Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Clash of Wolf and Tiger (Part Three)

It is said that when viewed from different angles, a mountain ridge can appear as a range or a peak, its shape varying with distance and perspective. A ridge is a gently undulating mountain chain.

South of the Five Ridges, lies Lingnan, a vast and mountainous region characterized by rolling hills rather than sheer, precipitous peaks. This was also true of the place where the tide was observed. If any exceptions existed, they were Bird Cliff and Eagle Worry Gorge, where jagged, bizarre rocks and thorny stone stalagmites dominated the landscape. Not even a man-made path could be found; one had no choice but to climb up over moss-covered rocks.

A single misstep meant a tumble down hundreds of fathoms, crashing through countless thorny bushes and jagged stone ledges, body shattered beyond recognition—survival was impossible.

The ten remaining martial arts apprentices were drenched in sweat, crouched low with their backs raised, fearful that any lapse could cost them their lives. Nature's deadly terrain was far more merciless than any soldier.

All except for Jiang Shuiyuan, the fourth senior brother, who looked pale and stiff despite his rock-solid fighting stance and countless hours of training. This was an instinctive human reaction.

If below you stretched a chasm hundreds of fathoms deep, with a river thread-thin and giant boulders like grains of sand, and you could only climb with no room for error—one false move meant death—anyone would feel the same.

Except for one person.

At a rocky ledge around a bend, where the mountain funneled the wind, sudden muffled explosions rang out, as if the fierce wind had been compressed and then detonated all at once.

One blast followed another with rhythm, until an abrupt, tearing explosion shattered the air like dynamite splitting rock.

With a thunderous roar, half the cliff trembled!

Startled, Jiang Shuiyuan’s legs shook, nearly slipping off the palm-sized jutting rock. A wave of nervousness surged through him and he whimpered, “Senior Brother Luo, please tell Senior Brother Kou to stop practicing. I—I’m scared!”

His words drew immediate agreement. These apprentices, hardened by dozens of skirmishes against soldiers, were all wide-eyed and trembling.

They fought to survive, but if one was unlucky enough to fall, death would be merciless and absolute.

“All right, I’ll try to persuade him,” Luo Dunzi said, partly out of obligation and partly willingly. Bending forward, he flexed his back and red arms, slapping the cliff face repeatedly, as if glued to the rock. With a few sharp pushes, he launched himself five or six feet away, flipped his body, and landed on a nearby stone.

“Opening Force,” Jiang Shuiyuan admired.

Within the Burning Body Sect, three were masters of the Great Throwing Tablet Fist: Yue Wuhuo, Luo Yanzong, and the unassuming Luo Dunzi, who had perfected the unique “Opening Force” of this style.

Great Throwing Tablet Fist is a bone-refining technique, focusing not on the spine but on the ribs and arms. A single push, palm like a mountain, unstoppable and overwhelming.

On the rock Luo Dunzi struck, a shallow indentation appeared. The “Opening Force” meant channeling all one’s energy and blood into a sticky, soft pushing and pulling power.

Luo Dunzi spotted Kou Li ahead, positioned at the mountain pass between two ridges, feet wedged in rock crevices. Facing the mountain wind, he threw chopping punches. Each strike caused his whole body to sink as if anchored by a heavy weight, then pulled back with effort.

The essence of the chopping punch lies in the twisting, enveloping, and turning of the entire body’s energy; only then can true power be realized.

—

But Luo Dunzi had no time to appreciate Kou Li’s skill and asked with a slight tremor, “Junior Brother, aren’t you afraid?”

Kou Li turned, his pale face buffeted by the wind, and said with difficulty, “Yes, I’m a bit afraid of heights.”

“…”

Before Luo Dunzi could say more, Kou Li continued, “The world’s greatest dangers and chasms are none other than this. Between heaven’s difficulty and earth’s peril, lies great fear.”

