The youth and the extraordinary man

September 1979, Guanzhong.

Inside the cramped green railway carriage, people pressed against one another, seemingly unable to spare even half an inch for another foot.

Everyone fought desperately to squeeze farther inside, and everyone seemed to have an endless supply of things to say.

People lay under the seats and on the luggage racks, while others stood in the aisle. Even outside the windows, people were being hoisted by their backsides as they scrambled in. Pots, bowls, ladles, and basins of all sizes rattled and clattered, mingling with children's cries, assorted shouts, and the bizarre squawking of the battered loudspeaker outside. It could hardly have been more chaotic.

Just as the train was about to depart, a head with thick brows and large eyes suddenly squeezed out of the noisy crowd. A Lei Feng cap hung around the youth's neck, and he wore a white shirt and green army trousers.

Tall and sturdy, with strong features, the youth held his heavy luggage high. Seemingly using every ounce of strength, he gritted his teeth and thrust his head out, then half his body, before his face flushed red as he finally pulled his arms and legs free.

"This crush is going to kill me."

Muttering his complaint, Lian Youming hurriedly straightened his clothes, then strode over to a window and called to his mother, younger brother, and younger sister outside. "Go on home... I probably won't be long coming back."

"You little brat, if you dare cause trouble again, I'll skin you alive."

Watching her son leave for a rural production team, his mother had been standing on the platform with tears in her eyes. But the sight of his grinning face instantly made her temper flare.

His younger sister, Lian Shuang, stood beside their mother and said worriedly, "Take care of yourself over there, brother. Whatever happens, don't act rashly."

The youngest, eight-year-old Lian Lei, held his mother's hand. The sturdy little boy shouted, "Brother, Dad came too. He said a real man doesn't regret what he's done. He's probably watching you from somewhere right now."

Lian Youming scanned the platform at that. Only after spotting a familiar figure did he chuckle. "All right, I know."

As they spoke, the train began moving slowly, but his mother's reminders still came through the window. "I boiled your favorite tea eggs last night. They're all in your bag. Remember to eat them on the way. Don't leave them too long, or they'll spoil... And put on the heavy padded coat in your bag when you get up north. Don't catch cold..."

Lian Youming kept answering, "Yes, yes, I know... I don't need to change clothes, do I? It's only September."

But the moment the words left his mouth, the train's deafening roar drowned them out.

By the time he tried to answer again, the station was already receding amid the scenery rushing past.

Lian Youming hurriedly leaned out and waved, only drawing back once his mother had vanished from sight.

He felt the tea eggs in his shoulder bag, their weight substantial. "Good grief, did they empty the family larder?"

As the train pulled away, more sobs rose inside the carriage.

In this era, people were still sincere and uncomplicated, willing to leave the cities for the ideals in their hearts and travel day and night to unfamiliar, hardship-stricken places.

Learn from Daqing in industry; learn from Dazhai in agriculture.

Up to the mountains and down to the countryside.

Lian Youming glanced around and counted a dozen or so people scattered through the carriage who were heading out to join rural production teams.

It was nothing like the vast wave of a million educated youths heading into the countryside in earlier years. The movement was now drawing to a close, and most of the educated youths sent to rural teams across the provinces had returned to the cities. As for him, after graduating from high school, he should have continued studying and taken the university entrance examination, but something had happened.

"All I did was beat up a few thugs harassing a girl, and now I have to hide out in the countryside."

Lian Youming grumbled indignantly, though he knew he had hit them a little too hard.

The thugs had ended up with either broken arms or broken legs. The worst injured had nearly lost half his life. Lian Youming had caught him in the family jewels with a sweeping kick, and reportedly he was still bedridden at home.

Fortunately, his father had military merits to his name. Otherwise, there would have been plenty more wrangling over the affair.

But what no one had expected was that the girl he had saved would flatly deny being harassed and refuse to testify, leading to this whole business.

Having lived two lives, how could Lian Youming fail to understand the twists and turns involved? She had either been threatened or paid to change her story. Presumably, those thugs' families had some influence too.

But what was done was done. Uneven roads needed leveling, and injustice needed someone to intervene. He had nothing to regret. Besides, those thugs had drawn knives. If he had held back, he might have been the one lying in bed now.

As for studying, he could do that anywhere.

