Chapter Thirty-Five: Utter Defeat

At these words, even Mo Yi, who’d always appeared uninterested and lost in thought, opened his eyes and sized up the other man. Two months’ time, and not only had the boy failed to master the fundamental stance, but had already achieved proficiency in boxing, his technique fierce and ruthless, with none of the awkwardness of a beginner—this was truly inexplicable.

There had been prodigies in the world of martial arts, but genius rested on a foundation of slow accumulation. Such talents began training as children, mastering stances and contemplating the philosophy of boxing, so that by the age of sixteen or seventeen, when their bones were set, they could burst forth with thunderous power and make a name for themselves in a single bound.

But Kou Li himself admitted he’d never practiced boxing as a child. It was as if he’d tried to run before he could walk—yet not only could he run, he sped forward like a gale, leaving onlookers dumbfounded.

According to common sense, there was only one possibility: he was hiding his true strength. If so, then his entering the Temple of the Burning Body as a disciple was clearly with ulterior motives.

This was the true crux of the matter.

If Kou Li really was supremely gifted, not to mention crippling a fellow disciple, even killing someone wouldn’t be a big deal. In the world of martial arts, raising a son for one’s old age was nothing compared to raising a disciple—a disciple was the one to hold up your reputation when you could no longer fight.

If an old master encountered a martial genius with no sect, he would either cripple him or take him in—there was no other choice.

Lu Zhixiong’s face was grim. He had intended to save this question for the end, to utterly pin his opponent down, but he hadn’t expected the other to be so cunning, preemptively drawing him into a trap with deft words.

And with such a forthright explanation, not only was there no obvious flaw, but even if there were, perhaps the offense would be lessened. Bringing skills to a new master wasn’t unheard of—Yue Wu Huo had done the same.

But back then, he hadn’t concealed his background, nor hidden his martial prowess.

The school’s most fierce and powerful palm technique, the Monument-Smashing Hand, had been Yue Wu Huo’s offering upon his apprenticeship.

“Junior brother, I too am curious—who was your previous master? The Tiger Stance of the Eight Forms Boxing has been lost for years, hasn’t it?” Zhai Guan asked.

“Before coming to the martial school, I truly had never trained in boxing at all. Senior brother, and Senior Yue, you should both be able to see that—this can’t be concealed,” Kou Li replied calmly. “The reason I advanced so quickly is because, in my childhood, I accidentally ate a magical herb.”

“A magical herb?” Jiang Yazhi’s eyes widened in curiosity.

“Yes. The herb’s nature was intensely cold. Ever since I ate it, every half month I would be afflicted by icy poison invading my body. As I grew older, the affliction worsened. Because of this, I journeyed far and wide, seeking out sages and immortals to cure myself.”

“By chance, I saved Zheng Bao’er and, through another coincidence, became a disciple here. My poor performance in the basic stance was likely due to this.”

“Later, when the school distributed the Hundred-Bone Broth, I tried it and was surprised to find that, combined with stance training, it could neutralize the cold poison in my body. Unfortunately, the school’s supply of deep-sea shark bone was insufficient.” Here, Kou Li paused before continuing, “So I took the opportunity to travel to Yuezhou City, found an old master, and had him prepare a health tonic. With the tonic and stance practice, I was able to purge the cold poison.”

“But strangely, as the chill faded, I found my strength and spirit growing, my training in stances progressing rapidly, and my memory improving. I happened to recall Instructor Zhao once teaching us the Tiger Pounce, and, somehow, I managed to master it.”

“That took over a month. When I returned, I was just in time for the incident with Xiaobao. In my anger, I practiced all night in the small training yard and achieved mastery of the Fierce Tiger Fist.”

After finishing his tale—or rather, his lie—Kou Li fell silent, leaving the others exchanging glances.

“No way, Old Eight, you’re this good and you ate a magical herb?!” Jiang Yazhi’s expression was a mix of excitement and skepticism, his eyes shining as if beholding a god.

“A magical herb—are there really such things in this world?” Even Luo Yanzong was stunned. He hadn’t expected Kou Li, after hiding for so long, to give such an answer—it boggled the mind.

“Magical herb—sounds like a tall tale to me. Where are there gods in this world?” Despite his words, Lu Zhixiong’s face showed apprehension. Fisherfolk and eggers lived by the sea, and were the most superstitious, always consulting omens before setting out to sea, weaving nets, or fishing.

“Though the cold has mostly dissipated, some still lingers in my body.”

Under everyone’s gaze, Kou Li bit his finger, letting a drop of blood fall to the ground. Immediately, a visible white mist of cold rose, making even the ever-composed Mo Yi gape.

The others looked as if they’d seen a ghost.

Facts spoke louder than words!

