Chapter Thirty-Three: Snake Oil Ointment

Luo Yanzong’s room was stark and simple: a large rosewood bed, a pair of tables and chairs, a rustic incense burner, and that copper sphere the size of a water vat. Its surface was pitted and uneven, crafted from tempered iron, each dent a mark of a palm or finger.

Kou Li sat on the bed, stripped to his undershirt, the well-defined lines of muscle barely visible. Luo Yanzong fetched a box of ointment from outside—a balm the color of amber, with a faint, cooling fragrance.

The eldest brother smeared the ointment onto his palm, inhaled deeply, and suddenly, the sound of surging waves echoed from within his body. Before the eye, his palm turned red, and the ointment began to slowly—melt?

“Your hand,” he prompted.

Kou Li extended his arm, the one punctured by five bloody holes. A series of crisp snaps rang out, pain flaring at the wounds, followed by a burning ache. Yet within the pain came a hint of cool relief.

He knew this was the process of breaking up the stagnant blood causing the swelling, letting it flow anew. To be able to drive force so deep without harming the body was truly a testament to Luo Yanzong’s skill.

With utmost concentration, the eldest brother channeled his strength, dispersing all the clotted blood and swelling throughout Kou Li’s body. Soon, a dense aroma filled the air—not just the medicinal scent, but a tang of something gamey.

The coolness seeped into his organs, especially the spine and lungs—the two great sources of power for the Tiger Fist: the force of the punch drawn from the spine, the strength from the lungs.

Snake oil balm was the best healing salve in the academy. Local fishermen would catch old snakes from the nearby mountains, skin them without killing them, then toss dozens into a huge pot to simmer for three days and nights. The extracted snake oil was delivered to the academy, where the elder masters used secret techniques to concoct the balm, famed for its miraculous effects on external injuries.

“These bruises and burst vessels at your wrist and ankle aren’t the work of Tiger Fist,” Luo Yanzong observed with his seasoned eye.

“No, they’re not,” Kou Li hesitated, then told the truth. “It’s a force technique from the Soul-Seizing Palm, called the Soul-Extracting Strike. Lu Yao’s footwork and fistwork were so strange, I had to twist my muscles and bones unexpectedly to finally turn the tables.”

“Soul-Extracting Strike?” Luo Yanzong examined him more closely, frowning. “So you stimulate several pressure points at the wrist and ankle, shifting the position of the bones and sinews. Junior brother, you’d best not use such assassin’s fists again. Not only are they harmful to the body, but their reputation is tainted.”

“Assassin’s fists?”

“Yes. Just as Southern and Northern Fist styles are broad categories, so too are the local branches. Assassin’s fist encompasses all techniques that don’t rely on stance work for power, but instead follow unorthodox, sinister paths. They’re quick to learn and powerful, but insidious and injurious, always shunned by practitioners everywhere. Junior brother, where did you learn such techniques?”

“There was a one-eyed wolf in the Water Wolf Gang who hunted me outside Yuezhou. I killed him, and the manual was taken from his body.”

“One-eyed wolf?” Luo Yanzong pondered, then blanched with shock. “The Soul-Chasing Wolf among the Four Tigers and Eight Wolves—killed by your hand?”

“Was he famous?” Kou Li asked earnestly.

Seeing his junior’s genuine puzzlement, Luo Yanzong couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Even a legitimate inheritor of the academy, like himself, would avoid offending such a foe unless absolutely necessary—let alone killing one.

“This matter must be kept between us. Our Burning Body Martial Academy does not fear the Water Dragon Gang, but unless forced, we’d rather not be dragged into this mess.”

“Yes,” Kou Li replied, though he noticed Luo Yanzong’s expression was odd, as if his concern wasn’t with the gang itself.

But Kou Li didn’t dwell on it, instead asking curiously, “Why do assassin’s fists have such a bad reputation? Is it just because they’re harmful?”

“There are two kinds of assassin’s fist—dark fist and killing fist. Strictly speaking, your technique is a dark fist, also known as killer’s fist or assassin’s fist. They originated as secret arts of ancient assassins. Many powerful families and officials kept retainers trained in these for their dirty work.

“More importantly, these fists can cripple a practitioner. You haven’t had the technique long enough to feel its effects, but over time, the damage to the body becomes clear.”

On this point, Kou Li had no doubts. Even with his minute perception, each practice session revealed subtle damage to his body, and he had to use medicine and his own micro-control to repair it. Accumulated over years, the harm would be irreversible.

