Late at night, after the transmission of martial arts was complete.
From the woods behind the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain, a girl emerged soundlessly, a hunting rifle on her back and a hunting knife at her waist. It was Shuang'er.
"Grandmaster, his foundation isn’t complete, yet he’s begun breathing exercises. Isn’t that——"
Though she looked only fourteen or fifteen, her breath was long and steady, her steps light and soundless—she had clearly achieved her own mastery of martial arts. Her bright eyes were fixed on the direction Lian Youming had departed.
The old man’s eyes were calm, his face expressionless. "Don’t let that kid fool you. He seems naive, but he’s full of schemes. I doubt he ever trusted me."
Shuang'er blinked. "Then will he help us?" she asked softly.
"He’s just an unlucky bastard caught up in this turmoil," the old man said coldly. "He can barely protect himself—how could he help us? Those of the martial world die in the martial world. The martial world is right before him; since he’s barged in, his life and death are his own fate. If not for the fact that he meant to save someone, would I have passed on a true art to him? Whether he lives or dies after practicing it is up to heaven."
Pausing, the old man seemed to reflect further. "My time is near, and those below the mountain are watching covetously. This battle must clear every obstacle for you. If he’s lucky, once this fight is over I can still give him a hand; if he’s unlucky, he’ll just have to chalk it up to bad luck."
Shuang'er’s small face was tense, her cheeks weathered to an ochre tone by years of wind and sun. She didn’t press the matter, but said in a low voice, "Grandmaster, news came from the city: Xingyi Sect has produced an extraordinary traitor who’s declared he’ll exterminate every member of the Xingyi Sect. He’s already reached our side."
The old man raised his brows. "Who?"
"Xue Hen," the girl said softly.
"Xue Hen?" The old man was startled, then gave a strange smile. "That name is interesting. Could he be that man’s disciple, his bloodline heir? That man went astray back then, inviting heavenly wrath and earthly ruin, dying with no place to bury him—and now another wretch who betrays his master and sect has appeared. Truly, cut from the same cloth."
As he spoke, the old man’s eyes suddenly sharpened. "I wondered why Xie Laosan moved early. So it’s because of this person."
The girl came quickly and left even faster, as if she’d come only to say those few words, leaving the old man alone beneath the moon.
The old man raised his head and gazed at the moon.
On nights like these, he had sat watching for over seventy years without realizing it. Now, looking back on more than twenty-five thousand nights, it seemed like a long, distant dream.
Back then it seemed to be the Republic era—peerless masters emerged suddenly, major figures called the shots, the three teachings were held in equal esteem, and others ran roughshod over the martial world north and south, commanding both the underworld and the legitimate world, invincible under heaven……
Gazing at the moon, the old man suddenly murmured:
"Heaven’s light shines ten thousand li over heaven and earth,
Earth’s veins crisscross to protect the root.
Hong Yi endures, bright as sun and moon.
The gate opens to the four seas, gathering worthy men."
……
At the same time, below the mountain.
In a lone wooden house, a bright red stove fire illuminated several faces.
Xie Laosan sat cross-legged on the kang mat, a tobacco pipe in hand, puffing smoke.
Seated before him were several others, dressed variously: a teacher in glasses and a Sun Yat-sen suit, an old man dressed as a villager, a burly village woman, and a short, thin dwarf.
The village woman, hands tucked in her sleeves, asked, "What do we do now? The weather’s turning cold so fast—heavy snow will block the mountain in a few days, I reckon. Just the time to off that old bastard."
The dwarf, with withered yellow disheveled hair and bulging eyes, shrieked, "Best to kill everyone on the mountain, and everyone in this village too—not one left."
"What’s the point of killing?" the village woman said, extremely dissatisfied. "You worthless runt, thinking it’s still the late Qing and early Republic? That Xue fellow had martial arts unrivaled in the martial world, but guns and cannons still took him out… If you want to get yourself killed, don’t drag us down with you."
The dwarf sneered. "How did you get so cowardly now, you old woman? Hiding all these years, you actually think you’re a virtuous wife and good mother? Heh heh, which one of us isn’t deserving of death by a thousand cuts, with blood on our hands? No matter how you change, you can’t wash it away."
"Enough," Xie Laosan said, frowning. He tapped his pipe on the table—clack. "We haven’t even done the thing yet, and we’re already fighting among ourselves. We’ll do it Old Five’s way: slip some drug into their food, wait till they’re all out, then make our move."
The teacher in the Sun Yat-sen suit drawled, "By my reckoning, that Yang fellow is probably about to lose his cultivation."
