"Rosy cheeks of a fair maiden, faint willow brows knit with woe, flying needle and running thread embroider a sachet, yearning deep in her soul..."
Yang Yugan had rescued Chen Shaomei, prompting Chen Zhengying to make an exception and accept him as an apprentice. With their mutual feelings settled, the two strolled together through the picturesque scenery of Yesanpo in Hebei—an on-location montage lasting about three minutes.
Hong Kong still had many first-generation immigrants who had arrived from the mainland, the sort who still spoke in their native regional accents. Their children were fairly receptive, followed by Hong Kong's native-born residents. Yet no matter their background, all shared a fascination with the mainland's magnificent mountains and rivers and thoroughly enjoyed seeing such scenery on screen.
Great Wall had once produced a documentary showcasing mainland vistas, and its Hong Kong theatrical release had pulled in respectable box-office numbers.
"..."
The entire audience, including Shu Kei, watched in quiet appreciation. Whether it was the Qing-dynasty residences of Xiaodianhe Village or the breathtaking peaks and trickling streams of Yesanpo, these were vistas never seen in Hong Kong cinema.
Next came the iconic sequence of stirring the water vat and striking the leather ball!
Low murmurs of astonishment rippled through the hall once again. People always said Hong Kong cinema triumphed through novelty and never lacked fresh ideas, yet what this film presented was something contemporary local productions truly did not possess. Even the self-styled worldly Hong Kong moviegoers could not help being captivated.
Yang Yugan stayed in Chenjiagou to train, growing more proficient by the day, until Ghost Face led another sneak attack and wounded Chen Zhengying with poisoned concealed weapons.
Yang Yugan, Chen Shaomei, and Chen Shaojie headed to the capital to find medicine. This brought to light an old feud: Prince Duan had once turned a blind eye to his subordinates' misdeeds, only to be caught red-handed by Chen Zhengying. Having come out on the losing end of that clash, the prince harbored a bitter grudge.
Morally bankrupt yet professing martial pride, he stormed over to mock them upon learning they had arrived in Beijing, even dispatching men to capture them.
Fortunately, Prince Rong arrived in the nick of time.
Prince Rong was equally obsessed with martial arts, but was of far nobler character. Sharing an old friendship with Chen Zhengying, he took the three travelers in. Through his mediation, Prince Duan agreed to let Yang Yugan attempt the Tower of Seven Heroes.
"Prince Duan enlisted six top masters from across the land and erected the Tower of Seven Heroes. It stands seven stories high, each guarded by a master, with Prince Duan personally holding the seventh. Over the years, countless heroes have attempted the ascent, yet not a soul could breach the fifth floor.
Jin Fengjin!
Hao'erdu!
Meng Meng!
Jiu Namo!
Feng Hualian!
The Wine Monk!"
Good heavens—when those six champions appeared on screen, the entire theater erupted.
The tower-ascent formula was a timeless classic, one of the most reliable ways to make a viewer's blood surge. Bruce Lee's unfinished *Game of Death* had left all of Hong Kong with enduring regret; who could have expected to see it resurrected in *Tai Chi*!
*Creak!*
The tower doors swung open. Yang Yugan strode inside alone, radiating righteous resolve without a trace of fear.
The ground floor had windows on all four sides framing a central arena. Light filtered in from outside in chiaroscuro patches, while the walls were adorned with shamanic masks, each grotesque and eerie. Hu Weili's score struck just the right notes, heightening the tension into a pulse-pounding thrill.
Yang Yugan cupped his fists with great politeness. "Excuse me..."
Before he could finish, Xiong Xinxin, playing Jin Fengjin, glared, kicked off a table, and lunged straight before him. *Bam!* An airborne kick shot out, and the instant his feet touched down, he unleashed a spinning kick, then another spinning kick, followed by a sweeping low kick, then a whirlwind kick...
The five consecutive kicks were crisp, ferocious, and merciless.
*Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack!*
Xiong Xinxin showcased his kicking mastery to the fullest, launching a tempestuous offensive.
The audience sat stunned, slack-jawed and reluctant to blink even once. The two young men in front of Shu Kei craned their necks so far that he had to sit up straight himself, while the patrons beside them gaped open-mouthed.