He paused amid the roaring wind, his eyes shining undiminished, and shouted, “It is precisely because of great fear that great courage arises. The trials of heaven and earth forge a fist that can shake mountains and rivers. I feel I have found some of that in this chopping punch. Senior Brother, would you like to try?”

Luo Dunzi glanced down at the invisible abyss below, where people were as tiny as ants. Swallowing nervously, he said without hesitation, “No, my talent in fist technique is limited. Whether you can master the chopping punch depends on you.”

“But could you stop practicing for now? You’re not afraid, but others are.”

“What are they afraid of? I haven’t yet unleashed the explosive force of the chop. It can’t even shake this cliff,” Kou Li said with surprise.

“The cliff may not shake, but they are afraid of you.”

Humans instinctively fear madness; a fist master alongside a madman causes the same fear.

Luo Dunzi thought of Mo Yi, another madman of the fists, yet compared to Kou Li, the latter seemed even crazier.

“Then I’ll wait for them to come up. When most have arrived, I’ll practice fifty more times,” Kou Li nodded, thinking to savor the feeling he had just found.

Chopping punches train the lungs, emphasizing breathing. The mountain wind filling his mouth and lungs gave him a different sensation.

In theory, the chopping punch resembles an axe, meant to cleave, belonging to the Metal element, which directs downward and contracts.

Without the five-elements boxing methods and breathing techniques, Kou Li always felt constrained, like a silkworm cocooned in its threads, the axe blade tangled and pulled by countless invisible strings.

Frustrating. Very frustrating!

Kou Li looked down into the abyss, then up at the cloudless sky. High and perilous, dangerous and arduous, trapped in this place, unable to go up and death below.

This feeling was equally unpleasant.

If he were to simply jump, it might bring relief—but no, that would be cowardice.

Only by swinging his axe and cleaving the mountain, splitting the divine peak and opening the heavenly path, would true joy arise!

—

Yes, that was the feeling: a spiritual liberation, a physical tension, and the uncomfortable binding during the chop—all combined perfectly.

The energy in the dantian burst forth, the diaphragm tightening inch by inch, membranes and tendons firm and solid, iron-black like primed black powder. The breath was like a spinning wheel, the waist an axle, restrained but ready to explode.

Struggle, gather, strike.

This sky, this earth, this mountain—all became the oppressors. The Great Sage trapped beneath the Five Finger Mountain must have felt the same.

Heaven and earth suppress me, oppress me, humiliate me, insult me.

What shall I do?

I shall cleave them open!

It is said that a focused mind forgets hunger, anger forgets cold, nurturing forgets illness, excitement forgets pain.

What does a body and mind bound yet erupting forget?

Fear!

No longer just the strength of hands and feet, nor merely the dantian’s power, but the whole body’s energy exploded, every move rubbing with force. The countless invisible “weights” hanging on the body instead became his strength.

Forgetting the sky, forgetting the earth, forgetting the perilous cliffs a thousand fathoms high.

Forgetting that any slip means falling to shatter into pieces.

Infinite rage erupted from his heart, his hands and feet drilling upward and chopping down, imagining himself as a giant axe splitting the heavens, limbs the blade. When rising, the whole body tensed, gathering power. When chopping down, hands and feet joined, force exploding, cleaving mountains and rocks, unstoppable!

This chop was silent but deadly. Only after the blade—near the wrist on the ulna—completed its strike did a delayed thunderous explosion resonate, shaking the cliff thrice. Sand and stones slid down, dust billowed, and the apprentices who had climbed up exchanged looks of astonished relief.

Who said this punch couldn’t shake the mountain?

Senior Brother Kou’s words were clearly untrustworthy!

‘So that’s it, the power flows through, binding and releasing, charging and unleashing like an explosion, cleaving the mountain and chiseling stone. The key isn’t just in the chop’s force but in the subsequent explosive power. This “gunpowder force” is essentially an extension of internal boxing, combining internal and external strikes.’

Yet suddenly Kou Li’s brows furrowed. Amid the cliff’s tremors, he seemed to sense something strange.