Xie Laosan sighed with emotion. "Yeah. The more critical the moment, the more dangerous. If we do nothing, fine; if we act, every step is deadly."
Another old man dressed as a villager, with a goatee, put in: "He’s been guarding here since the Year of Jiwei, right?"
One sentence, yet it seemed to convey a thousand emotions.
Xie Laosan remained expressionless, continuing to tap his copper pipe bowl. "The eighth year of the Republic."
The goateed old man suddenly laughed, wildly, yet his eyes were full of killing intent—clearly smiling, but his eyes held murky tears. "Heh heh, that old bastard actually lasted until the great trial of losing his cultivation, dragging us down with him for a lifetime. Quite something."
Xie Laosan’s eyelid twitched. He picked up a peanut from the table, crushed the shell with his thumb, blew off the red skin, and popped it into his mouth, chewing as he said, "Not a year more or less—exactly sixty."
As he uttered the words, his cheeks were tight, his teeth grinding, as if using every ounce of strength.
Xie Laosan’s wandering gaze hardened. He said in a low voice, "This is our last chance. Coinciding with those educated youth going up the mountain might distract Old Ghost Yang. He was the Taiji Sect’s inside man back then, handling shady business, but he’s at least Yang Luchan’s grand-disciple. Surely he can’t be completely cold-blooded."
The dwarf old man said, "That’s not certain. Back when his disciple was bitten to death by a tiger you drove at him, he didn’t come down the mountain. Even after he got his revenge, he clearly has a heart of iron."
Xie Laosan listened to the howling wind outside the window. After a long while, he said mournfully, "Cold-blooded or iron-hearted, it doesn’t matter. It’s time to settle this feud."
The next day.
"Cheep cheep cheep……"
Smelling the icy, biting air, chewing a stem of grass, Lian Youming had a hunting rifle on his back, a dogskin cap on his head, and wore the military greatcoat Platoon Leader Yang had given him. He lay in a pile of rotting leaves reeking of decay, gazing into the distance. Two pheasants were pecking at a pile of broken rice on the ground.
Hazel grouse.
Good stuff.
You know, in a few years you won’t be able to eat this.
Lian Youming took out his slingshot, drew back four cowhide bands, and loaded two mud pellets he’d rolled himself. Aiming with his left eye, as he released his right hand, the two mud pellets shot out soundlessly.
Not a sound—two clumps of feathers “poofed” into the air, and the two pheasants were hit.
"Haha, I got them!"
Lian Youming scrambled to his feet, spat out the grass stem, and ran over excitedly.
"Still flapping, huh? Later I’ll stew the both of you… Uncle Xie, one each."
Xie Laosan watched the boy grinning stupidly, holding up the pheasants, and smiled too. "Mud pellets? Good kid, you’ve actually turned the slingshot into an art."
Lian Youming wore a harmless smile. "I figured it all out myself."
Xie Laosan sighed. "Don’t let the slingshot’s current status as a child’s toy fool you—there’s a great deal to it. Different projectiles produce different effects. Back in the late Qing and early Republic, there were a few slingshot experts. Stones, mud pellets, iron shot, lead shot—they used them at will, with endless variations. They could be loaded with poison smoke or packed with gunpowder, but in the end they were all replaced by firearms."
Lian Youming tucked both birds into the leather pouch at the small of his back and said thoughtfully, "Uncle Xie, can martial arts masters beat guns and cannons?"
Xie Laosan shook his head. "Hard to say."
"What’s so hard to say? In my opinion, no matter how far you train martial arts, you’re still flesh and blood. A knife or sword will still punch a hole in you." Lian Youming muttered, "It’s all a bunch of cons and tricks."
Hearing Lian Youming disparage martial arts, Xie Laosan couldn’t be bothered to waste his breath. Over the time they’d spent together, he felt he had the boy’s temperament figured out—he was a playful, mischievous kid who loved to boast, talk big, and clown around, unreliable through and through.
Seeing that the other man wasn’t responding, Lian Youming remained on guard. In just one evening, the man had taken on an inexplicable aura, like a taut string.
"Was he about to make a move?"
By this point they’d wandered through the woods for another two circuits. Lian Youming deliberately ran toward the foot of the mountain, all the way to a river at the edge of the forest farm.
Xie Laosan seemed unmoved, but his steps didn’t lag behind.
The winding river nearly split the vast forest in two, stretching to the horizon—who knew where it led.
Feeling the gaze behind him, Lian Youming felt uncomfortable all over. And there was a faint… he vaguely sensed a trace of killing intent he couldn’t put into words, making his scalp tingle.
