Chapter 27: Cleansing the Household

The next morning, Zheng Xiaobao still showed no signs of waking. Though the physician had diagnosed no lasting aftereffects, his unconsciousness was undeniable.

“Senior Brother, sigh—” Shrimphead wore a troubled look. The Shaoshen Martial Hall was already showing signs of impending turmoil. Even the usually crowded training grounds were now sparsely populated, with few practicing in earnest.

On one side was Master Lin Xian's legitimate disciple; on the other, the largest faction in the hall, the Xu Family Gang, who were also the most influential locals in Guanchao. With no one in charge, no one could say who would ultimately prevail.

Jiang Shuiyuan, meanwhile, was a fountain of rumors. First, the troublemaker Lu Tiansheng had been sent by the Xu Family to the Chejia Valley to study martial arts; the Three Great Halls—Chejia Fist, Five Elephants Hall, and Shaoshen Hall—stood as equals, and even if Master Lin wished to avenge his disciple, he would probably not risk offending the others. Another piece of news was that the Xu Family had sought out Lu Zhixiong overnight but failed to find him; instead, they contacted Instructor Li, also of Xu Family blood, who was now on his way back.

“There’s more—the Guangcheng merchants have reportedly shipped over three cartloads of deep-sea shark bones as an apology to Senior Brother. If you ask me, even if Master Lin learns of this later, he’ll do nothing to them,” Jiang Shuiyuan said with certainty.

“But Senior Brother is Master Lin’s personal disciple!” Shrimphead protested.

“Heh, even blood brothers keep accounts clear. What’s a disciple he’s never even met? Sure, I know Senior Brother has backing, but isn’t his grandfather currently missing, fate unknown? Besides, a powerful outsider can’t suppress the local powers forever. The martial hall has operated in peace until now thanks to support from Guangcheng. Don’t underestimate the natives of Guangdong, right, Brother Ma?”

Ma Yuan snorted coldly, saying nothing.

The others exchanged confused glances at the cryptic exchange.

Jiang Shuiyuan chuckled, “Among us, you all think my family is the wealthiest, but you don’t know—this Brother Ma here is the young clan leader of the Ma Drifters. Don’t believe me? Ask him yourself how powerful the locals are!”

Tan Yu, who lay groaning nearby, seemed to recall something.

“Tan, you must know—the Ma Drifters, they live near Linyi, just next to your family,” Jiang Shuiyuan added.

“So you’re a descendant of General Fubo,” Tan Yu said, his tone complicated.

In the eighteenth year of Han’s Jianwu era, General Fubo Ma Yuan pacified Jiaozhi, erecting two bronze pillars at Fenmao Ridge and five at Linyi. In the twentieth year, Ma Yuan returned north, leaving a garrison of a dozen families at the southern bank of Shou Leng to guard the pillars. All his troops took the surname Ma. By the Sui dynasty, their numbers had grown to over three hundred; now there were more than five hundred households. The locals, calling them Drifters for their wandering ways, said their customs and dress closely resembled those of the Han.

Eggmen, Horsemen, Yao, Qi, and She—all indigenous peoples of Lingnan—resisted imperial rule, obeying only clan laws and local customs. Scattered, they vanished into forests; united, they formed groups of hundreds or thousands, beyond the reach of the authorities.

A few years ago, a local official’s memorial to the court had somehow been leaked, causing quite a stir.

Ma Yuan huffed, “So what? Right now, I can’t even show my face. I’m lying here groaning with the lot of you.”

Seeing Shrimphead hesitate, the cold and distant youth continued, “Don’t even think about it. I’ve met Lu Tiansheng before—he’s the favorite youngest son of the last-generation Dragon Clan leader. If I were the one bedridden, my father might go all out, but with Senior Brother? He wouldn’t intervene.”

“Truly, a man cast out is despised. If we were in southern Henan, who would dare treat Junior Brother like this? They’d be tired of living,” Jiang Shuiyuan shook his head, evidently well aware of Zheng Xiaobao’s family background.

“By the way, where’s Eighth Brother? I haven’t seen him since last night,” Shrimphead suddenly asked.

“I think I saw Eighth Brother practicing in the small martial field when I got up to pee,” Tan Yu replied.

“Which small martial field?”

“The Tiger Fist field.”

The Shaoshen Hall’s grounds, aside from the main open hall, were divided into seventeen small martial fields, each built from greenstone and covered with bamboo strips and thatch.

Each field contained between a dozen and twenty wooden posts, each carved into a different posture, representing various fist techniques.

To the martial families, techniques themselves were secondary; what mattered were breathing methods, stance training, and the ways of generating force. These were the true essence passed down through generations.

The seventeen fields thus corresponded to seventeen fist routines. Once apprentices had mastered both hard and soft stance training, they would choose a routine to study in a small field, where instructors would then teach the methods of generating force for each movement.

Such was the tradition of martial inheritance.