Yang Yugan countered motion with stillness, subduing hardness with softness. After withstanding the barrage of blows, he tossed his opponent away with a few fluid motions. Xiong Xinxin hurtled backward through the air, soaring two or three meters high before crashing against the wall and tumbling to the floor...
"Phew!"
Only then did the entire hall seem to exhale. Too fast! It was breathtakingly fast!
The past two years had seen a steady stream of stellar kung fu cinema—*Drunken Master*, *The 36th Chamber of Shaolin*, *Encounter of the Spooky Kind*, and more—and they all shared a defining trait: they were getting faster and faster.
They were a far cry from the stiff, mechanical forms and calisthenics of the past.
Yet this sequence in *Tai Chi* outright blew away every contemporary Hong Kong film, pushing the speed to the absolute limit achievable under current production conditions!
"Groundbreaking! This film is groundbreaking!"
Shu Kei was thrilled beyond measure, inspiration bursting forth like a floodgate. Keeping his eyes glued to the screen with only the occasional downward glance, his pen scribbled furiously across his notebook.
"Thank you for the match!"
Yang Yugan dispatched Jin Fengjin, ascended to the second floor, and overcame Hao'erdu.
Chen Qi had budgeted twenty minutes for the entire tower sequence; the first two floors had to be cleared swiftly, lest the pacing drag. On the third floor, Yang Yugan fought Meng Meng, a staff specialist, engaging in an intricate, blow-for-blow exchange.
The fourth floor featured hard qigong, another rapid victory. Chen Qi's mischievous streak had flared up during writing, prompting him to have Jiu Namo deliberately warn: "Watch out for that Japanese wench—she'll suck you dry!"
On the fifth floor awaited the Japanese ninja, Feng Hualian!
A massive banner bearing the character *Nin* hung on the wall, while dozens of black cloth ribbons dangled from the ceiling, with no sign of a human presence. Suddenly, a window slammed shut, cutting off a swath of light.
Just as Yang Yugan looked around in wary surprise, two more windows shut, plunging the chamber into gloom.
Realizing what was happening, he snapped off a piece of wooden railing with a sharp kick and hurled it forcefully toward the final window. *Clang!* It wedged into the frame, preserving a solitary sliver of light. Amidst the hanging black ribbons, a ghostly silhouette fluttered back and forth as though taking flight.
A ninja of Japan's Koga clan, master of flying claws, concealed weapons, and stealth arts!
Each floor presented a distinct martial style, and the audience followed along eagerly.
Feng Hualian used the fabric strips and darkness to conceal her movements. After weathering several strikes, Yang Yugan seized an opening to reach the window and smashed it open with a punch. Sunlight flooded the room, leaving nowhere to hide.
On the sixth floor, he faced the Wine Monk, engaging in another meticulously choreographed duel.
At last, he reached the seventh floor—the final boss, Prince Duan, played by Yu Chenghui!
Yu Chenghui slouched in a broad armchair, his gaze sinister and aura intimidating, rolling a pair of iron exercise balls in his palm. Along the perimeter stood a weapon rack laden with various armaments, among which prominently stood the two-handed greatsword.
"Your Highness has brought out this sword—does that mean you are resolved not to let me leave alive?"
"Hmph! Glad you understand. Everyone claims you're more formidable than Chen Zhengying. Today, I'll string you up on this tower and let them see who is truly number one!"
Hearing this, Yang Yugan shook his head and sighed. "Your Highness, possessed only by jealousy and petty vanity, your martial path will never reach true mastery."
"Who do you think you are to lecture me? If you want to talk reason, beat me first!"
Yang Yugan gave a sudden, knowing smile, recalling how he had spoken those very words back home to a fellow youth practicing Baguazhang. Taking several paces back, he assumed a Tai Chi stance. With fire in his eyes and spirit in his soul, he declared clearly:
"After practicing martial arts for so many years, I've realized one truth: he with the biggest fist defines what is right. It is true for the common people, and true for nations!"
"Come, Prince!"
The two first clashed hand-to-hand.
