Lotus Root Ying sound tough enough?"

Hua Shanrong looked as though his little scheme had succeeded.

"Thanks, Brother Ying. I won't skim a single dollar from your red envelope this time. You'll get every cent you're owed."

"Forget it. Take it home and buy some old lotus root. Lotus root and pork rib soup is a famous dish too."

Fat Bear led the crowd down the street to a theater entrance, where another group of punks was already waiting.

"Fat Bear, you've got some nerve. You know full well I've joined Lord Hung, yet you still dare stir up trouble on my turf?"

The burly leader's muscles bulged in knots, and his triangular eyes glared viciously at Fat Bear. He held a cigarette butt between his fingers, with a crowd of armed underlings behind him.

"Fire Dragon, we all swore before Brother Guan back then. Now you want to switch sides. Have you asked the elders?"

"Fuck those old bastards in Cheung Shing. Every one of them's more wrinkled than a ballsack. If you like sucking and licking them, go ahead. What the fuck's it got to do with me?"

"You've betrayed your roots. I'll enforce gang discipline."

Fat Bear cocked his head.

"It's not me, Fat Bear, who's against you. It's the countless brothers of Wo On Sing. It's the rules of the underworld. Do you even know how to write the word loyalty?"

"Fuck your mother. You seduced Second Sister-in-law and knocked her up, and you still have the nerve to shout at me? Fat Bear, don't say I didn't show you respect."

The two sides traded insults, each louder than the last, dredging up practically every rotten thing the other had done.

"Hua Shanrong, your boss is really something. Seducing his own boss's wife and even getting her pregnant."

Listening to it, Chen Ying truly felt his horizons had broadened.

"Brother Ying, that's what punks are like. My boss is even a star informant for the Hong Kong and Kowloon police. The brothers he's sold out could fill two minibuses. Anyone who really cared about loyalty wouldn't become a gangster."

After airing most of their old grievances, the two sides finally moved on to negotiations.

"Fire Dragon, we came from the same outfit, after all. Eight tomorrow, at Backbone. I'll book three tables. If you've got the guts, come settle this properly. If not, we at Wo On Sing will smash your establishments until you cry for your mother."

Fat Bear shouted with his head tilted.

"All right, today's show is over. Time to clock off."

Hua Shanrong stretched. After asking him about it, Chen Ying learned that this was how the so-called gangs in Hong Kong and Kowloon operated these days: first they gathered a crowd to carry weapons around the streets a few times, which was called a show of force, and then came negotiations.

It was nothing more than everyone getting together in private to work out a deal. That was a punk's daily life. Knives and guns hardly ever came into it.

What a joke. They were only trying to make a living. Why get slashed open with their guts spilling out?

When violence really was called for, a recognized Red Pole would lead a few elite brothers, three or four men staging an ambush and hacking the target down. They would never organize some large-scale armed brawl.

"The streets have to stay stable and prosperous. How much each gang gets, whether gambling dens, drug joints, or brothels, is all assigned by the cops. Above the cops are the Brits. This is just a pretend fight."

Hua Shanrong was explaining when someone suddenly shouted from behind them.

"Fuck me, you Cheung Shing punks don't dare fight, but every day you're here making a racket and screeching away. What are you pretending to be? Opera singers?"

Chen Ying looked toward the figures. At some point, a group had arrived on the other side of the street, carrying all sorts of weapons. Their leader wore a black trench coat, carried a long saber over his shoulder, and had a white strip of cloth tied around his head. He looked like a vicious character.

"Fuck, who are you? Give us your name."

"My name? I'm Lord Hung's disciple, Sha Wei."

He shook his shoulder as he spoke, and the gleaming saber slid free of its sheath, its light circling his body like a ribbon of white silk.

"Brothers, follow me and hack these fuckers to death."

At his command, the men behind him raised their weapons and charged. Their ferocity was nothing like the extras Fat Bear had hired for fifty dollars apiece.

"Fuck! I knew Su Xiong didn't follow underworld rules, but I never thought he'd send Mourning Wei. Bad call. Brother Ying, let's run!"

Hua Shanrong grabbed Chen Ying and ran the other way.

At the same time, Fire Dragon, who had been negotiating with Fat Bear, burst out laughing and gradually retreated into the crowd, while his underlings advanced with their weapons.