In the Tiger Fist field stood eighteen wooden posts, each with a unique form—seventeen for the Tiger Fist, plus the overarching principle. Within, a solitary figure moved, channeling his power with a tiger’s roar.

“Brother Kou, you taught me the copper coin trick. I’ve mastered it! Let me show you!”

Tendons twisting, bones flexing, five fingers gripping and releasing, an invisible tail held aloft, the figure crouched and sprang, circling two posts in a blink—swift as a snake through grass.

“Brother Kou, you promised to teach me to write and compose poetry today.”

The figure spun, arms following the waist, power stored with each twist, force coursing to the hands. Fingers curled with strength, hands flickering like shadows—double throat strikes, rib-piercing palms, twisting locks, scissor hands—each blow resounding.

“If you’re short on money, just pawn it. It should fetch a good price.”

Knees half-bent, waist swaying like a willow, toes loosening and gripping, energy gathered in the dantian and erupted, blood and qi surging like a river in reverse, shooting from the soles to the arms. Muscles bulged layer upon layer. With a knee lift and a tiger’s stride, the air itself thundered with a muffled boom.

“I’ll miss you, Brother Kou!”

Energy burst from the dantian, joints crackling like firecrackers, hands and feet became centers of force, spine arched, legs driving down—then, seizing a bamboo trunk as thick as a bowl, Kou Li let out a wild howl, veins bulging as shoulders, elbows, wrists, and fingers all unleashed their strength. With a series of sharp cracks, in that instant, he tore the supporting bamboo into strips and shards.

Five-Flower Seated Mountain! Five-Flower Tiger’s Embrace!

With a final gentle kick off the bamboo, arms twisting in flight, he floated a full yard through the air, landed in a squat as if mounting a fierce tiger, hands gripping invisible reins—this was the Riding Tiger, the last variation of the Tiger Fist’s seventeen forms.

With a spirit guiding the heart, only then could one truly tame the tiger. Mastering this final essence meant full comprehension of the Tiger Fist—man and tiger as one, technique perfected, force internalized, each blow carrying the tiger’s might.

Kou Li, driven by fury, had trained relentlessly throughout the night, finally grasping the full intent of the Tiger Fist. Now, he could rightfully bear its legacy in the martial world.

Yet he cared little for such recognition; as the saying went, the martial world was too small for a Buddha like him.

But today, he would act according to its code.

Cleansing the house!

The hungry tiger within him was baring its fangs, thirsting for blood, impatient to burst free!

“Tiansheng got angry on the way, said he wasn’t the first to strike. If that boy can’t take a beating, who can he blame?”

“He’s got a point. We all get hit in training—if you’re hurt, it’s your own lack of skill. You deserve it!”

“Just because he’s Master Lin’s disciple—who knows, he might even be an illegitimate child.”

“Watch your tongue! Master Lin treats us well. Besides, both he and Xiong are personal disciples. Even if this reaches Master Lin, we won’t necessarily come off worse.”

“That’s right. At least half the food, clothing, and supplies here are provided by our Xu Family. They eat our rice, drink our water—they can’t take advantage of us too!”

Within the martial hall’s courtyard, several Xu-born apprentices huddled together, whispering about the previous day’s events. The Eggmen, fierce and unruly by nature, made their living at sea—Lu Zhixiong’s chosen ones were the pick of the lot. Though they feared Master Lin’s authority, they still spoke brazenly.

“Something’s wrong! The hall’s signboard has been taken down!”

The words were like a hornet’s nest struck—the martial apprentices flew into an uproar. The Shaoshen Hall’s sign represented honor, represented their livelihood. Whoever threatened that threatened their very lives.

“It wasn’t outsiders—it was him, Eighth Brother Kou Li!”

…

Meanwhile, ten miles southeast of Guanchao, three figures—two men and a woman—made their way along. The woman was unremarkable in looks but tall, with bronze skin, like a sleek, wild leopardess.

“Sister Lu, let’s be clear: we’re only there to exchange techniques. Don’t cause any trouble halfway. Shaoshen Hall isn’t to be trifled with,” Senior Brother Bai warned, perched under a tall hat and gray robe, his bamboo-thin frame seeming as though a breeze might carry him away.

“I know, Senior Brother Bai, but I still don’t understand why Shaoshen Hall is built in such a remote place. If they were willing, many wealthy patrons in Lingnan would support them. And since they’re martial artists, why would Master Lin forbid his disciple from joining our Guangdong fighting guild?”

Noticing his lack of interest, Sister Lu rolled her eyes and pouted, “Senior Brother, have some ambition! You lost to Luo Yanzong, which is why Five Elephants Hall disciples always bow their heads to them. If it weren’t for Brother Xiong defeating their Yue Number Two, we’d have no face left at all.”

“Then why drag along a defeated soldier like me?” Senior Brother Bai replied wryly.

“It was only a draw, not a loss,” rumbled the massive shadow behind them.

“You two!” Sister Lu stamped her foot in exasperation. “Men of Five Elephants Hall are just so unreliable!”