Seemingly unable to breathe through the cigarette smoke and sweat drifting everywhere in the carriage, Lian Youming worked his way out of the crowd to find a little breathing room. A moment's distraction, however, left him squeezed over beside the toilet.

He had barely steadied himself and had yet to catch his breath when a foul smell rushed straight at him on the cold wind from outside the window. Mixed with the carriage's strange odors and the smell of food, it was enough to turn a person's face green.

"Oh, damn."

By the time Lian Youming tried to move elsewhere, it was too late.

People were squeezing in from both ends. With the way ahead blocked and his retreat cut off, Lian Youming felt trapped in an enemy encirclement. A dark sea of heads surged before him, jostling people from side to side.

Still, the stench had its advantages. He had the little patch around the toilet entirely to himself, with plenty of room.

Lian Youming could not be bothered to squeeze his way out again. He simply pulled two wads of cotton from his shoulder bag, rolled them, and stuffed them into his nostrils. Then he hugged his luggage and settled into a squat against the rocking carriage, his backside suspended above the floor.

Unlike him, most of the other educated youths traveling in the carriage were joining nearby production teams and might get off after only two or three stops. His destination was rather remote, in the northeast near Mohe. He would have to change trains in the north, and even without delays, the journey would take at least two or three days.

With the carriage full of shouting and crying, Lian Youming simply plugged his ears with cotton too, then hugged his luggage and rested.

Before he knew it, evening had come. The setting sun slanted down outside the window, and swathes of red clouds hung over the rolling distant mountains, crimson as blood and brilliant as gold, illuminating birds flying south.

Lian Youming had no idea how long he had dozed. Half asleep, he heard singing and instinctively looked up.

"The borderland's spring water is clear and pure, the borderland's songs warm the heart..."

Several university students had boarded the carriage. Some female students were singing while someone beside them played a harmonica. Their voices rang out, clear and strong, drawing passengers over to watch, clap, and call out their approval.

By now, Lian Youming had grown used to the smell beside the toilet. Ignoring the looks from those around him, he sat on the floor and ate his tea eggs while listening to the song.

But as he ate, he suddenly murmured, "Huh?" Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that he was no longer alone in his little patch of territory.

The other man had a sallow face. He held several rolled flatbreads in one hand and a bunch of scallions in the other. Paying no attention to the people entering and leaving the toilet, he took great mouthfuls and ate with relish.

Curious, Lian Youming gave him a few extra looks.

The man was unkempt and unshaven, dressed in a blue Mao suit washed almost white. His lean cheeks bulged with food, and he chewed with great force and concentration.

After chewing, he still had to swallow. Each time the man swallowed, veins stood out at his temples and his eyes bulged, as though he were exerting every ounce of strength, or eating the last meal of his life.

Lian Youming stared, his throat shifting as he silently swallowed his own saliva.

Only after the man stuffed all the remaining flatbreads and scallions into his mouth in one go and swallowed them did Lian Youming hastily look away.

What a hungry ghost's way of eating.

Judging by his clothes and appearance, he looked like a farmer. His hands were covered in calluses...

Huh?

Lian Youming's eyelid suddenly twitched. Feigning casual indifference, he stole another look at the man's hands.

Before transferring to civilian work, his father had commanded a reconnaissance company. He was not only proficient in firearms, grappling, and lethal combat techniques, but especially accomplished in reconnaissance.

Although Lian Youming had not inherited his father's true skills, constant exposure and some private study had given him more than enough of an eye to size people up.

Yet that single glance changed his previously casual expression.

This man... was no ordinary fellow.

Those hands were half concealed in his sleeves. They looked rough and thick, much like a farmer's hands accustomed to hard labor, but strangely, both palms and backs were covered in hard calluses, without a single hair visible. Moreover, those calluses were distributed exceptionally evenly, even between his fingers. His palm lines had been worn away.

Lian Youming raised his brows. He remembered that many of his father's old comrades had visited their home, and one of them had been similar.

That man practiced Northern School Eagle Claw Kung Fu. The tendons and bones of all ten fingers were powerful, and the slightest movement sent force straight to his fingertips, making them seem like raw iron. Although he claimed to have learned only the rudiments, those mere rudiments had allowed him to press three finger holes into their wooden table.

Only later, overhearing his parents talk, had Lian Youming learned that the man had served as someone's personal bodyguard before leaving the military.

