Return to the City! Return to the City! Return to the City!

A sudden snowfall fell intermittently for several days. The educated youths of the forest farm parted ways as well, scattering like stars. Having already descended to Kaoshan Hamlet, Lian Youming did not stay with Big Head Liu. Instead, he chose an unoccupied earth house to enjoy some peace and quiet on his own. The simple truth was that the old man still had not awakened from his qigong dream. Who knew what technique he had picked up from newspapers or television, but every night in the wee hours he burned incense and prayed, enveloping the room in dense curls of smoke like a shaman invoking spirits, making a tremendous fuss. Outside the window lay a boundless expanse of white. Cold winds wailed and howled, rattling the window paper in a ceaseless rustle. Ever since consuming that fierce tiger, Lian Youming hardly felt cold even without lighting the heated kang or a stove, quite unlike the previous year when the bitter frost had tormented him half to death. As he paced casually around the room to strengthen his lower stance, he slowly raised both arms, his hands parrying and drawing inward, sealing and closing, turning over the bizarre, striking force the strange man in the fortress had used to jab acupoints. He had always felt that the man's technique—expanding from a single focal point upon impact to send shockwaves coursing through all the bones and sinews—bore some connection to silk-reeling force. The silk-reeling force taught to him by the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain was an inward-reeling spiral. If that power was focused into a single point and gathered in the center of the fist, its penetrative might was staggering. A strike from it would not knock an opponent backward; instead, the force would pass right through the chest and abdomen to shatter the five viscera, striking like a thousand-jin sledgehammer. Pondering the myriad applications of silk-reeling force, Lian Youming could not help trying it out. His fists punched through empty air, continually alternating between energies and methods of attack. "Could it be that it needs to run in reverse?" Perhaps influenced by Yan Lingyun, he now often worked out the theory of a martial art before drilling it. Since silk-reeling force spiraled inward, whereas the strange man's peculiar energy expanded outward from a single point like ripples across water, then it was an outward release. If the underlying martial theory was reversed, must the flow of sinew and muscle run backward as well? At this thought, Lian Youming sank his breath abruptly. The fabric across his back instantly pulled taut, and bulging pouches of qi darted silently out from both sides of his spine like swimming fish. They traveled along his back and merged into an unbroken sheet, rising and falling like dragons and serpents. Yet the moment they were thrust into his right arm, a sudden shift occurred in his mind, and the violently spinning flow instantly surged in reverse. Feeling the peculiar energy welling up inside his right arm, Lian Youming mimicked the strange man's hand formation, clenching his hand into a phoenix-eye fist and thrusting forward into the air using only the raised knuckle of his index finger. As if sensing something, light blazed in his eyes the moment the punch shot forth. He tucked all ten fingers in, shaping both hands into phoenix-eye fists. Stepping forward pace by pace, his fists traded off in rapid succession until, on the third step, one fist drove into a discarded door plank. The wooden door was about an inch thick. When the fist landed, not a sound was heard. "Did I guess wrong?" Just as Lian Youming felt a flicker of doubt, a bizarre series of sharp sounds suddenly came from the plank, like ice cracking. Looking closely, he saw a web of fissures spreading outward from the point of impact. Crack! With another sharp snap, the wooden plank burst apart into splinters. Lian Youming's eyes gleamed. He slowly uncurled his clenched fists, and a slight smile appeared on his face. His fists stopped, but his feet did not. Over the past few days, whenever he had a spare moment he kept walking to solidify his stance and waist. He had trodden down the packed dirt floor of the room so much that he had nearly carved a shallow trough into it. Picking up the copy of Journey to the West resting on the desk, Lian Youming read as he walked. Over the last two days, this was not the first time he had leafed through the novel. The handwriting inside was rather peculiar. Every stroke looked like the cleave of a saber, the slash of a sword, or the thrust of a spear. It could hardly be called unsightly, but it had nothing in common with master calligraphers either. Strange as it was, it gave off a fierce, keen, and vibrant air, as though a sharp edge lay hidden within, possessing profound ingenuity. Nor was it just text; tucked between the pages were dozens of small ink wash illustrations, meticulously detailed and remarkably vivid. The very first drawing showed the savage countenance of a monkey—hollow cheeks, a pointed mouth, a gaunt, skeletal frame, protruding fangs, a hunched back, and dangling arms. From a distance, it resembled a vicious demon, its eyes brimming with ferocity, baring its teeth as if it might crawl straight out of the book at any second. It dripped with malice. He did not read line by line or scrutinize every single page, merely flipping through at leisure. After all, the book contained a vast number of words, and finishing it was not something that could be done in a day or two. There was no rushing it; he could only see if he might stumble upon a spark of inspiration. As he flipped further along, the illustrations gradually came to feature the complete retinue: the four disciples and master on their pilgrimage, along with the White Dragon Horse. Yet the Sun Wukong in