Chapter Forty-Seven: The Offer of Amnesty

“If you train in martial arts but neglect your stance, you’re just flailing about blindly. If you can’t even stand properly, how on earth do you expect to throw a punch or root your power to the ground!”
“I’ll slap you silly! This is how you strike with the ‘T-shaped Palm.’ When your palm and fingers shift, there should be a force of friction and entanglement—watch me.”
“And this move—look at how I’m about to thrash you!”
After a round of scolding—or perhaps instruction—Yue Wuho felt deeply satisfied. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced to the doorway, craning his neck to see if Miss Su’e had come today. It had been several days already; perhaps she’d lost interest in that fellow Kou.
That would be a blessing! Old Yue’s chance might finally be here.
Lost in such dark musings, he suddenly noticed something amiss in the martial hall. Why was it so quiet today? Had he eased up on the training? There wasn’t a single cry of agony or appeal to parents.
“Boy, is today’s training not exhausting?”
“It’s exhausting, Chief Instructor,” Wu Tou replied, panting, sweat streaming from his robust body.
“Oh.”
“Chief Instructor, let me ask you something. Does the master know the Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms?”
“What Eighteen Dragon Palms?” Yue Wuho was stunned. What kind of palm technique was this? He’d never heard of it—was it perhaps some secret ancient style?
“So which is stronger, Frog Technique or Eighteen Dragon Palms?”
“Of course it’s the Frog Technique. That’s clearly an imitation style, while the Eighteen Dragon Palms are overly masculine—the northern school type. Guo Jing just didn’t have the physique, couldn’t drive his muscle with the boxing, so he’d definitely lose to Ouyang Feng.”
“I’m not so sure…”
This debate quickly drew in a crowd, their enthusiasm reaching a fever pitch, leaving Yue Wuho dumbfounded. Guo Jing and Huang Rong—were these the new famous fighters in Guangdong’s martial circles?
When training ended, everyone rushed out—not toward the dining hall, but toward Kou Li’s residence.
It must be Old Eight’s doing. What trick was he up to now?
Kou Li, meanwhile, was speechless as he watched the crowd squatting around him, some even bringing stools, noodles in hand, waiting for him to begin.
Was he now a professional storyteller?
“Kou, today Bao’er worked hard, but when can I learn the Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms?” Zheng Xiaobao asked, troubled.
“Stop the nonsense, get on with it! I want to know which of the Five Supremes has the superior martial arts—and why my master wasn’t ranked. There must be an inside story!” Jiang Yazi declared with conviction.
“Old Eight, what have you done? How did you draw all these people here?” Yue Wuho, who had rushed over, demanded fiercely.
“Brother Yue, you’re just in time! Please call these people back, or their training will be delayed,” Kou Li said helplessly.
“No, don’t! It’s our lunch break—Chief Instructor said we could finish listening!” someone wailed.
“That’s right! We plan to roam the martial world someday, so of course we need to know the landscape first.”

“I practiced my powerful hand yesterday after listening, and it already feels like the ‘Regretful Dragon’ move.”
“Master Yue, you can’t control everything!”
This time, faced with Yue Wuho’s pressure, the apprentices—usually bullied into docility—banded together in resistance for the first time.
Kou Li hadn’t expected his wuxia stories to be so popular here. Perhaps it was because martial arts were spread openly in the city, stripped of mystery and imagination.
His story, meant to lure Zheng Xiaobao into training, had become wildly welcomed, the immersion too strong to resist.
Seeing that even Yue Wuho couldn’t rein them in, Kou Li could only sigh and ask, “Where did we leave off yesterday?”
“The Sword Debate on Mount Hua!!”
Yue Wuho’s beard nearly bristled with anger. These brats had never been so audacious before—he knew how to handle them during training. But then his gaze shifted, surprised: “Senior Brother?”
Luo Yanzong smiled and waved: “I’m here for the story too.”
“Unbelievable—is it really that good?” Yue Wuho grumbled but couldn’t help but stop and listen for a bit. He, too, was drawn in, especially when Ouyang Feng countered with the Frog Technique, making him wonder, ‘Can martial arts really be practiced like this?’
When Kou Li finished with the Sword Debate, he said, “Bao’er, train hard. Tomorrow I’ll tell you a new story.”
“But Seventh Brother says he’ll take me to North Mountain tomorrow,” Zheng Bao’er was torn.
“Little Brother, you must train diligently—no slacking!”
“That’s right. If your stance isn’t steady, your martial arts won’t amount to much,” a chorus of earnest faces advised.
Jiang Yazi patted him on the shoulder, solemnly: “I’ve thought it over—my martial arts aren’t suitable for you yet. You’d better go train with Yue the Black Bear.”
“……”
Kou Li stood up, stretched his limbs. If not for Zheng Xiaobao, he wouldn’t bother with all this effort. He was about to return to his room when suddenly someone called out: “Old Eight, Senior Brother says your martial arts have improved again—looks like Yue the Black Bear has hope!”
“Senior Brother Zhai!”
This Fifth Brother Zhai Guan rarely returned to the martial hall, even less than Lu Zhixiong—so it was a rare sight.
Seeing Kou Li’s odd expression, Zhai Guan laughed, raising two bottles of liquor. “Northern spirits—rare chance! Let’s have a drink, the brothers will gather tomorrow, Old Eight, you must come, don’t disrespect your senior.”
Kou Li frowned, about to decline when Luo Yanzong smiled: “You’re free, just go. Fifth Brother rarely returns.”
“Then I’ll oblige,” Kou Li hesitated, but nodded. He couldn’t refuse Senior Brother’s invitation.
“Brother, someone outside asked me to give you this note,” Xia Tou suddenly ran up, scratching his head.
…………
“Let me introduce—Ghost Shadow, Brother Wu Ying; Mad Blade, Brother Chu San.”