And this man before him was, in all likelihood, the same kind of person.

At that thought, Lian Youming silently marveled. Reborn into another life, he had thought from the moment he left the womb that he was going to make it big. He had resolved to seize every opportunity, make a fortune, and rise above the crowd. Who would have thought that before he had done anything at all, he would encounter extraordinary people like these one after another?

In truth, he was somewhat curious about such things. Otherwise, he would not have pestered his father into teaching him a few lethal combat techniques.

After all, what man under heaven did not have his own dream of martial heroes?

But Lian Youming knew very well that if certain things in this world remained hidden from ordinary society and known to few, they were not something ordinary people could readily reach. Without the parents he had in this life, he might have mistaken even these extraordinary people for ordinary folk.

Unlike those martial arts stories, he did not drop to his knees and bow the moment he saw an expert. Lian Youming reined in his thoughts and simply stopped looking.

As for the man, his expression remained wooden throughout, as though everything around him had nothing to do with him. He neither looked nor listened.

It grew dark outside. The train stopped and started, passing station after station, while passengers came and went, their faces constantly changing. Fortunately, the carriage was no longer packed so tightly that not even water could seep through. Seizing his chance, Lian Youming grabbed an aisle seat and let out a long breath.

He still had more than ten hours before his stop, and he had no wish to spend the night beside the toilet.

The night wind howled outside the window, carrying threads of chill.

Lian Youming looked up and found that the educated youths who had boarded with him were gone. The university students who had been singing earlier were slumped over their seats, fast asleep. The carriage, so noisy by day, was gradually quieting.

Then, as though prompted by some unseen impulse, Lian Youming glanced toward the toilet again.

For some reason, ever since his glance that afternoon, the man's hands had refused to leave his mind.

The man still stood there, arms folded and eyes half closed, as though dozing.

Meanwhile, Lian Youming had already begun unconsciously imagining who he might be.

A martial arts master?

A wandering assassin?

A reclusive expert?

Or perhaps a spy?

Once the thought stirred, it raced out of control, sending possibilities flying through his mind.

Suddenly, Lian Youming's eyes flickered. He had noticed something particularly strange.

The man's feet were slightly apart, neither perpendicular nor splayed. Though he had nothing to lean against, his body rose and fell with the swaying carriage, as though riding a horse or floating in water. Yet he stood remarkably steadily, as though rooted to the floor and fused with the carriage.

What was he doing? Practicing martial arts?

Perhaps his curiosity had been roused. Lian Youming simply turned sideways and watched quietly, making no effort to hide it.

Since the man could display his skills in a place like this, why would he care about other people's eyes?

Besides, merely seeing was no use to an ordinary person. They would have to discern the workings within. Otherwise, that posture was no different from sitting or lying down in an ordinary person's eyes, only a little stranger.

At first, Lian Youming watched in bewilderment too. Even knowing the man was unusual, he could find nothing special about it. But as time passed and the moisture outside the window condensed into frost, his drowsy eyes suddenly widened, then opened even farther. His expression became more spectacular than ever.

As the man's chest and abdomen rose and fell, two streams of white Qi suddenly emerged from his nose and mouth. They darted out like dragons and snakes, several inches long, before he opened his mouth and swallowed them back down.

In that instant, the man in Lian Youming's eyes underwent an extraordinary transformation.

His face glowed with vitality, a spiritual brilliance held deep within his eyes. With each breath, those two dragon-and-snake streams of white mist moved ceaselessly through his nose and mouth, traveling back and forth.

As the man breathed in and out, his clothes expanded and contracted along with him, as though wind and clouds surged beneath them. Even his loose Mao suit bulged with tracks like winding dragons and snakes, raised pockets of air darting all over his body.

Lian Youming was dumbstruck.

What kind of art was this?

But when he suppressed his shock and focused his gaze again, everything had returned to normal, as though nothing had happened.

After another while, several groups of passengers passed along the aisle, either heading for the toilet or fetching hot water.

Then, suddenly, two figures strode past the youth.

For no apparent reason, Lian Youming, who had closed his eyes to doze, abruptly felt cold and involuntarily hunched his neck.

This feeling... killing intent!

Lian Youming shivered, hurriedly suppressed his alarm and uncertainty, and closed his eyes to feign sleep.