“It seems you really were blessed by fortune, junior brother,” Luo Yanzong finally said after a long pause. He no longer doubted Kou Li’s account—if it was a magical herb, then increased strength was no miracle.

“Your fighting style,” Mo Yi interjected coldly, “surely that isn’t something you can eat your way to.”

“Yes, the fighting style—” Lu Zhixiong, still reeling from shock, finally realized. Fighting style comes from practice; it’s forged through combat. No matter how potent a medicine, without someone to spar with or teach you, no one could transform an ordinary man into a skilled fighter.

“That I don’t fully understand. I just recall that when I was in the southern mountains, beneath a tiger’s jaws, I saved Zheng Bao’er. The impression of that tiger lingered in my mind. So when practicing the Fierce Tiger Fist, I made rapid progress.”

Even if this had not happened, Kou Li had intended to reveal the ‘truth’ at an opportune moment. With so many peculiarities, only the intervention of some immortal fate could explain it. The wordless diagram would arouse too much covetousness—who would believe an immortal diagram could fuse into the body? But a magical herb, once eaten, was far easier to believe—no one could ask him to cough it back up.

Of course, the story couldn’t be too thorough—nine parts true, one part false; half-known, half-unknown—that was the mark of a divine object.

“Old Eight’s situation likely means he’s grasped the heart of the fist,” Master Lin, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.

“The heart of the fist?”

Even Luo Yanzong, the most knowledgeable, was perplexed, though the term sounded familiar.

“The momentum, the intent, the spirit of the fist—you all know their significance. The spirit is the essence, the source; momentum is the energy revealed in technique; intent is the principle and path. When I teach you, it’s first momentum, then intent, finally spirit—until man and fist become one.”

“But that is the acquired method, from tip to root, bottom to top. To my knowledge, there’s another way, an innate one, like a river flowing from its source—such was the talent of old masters who created ancient fist styles. This is the heart of the fist.”

“What exactly is the heart of the fist?” Before he finished, Mo Yi interrupted, serious as ever—he’d spoken more today than in the past half month combined.

“I don’t know clearly myself. I only heard it described by my elders. It’s much like birds flying without being taught, or tigers and wolves hunting by instinct. It seems related to the alchemy of Daoist arts. According to Old Eight’s story, he must have, by chance, grasped the heart of the Tiger Fist.”

“If he can comprehend its heart, perhaps he can restore the lost Tiger Stance.”

At this, even Kou Li was startled. He hadn’t expected that, through the wordless diagram and his nightly dreams, he’d actually reached the heart of the fist.

Could there truly be some mysterious connection between martial arts and Daoist arts?

And the wordless diagram—what role had it played in all this?

Master Lin, though modest and amiable, was implicitly trusted by his disciples. Even the scheming Lu Zhixiong became pensive, for Master Lin’s opinion carried weight.

“I’ve checked on Old Nine. His wounds are beginning to heal, and I’ve worked out his internal injuries. His breathing, pulse, and vital energy are normal. By rights, he should have awoken already. But the brain is the core of the body—whatever happened there, I, a crude boxer, cannot say. I truly don’t know how to explain this to Old Zheng.”

Here, Master Lin frowned, deeply troubled. After all, the boy’s grandfather had entrusted his precious grandson to him to learn the art, only for this disaster to strike before any skills were acquired—especially with Old Zheng’s fate still unknown.

“We martial artists may be rough, but boxing is one thing, brawling another. Those apprentices who took part in the fight must not return until Old Six brings back the ringleader—then we’ll settle accounts.”

“Yes, Master,” Lu Zhixiong lowered his head, making his expression unreadable, but his voice was somber—he was clearly in no good mood.

“As for you, Old Eight—you did well, and your reasoning was sound, but your methods were too extreme. It would be unfair to punish you, but also wrong to let you off. Here’s what I’ll do: every three years, all my disciples are tested. Those whose boxing is not up to standard are expelled, no exceptions. That’s the rule of our school. You and Zheng Bao’er will have no official status for three years—train under the eldest brother. In three years, if your progress satisfies me, you’ll become formal disciples. What do you think?”

“I have no complaints,” Kou Li replied.

He lifted his head, meeting Lu Zhixiong’s gaze. Kou Li gave a slight smile, making the other’s expression grow even darker.

In two months, Kou Li had mastered the Fierce Tiger Fist without even knowing the basic stances—what master would not be pleased? It was as good as guaranteeing his place in advance.

As for Zheng Xiaobao, he was said to be quite gifted as well—after two months, he’d already gotten the hang of the fundamental stance, and, being the grandson of an old friend, there was no chance of expulsion.

Though it looked like everyone was punished equally, with extra leniency for Kou Li, Lu Zhixiong knew he’d lost this round, and lost completely.