the paintings stood straighter and straighter, transforming from a hunched beast into an upright biped, filling out from a gaunt creature into a solid figure. His likeness grew increasingly lifelike—sometimes bounding and leaping, sometimes perched on a branch looking into the distance, sometimes reclining on his side, or swinging his cudgel with raised arms to clash fiercely against demons—rendered with astonishing vibrancy. Leafing through from start to finish, from Sun Wukong bursting out of the stone to attaining Buddhahood upon completing the pilgrimage, there were seventy-two small illustrations in total. "What kind of secret can be tucked away in here? Judging by what Li Da said, could it be that everyone perceives something different? What did he comprehend from it?" Lian Youming's gaze grew focused. Without realizing it, he had reached the final page. And this final page had something more. A poem met his eyes: "The Dao is most abstruse; hold not the Golden Elixir in light esteem. Without a master to impart the wondrous secret, Idle chatter leaves the mouth weary and the tongue parched." At the end of the verse followed an elixir mnemonic: "The wondrous secret of esoteric and exoteric enlightenment, Cherish the cultivation of life and nature, seek nothing besides. It all stems from essence, qi, and spirit; Guard them tight and firm, let none leak out. Let none leak out, store them in the frame, Receive my transmission, and the Dao will flourish. Keeping the oral mnemonic brings endless gain; Cast out vile desires to gain pure clarity. Gaining pure clarity, the light shines bright and clean, A perfect time to view the bright moon from the elixir terrace. The moon shelters the jade hare, the sun conceals the crow, Naturally the tortoise and serpent entwine. Entwined together, nature and life grow steadfast, Able to plant golden lotuses amidst raging fire. Gather the Five Elements and employ them in reverse; When the work is done, become at will a Buddha or immortal." Lian Youming's gaze swept over the lines. Though it was not the first time he had read them, his expression still grew somewhat strange. "Isn't this just the cultivation method Patriarch Bodhi taught Sun Wukong? Could there truly be some profound secret hidden inside? It can't actually be real, can it?" Reading to the end in a single pass without a second glance, he snapped the book shut with a slap. Calming his heart and gathering his spirit, he resumed his walking drills as before. Only after quite a while did he shake his head. This kind of thing could only be contemplated slowly; one must never seek speed. What mattered most to him right now was tempering his foundation and honing his fists and kicks. Getting thoroughly absorbed in a novel would be putting the cart before the horse. Life seemed to return to its former tranquility. His labor in the hamlet was the same as before—looking after the livestock and tending the cattle and sheep pens. Every day was a busy blur of eating, heading out to work, finishing work, and drilling his martial arts. Having witnessed top masters clash and martial artists slaughter one another, Lian Youming pondered martial arts at virtually every waking moment, firming his lower stance whether walking, sitting, or standing, and even maintaining his postures in his sleep. Moreover, just as Li Da had said, he never showed up again. Sometimes when Lian Youming woke, he felt as if all his experiences over the past year had been nothing but a dream, leaving him unsettled and uneasy, able to vent only through practicing his punches. Days passed like this until mid-October. Aside from a trip to deliver a few tiger bones to Qin Yuhu, Lian Youming stayed in the hamlet the entire time. At noon on this day, across the snow-covered expanse, a female educated youth who had gone into town to make a phone call came running back into the hamlet, overjoyed. Her hair was covered in frost, and heedless of her dropped scarf, she banged on the doors of five people, including Lian Youming. "Everyone! Haha! I went to the educated youth office to ask today! Under the organization's latest policy, they're issuing residence registrations! We educated youths from Shanghai and Beijing can return to the city!" The entire crowd leaped and danced with excitement. Some simply wept tears of joy, while others hugged one another and wept openly. Wu Kui was also in Kaoshan Hamlet. Still chewing on a steamed corn bun when he heard the news, he dashed out into the open fields like a madman, hollering repeatedly into the swirling snow, before darting over to Lian Youming like a rabbit. "Team Leader! Haha! We're going back to the city! We're going back! I can go back to school!" Hearing the news, Lian Youming showed little surprise, nor even boundless excitement, yet a smile touched his lips. The world was vast; sooner or later, he would meet Li Da and the others again. And there was the Old Man Who Guards the Mountain, Xue Hen, Gong Wu'er, the White Lotus Sect... The secrets those people guarded, the pinnacle realm of martial arts—as of today, he had made up his mind. He wanted to see it with his own eyes, walk that path himself, and even cross hands with those people, matching fists and kicks to vie for supremacy. Among all the heroes under heaven, who could be his match? ... Two days later, led by the old Party branch secretary, a group of villagers from Kaoshan Hamlet stood at the village entrance, waving farewell to the departing educated youths. Smiles beamed on every villager's face, accompanied by a collective sigh of profound relief. After all, it was not just anyone who could fail to tell male from female, milking the testicles of a big black bull under the impression it was a dairy cow, or pulling up vegetable seedlings thinking they were weeds. The old Party branch secretary wept tears of joy. "Those kids... they're finally gone."