The feeling was all too familiar to him. It was exactly like what his father had given off during nightmares in earlier years. Especially when he unconsciously shouted "Kill!" His voice had roared like a beast, so savage and terrible that even the military dog in their courtyard had wet itself.

Why was there killing intent on the train?

Wait, were they after that man?

In an instant, every hair on the back of Lian Youming's neck stood up, and his heart nearly leaped into his throat.

He cautiously peeked through narrowed eyes. Sure enough, both men were heading toward the sallow-faced man.

By now, most of the passengers were asleep, and the carriage had fallen completely silent.

What were they going to do? Sweat dampened Lian Youming's palms as he instinctively reached for his shoulder bag.

Under the dim overhead light, his right hand slipped in and out. A slingshot had appeared in it.

He was not planning to attack or help. Rather, he had sensed an immense threat and subconsciously wanted something to defend himself with.

Just as Lian Youming braced himself, his tense gaze fixed on the two men's backs.

One of them, a middle-aged man in a Mao suit, abruptly stopped and looked back.

By sheer coincidence, his eyes met Lian Youming's.

One was old and the other in his prime, one short and the other tall. The former wore a Mao suit, the latter a People's suit. Both faces were cold and hard as iron, betraying neither anger nor pleasure.

Facing those cold, fierce eyes, Lian Youming felt his heart pound. Just then, the wind outside abruptly faded, followed by the strange clatter of wheels grinding along the rails. All the starlight disappeared too.

The train had entered a tunnel.

The already dim carriage instantly grew darker.

In that shifting light and darkness, as lights flickered outside the windows, figures crossed in a flash at the connection between the carriages.

Within that tiny space, deadly intent erupted.

Lian Youming's eyes widened. He vaguely heard words such as "Xingyi Sect," "traitor," and "die," then saw the middle-aged burly man who had just looked back at him suddenly whirl and lunge. Like a fierce tiger, he hurled himself at the sallow-faced man.

But Lian Youming saw him recoil even faster than he had lunged. His back abruptly bulged, and his clothes split down the middle with a ripping sound. His brows knitted tightly, and his face visibly paled.

And, whether it was his imagination or not, Lian Youming noticed a trace of resentment in the man's gaze toward him.

The old man had silver hair, gray brows, and a bearded face, his gaunt features exposing their ferocity. In a flash, he seized the opening to leap, swinging into the air as nimbly as an ape. Hands and feet working together, he punched at the throat and kicked at the chest, likewise attacking the man beside the toilet.

The sallow-faced man remained expressionless, but his gaze passed straight around the old man and flicked toward Lian Youming, seemingly deliberately, or perhaps not.

Amid his alarm, Lian Youming was also somewhat bewildered.

But the old man's expression changed. With his back to Lian Youming, he saw his opponent's action and assumed the man had an accomplice. His all-out killing attack unconsciously lost some of its force.

Yet the instant that thought shifted, the old man's expression changed drastically.

The sallow-faced man was already sinking his shoulders and lowering his elbows. As he drew up his Qi, his Mao suit seemed to swell almost a full size.

Before the old man's shocked and furious eyes, the man bent and raised his arm like a fierce tiger shielding its head. Advancing into a bow stance, he angled his body and met the attack head-on, lifting his elbow to protect his throat while driving it forcefully forward.

"Hmph!"

Lian Youming's view was blocked, leaving him unable to see their exchange clearly. But he heard a muffled grunt, and the old man's limbs immediately flailed as he flew backward five or six meters from the rear of the carriage.

He did not fall. Sinking onto his feet, he steadied himself and retreated several steps. An unusual flush instantly spread across his aged face.

Before Lian Youming could recover from his shock, the old man and the man in his prime moved without another word. They opened a window and clambered out with astonishing agility.

Just then, starlight returned outside as the train emerged from the tunnel.

As for that incredible scene, no one but Lian Youming had witnessed it.

"Holy shit!"

Lian Youming stared in bewilderment. He had thought his second life would unfold like a period drama, so why did it now feel as though he had jumped into a martial arts show?

And it had all happened far too fast. Attacks rose and fell in a dizzying blur. Before he could make sense of them, it was already over.

It looked as though the man eating flatbreads had probably won.

Lian Youming hurriedly looked toward the toilet, only to discover that not a soul remained there. It was completely empty.

(End of chapter)