Finding himself outmatched, Prince Duan feigned retreat, only to snatch up his greatsword in a surprise attack. Caught off guard, Yang Yugan took a slash to his left arm that temporarily incapacitated the limb. Fortunately, he managed to draw a sword of his own.
Tai Chi sword versus two-handed sword!
One graceful and fluid, moving like a swimming dragon, weaving stillness into motion and tempering hardness with soft grace; the other imposing and majestic, lethal in its strikes, alternating long thrusts and short parries with the unstoppable surge of a roaring river.
"Brilliant!"
The Yuen Brothers were crouching down in the audience as well. Seeing the finished cut for the first time—seeing the choreography they had racked their brains and poured their hearts into designing—a surge of pride welled within them.
Watching the audience's reactions only amplified that feeling.
"Holy crap! A two-handed sword!"
"There's actually a weapon like that? How come I never knew about it? Look how fierce that greatsword is—wonder if Lau Kar-leung could even lift it!"
"He only knows Hung Kuen; what does he know about two-handed swords? Speaking of which, I saw his *My Young Auntie* a couple of days ago. Trying to compete with *Tai Chi*? What a joke!"
Amidst the murmurs of amazement, viewers throughout the hall sat bolt upright, leaning forward, their undivided attention riveted on this mainland martial arts film that had utterly defied expectations.
Or rather, had no one mentioned it was a mainland production, not a soul would have guessed.
*Clatter!*
Prince Duan was struck in the wrist. Unable to exert force, the greatsword finally fell to the stone floor.
Stumbling backward, he collapsed onto his backside, Yang Yugan's sword leveled straight before his eyes. One standing, one fallen; one youthful, one twilight; like the rising sun against the dying embers of an old dynasty...
Yang Yugan looked down at him and said, "Today, the country is impoverished and its people weak, while Western barbarians watch like hungry tigers. Since arriving in the capital, all I have seen are opium dens everywhere, a languishing court, and a populace struggling just to survive. We who practice martial arts ought to lead by example, teaching the means to strengthen the body so as to fortify the nation!
When the country teeters on the brink of collapse, what do petty martial vendettas even matter?"
"Look to yourself, Your Highness. Farewell!"
Tossing aside his sword, he turned crisply on his heel and strode away.
In the film's closing scene, dressed in a white martial arts uniform, he practiced his forms atop the majestic Great Wall. Beginning with a Tai Chi opening stance, his movements flowed like drifting clouds and water, accompanied by the rousing wail of the suona: "Passionate blood spent, turned to dust and earth, only to win your heart; to whom does hero belong, if not to me..."
In this final tower-ascent sequence, Li Lianjie fully displayed his martial arts genius. His movements were expansive and fluid, and under the deliberately accelerated tempo, every hit struck with tremendous, visceral impact while retaining an effortless, debonair grace.
China had produced many action stars, but standing at the very pinnacle were only three: Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, and Li Lianjie.
Bruce Lee was the pioneer; Jackie Chan carved out his own comedic, acrobatic niche; and Li Lianjie embodied pure, orthodox kung fu, whose execution could be summed up in one word: magnificent! In his youth he was still maturing, but as he grew older in the nineties, roles like Wong Fei-hung and Zhang Sanfeng would imbue him with the commanding presence of a true grandmaster.
"Holy shit! This movie is ridiculously good!"
"If I'd known, I would've dragged Ah Fei along! He insisted on watching that *Security Unlimited* instead!"
"The lead actor—the papers said he's a wushu champion. His moves are bloody fantastic, feels even better than Jackie Chan's fighting!"
"Bugger off, who can beat Jackie Chan?"
"Could Jackie Chan pull off something like this?"
"He—he hasn't even tried, how do you know he couldn't?"
The film ended as the credits song continued to play.
The house lights came up, yet the audience was reluctant to leave, remaining in their seats and debating excitedly.
Shu Kei was thrilled to his core. Head down, his pen flew across the notebook: "*Tai Chi* possesses a distinct charm unlike anything in Hong Kong martial arts cinema—a sense of national duty and chivalry of the highest order. It will without question become a landmark work!
Li Lianjie likewise possesses qualities that set him apart from Jackie Chan and every martial arts star in Hong Kong. He is destined to become a superstar of his generation!"
Chapter 150