The two introduced by Crocodile were striking. One had a scarred face, from forehead to neck, burned into a landscape of bloody pits; his nose and upper lip had been sliced off, exposing a row of white teeth that made it hard to look him in the eye.
The other, Chu San, was a bald giant, the most remarkable feature a massive knife scar across his bare chest and stomach, stitches so dense you could see flesh wriggling beneath.
Both had a dead, ferocious gaze—without a doubt, they were the prisoner-boxers from the gambling ship.
Kou Li had changed his appearance as well, using Old Iron Zheng’s disguise technique to become a sallow-faced, thin, horse-faced man—no one unfamiliar would recognize him.
“I’ve found out—the Naval Office is appointing Lu Zhixiong and his brother Lu Sanbao as officers today. And that Lu Sanbao is actually Zhu Baozai’s third adopted son.”
“Appointing officers—they need a reason, don’t they?” Kou Li asked.
“That’s easy. If Zhu Baozai wants, he just has to show a little—there’ll be plenty for the soldiers to covet. This time, Lu Zhixiong becomes the hero who rescued Deputy Commander Lin Liangdong of Longmen. Hero, my ass—the Lin fellow was Zhu Baozai’s captive years ago.”
Crocodile’s tone was excited and tense, as if they were about to embark on something perilous and crucial.
“We’re already being hunted by the Water Dragon Gang, and now we’re about to offend that pirate Zhu Baozai. If we’re discovered, will we survive?” Wu Ying said coldly, though his speech was slurred from his missing upper lip.
“Didn’t Crocodile tell you? If this succeeds, it could trigger a civil war between the Water Dragon Gang and Zhu Baozai,” Kou Li explained patiently.
“They can’t be that stupid, can they?” Chu San retorted.
“True or false, some just need an excuse. If Zhu Baozai is accepted by the authorities, what happens to all his men? They’ll fight for land ashore. The Water Dragon Gang sees Guangdong as their domain—they won’t tolerate that.”
Kou Li knew the two were nervous. If things went wrong and they angered the Water Dragon Gang, Zhu Baozai, and the government, they’d have nowhere to stand in Lingnan.
That included himself, of course.
But Kou Li had to act first. He had a strong sense that a storm was coming, one as fierce as several months ago. If he sat and waited, hoping the martial hall would shelter him, he’d die a miserable death.
Besides, he had a principle—never let his fate rest in another’s hands.
At the Naval Office, Lu Zhixiong was dressed like a man of wealth, pacing nervously. “Brother Bao, the Governor of Liangguang is coming just for us?”
“Not the Governor, but the Naval Commander. One will surely come; there are some special matters to discuss with them personally.”
Lu Sanbao’s face was oddly shaped, like a stretched bream, skin bluish and dark. People often said he was a reincarnated ghost fish.
In the group of adopted sons, he wasn’t the strongest, but he was the most loyal; anything Zhu Baozai entrusted him, he would see through, even if it meant surrendering to an old enemy.
“Let’s go. Lin isn’t a complete fraud—he’s got some status, though he’s useless in naval battles,” Lu Sanbao shook his head, then asked, “By the way, where’s my son? I heard from Old Ghost you sent him to the martial hall?”
“Well, yes…” Lu Zhixiong looked embarrassed, about to explain when a voice called from outside, “Gentlemen, the officials await you.”