“Even more, to master such assassin’s fists is ten times harder than orthodox boxing. There are many grandmasters of orthodox styles, yet true masters of assassin’s fist are rare, and most come to grim ends. Do you understand?”

Kou Li nodded thoughtfully. So this was the truth of the Soul-Seizing Palm—no wonder its style was so bizarre. He cared little for the harm, but the daunting difficulty alone was enough to make him dismiss it.

To reach the pinnacle of martial arts, he had to temper the body in four layers, penetrate eight channels, cultivate sixteen fist styles, all before his physical prime faded.

Every second counted!

After a moment’s hesitation, Luo Yanzong couldn’t help but ask, “Junior Eight, there’s an explanation for everything else, but your Tiger Fist—who taught you? When you joined, you had not a shred of foundation.”

Kou Li’s lips twisted in a wry half-smile. “Senior brother, I thought you’d only ask such things before Master Lin and the others.”

Luo Yanzong gave a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t hide it from you. The other brothers have all returned, and right now, the academy is in an uproar over you. We’re gone a few days, and you cause so much trouble—breaking the signboard, crippling a dozen students, showing skills like these, nearly killing the daughter of the Five Elephants Hall’s master. And let’s not forget, killing the Water Dragon Gang’s top enforcer.

“Junior, you’ve done more in a week than I do in a year. I always thought Third Brother was my biggest headache, but you’re even more outrageous.”

Kou Li kept his face blank, but a small weight was lifted from his heart. For all the complaints, the underlying tone was one of closeness—his brother was on his side.

“I’ve worked the snake oil balm into you. Don’t train or fight these next few days. Focus on recovery, and let go of other worries for now—”

Just then, a knock sounded. Shrimphead’s uneasy voice called through the door, “Senior brother, Brother Kou, Master Lin asks you both to come.”

“Now? Junior Eight just had the ointment applied. He needs rest to absorb the medicine. Can’t it wait till morning?” Luo Yanzong frowned.

“It’s not that, Senior brother. It’s Sixth Brother—he insists Brother Kou must come,” Shrimphead stammered.

Luo Yanzong was about to protest, but Kou Li shook his head. “Let’s go. Some things are better settled sooner. As the disciple, it’s only right I pay respects to the master I’ve yet to meet.”

Outside, they saw Shrimphead waiting anxiously at the door. Kou Li clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

Only after their figures vanished did Shrimphead clench his fists in excitement. Brother Kou said thank you—did that mean he understood his intent?

“If I were you, Shrimphead, I wouldn’t pick a side before the dust settles. If Brother Kou gets expelled and the Xu Family returns, what then?” Jiang Shuiyuan called from a short distance away, brows raised.

“I have to try. A lowborn like me may never master the martial path, but I can’t lack even the courage to fight for it,” Shrimphead replied, his newfound resolve a stark contrast to his former timidity. He walked away without looking back.

“Is he truly a fool hiding wisdom?” Jiang Shuiyuan muttered in surprise. In his view, Kou Li stood a good chance of winning this round—so long as the most crucial issue was resolved, the rest would follow.

Master Lin’s courtyard lay at the northernmost end of the academy. It looked much like the others, save for a dozen well-cared-for potted plants—common flowers, but thriving and vibrant, their buds just opening.

Before they even entered, angry voices spilled from within. “Master, that Kou Li is audacious beyond belief! The academy’s sign is our pride, yet he took it down without a thought! Does he have any respect for you?”

“When we built this academy, our Xu family fought so many outside gangs, dozens of our brothers died just to establish a foothold. Now he’s crippled a dozen of our own in one stroke, all under your name. It’s madness!”

“And that’s not all. Kou Li’s actions are out of line. Our students aren’t our slaves. How will we hold our heads up among the locals after this?”

“Is that your opinion too, Fifth Brother? And you, Second Brother—you oversee training, you know him best. What’s your judgment of his character?”

“To be honest, I don’t like Junior Eight. He’s secretive, his origins murky, impossible to read. But to expel him outright seems harsh, especially since he was recommended by Elder Zheng.”

“What, Second Brother, are you afraid of the Zheng family?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Black Bear Xiong! Have I ever been afraid of anyone in my life?”

“Second and Fifth Brothers, why not settle this with your fists? Enough talk. Master’s been away half a year—it’s time he saw whether you’ve been slacking off in the arts.”

“Shut up, River Kid, always stirring the pot!”

Kou Li was momentarily stunned. Wasn’t this a discussion about expelling him—a matter of life and death? How had it devolved into a brawl?

Luo Yanzong, also sensing the loss of decorum, cleared his throat, stepped forward, and pushed open the door.