Lian Youming stopped in his tracks, stiffly turning his head—only to see Xie Laosan watching the sky. The skin-pricking killing intent had vanished.
"Uncle Xie, what are you looking at?"
Xie Laosan said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, "It’s going to snow."
The trip from the foot of the mountain up took over forty minutes. They got back just in time for lunch.
With a pot of cabbage and radish soup, Lian Youming polished off seven or eight corn cakes, leaving several young educated women dumbfounded.
In the afternoon he helped carry lumber for several hours.
Until work ended, a group of male educated youth, after eating, couldn’t wait to crowd into their dormitory.
Liu Dabiao, back from the clinic, shouted in a Tianjin accent, pulled a pair of bamboo clappers from his waist, flicked his wrist, and launched into a performance.
From the female educated youth’s side came the sound of poetry recitation.
"Farewell to Cambridge Again……"
Lian Youming sat on the heated kang, eating pine nuts, too lazy to go out.
But as he listened, he suddenly heard toad croaks in the howling north wind outside the window. He immediately raised his eyebrows, made an excuse to use the toilet, and slipped out of the dormitory.
No sooner had he stepped out than Lian Youming saw the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain’s withered, stick-thin figure in the distance.
He probably couldn’t wait.
Remembering how he’d seen the man exhaling gray qi that day, reeking of decay, his body was probably failing.
The man didn’t speak. His silhouette flashed and vanished in the twilight.
Lian Youming hurried after him until he entered the clearing where the old man was.
Looking at the man’s ashen complexion, Lian Youming couldn’t wait to say, "They seem ready to make a move."
The old man’s eyes were gloomy. "I know. A great master has appeared in the county. These people want to be absolutely sure, so they have to make one last throw this winter. If they miss this chance, there won’t be another."
"So why did you call me over?" Lian Youming asked, puzzled.
"I called you over today because I want to teach you another supreme art," the old man said lightly. "Do you want to learn it?"
Lian Youming felt the man’s tone and manner were like those of an ancient person, and it grated on him, but he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. He nodded eagerly.
"Come with me," the old man said, walking toward another earth house.
Lian Youming looked pleased on the surface but felt uneasy inside. The man was being so generous—surely not because he thought Lian’s vitality was slim and felt pity?
The old man pushed open the door and lit a lamp.
As a lamp flared to life, there was a huge stone ball in the earth house, and a large water vat half a person tall in the center.
The old man rolled up his sleeves and slowly extended his right hand into the water vat.
"Watch closely."
Lian Youming fixed his gaze. The old man was making no visible movement, yet ripples slowly rose in the water, then began to swirl, as if an invisible hand were stirring it.
"I taught you the breathing method before. Today I might as well teach you the ‘Winding Silk Force.’ This ‘Winding Silk Force’ is an exceptionally refined method of neutralizing force. The force moves in a spiral, applied to the hands—it is the ‘Yin-Yang Winding Silk Hand.’ If you can master it throughout your body, then external force against you will be like a mud cow entering the sea."
Lian Youming seemed to recall something. "Is this the strange force you used to knock me down that night?"
The old man nodded. "Exactly."
By the lamplight, Lian Youming saw that though the old man seemed still, beneath his black cotton coat hidden crevices seemed to spread. Especially the two sleeves of his padded jacket bulged and swelled visibly, tightening and relaxing, as if great winds and waves were surging inside his clothes.
Lian Youming was secretly amazed. This looked somewhat similar to the man on the train breathing.
He couldn’t help asking. "Apart from neutralizing force, are there other methods?"
The old man said, "These things can’t be explained in a few words. For now you just need to understand the principle behind it. If the opportunity arises, I’ll tell you."
As he spoke, the old man suddenly pulled off his black coat, revealing his bare upper body.
Under Lian Youming’s incredulous gaze, the old man’s withered body suddenly expanded. His dull skin and flesh seemed to take on a radiance in an instant, like writhing dough.
"This… what is this?"
Lian Youming widened his eyes, his face full of alarm. He instinctively stepped back half a pace. But the man turned around, and his back was covered with muscles constantly rising and falling—like fish swimming around his spine in the dim lamplight, mysterious and extraordinary, astonishing.
The old man’s voice drifted over. "This is the movement of the muscles—the secret to issuing force."
As he spoke, the old man lifted one arm.
Instantly, the clear water in the vat spun rapidly, forming a huge whirlpool. Surging water spiraled upward, as if about to escape the vat……
Chapter 10