Someone was picking a fight!
Li Yan was slightly surprised.
Surviving in the jianghu depended on substance, but it ran on saving face.
At times, face was dearer than life itself.
Therefore, unless there was deep-seated enmity, no one stirred up trouble without cause. No matter how viciously they might stab each other in the back, or how ruthless they turned once bridges were burned, to one’s face everyone spoke as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.
Those with foul tongues usually didn't live more than a few years.
Li Yan was only a youth in his mid-teens who had rarely left his village. Counted man for man, everyone present was his senior.
Did this fellow have a screw loose, mouthing off with such cynical remarks?
The speaker was also a young man, about twenty years old. His face was fairly square, yet his eyebrows were sparse and faint, lending him a sullen, vicious air.
Li Yan's expression did not change. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Do we know each other?"
He possessed a pair of phoenix eyes with dragon pupils. Without any visual training, they naturally radiated cold brilliance, carrying an inherent grim majesty that he usually took pains to rein in.
With that slight squint, an imposing aura arose unbidden, sending a chill through the onlookers. Inexplicably, none dared underestimate him any longer.
"What's gotten into you, spouting such sour nonsense!"
Seeing this, Sha Lifei scrambled up to snap back, then turned to Li Yan with a placating smile. "This brother isn't an outsider either. Meng Haicheng, disciple of President Zhou of the Xianyang Divine Fist Association."
Hearing that, Li Yan instantly grasped the reason.
The Divine Fist Association was no criminal gang, but an organization recognized by the imperial court.
Back during the Daxing Dynasty of the previous era, when the north and south stood in standoff against the Golden Horde Khanate, the steppe warriors were ruthless, burly, and ferocious.
In every battle between them, Daxing lost far more often than it won.
Every common man bore responsibility for the rise and fall of the realm.
With the backing of the court, several martial grandmasters of the Daxing Dynasty cast aside sectarian prejudice to establish an umbrella organization: the Divine Fist Association. Sects and schools large and small across the land joined one after another.
Men of the jianghu could not bear the court’s strict military discipline, yet within this Divine Fist Association they took to the waters like fish. Time and again they slipped north to carry out assassinations, arson, and espionage, rendering immense service.
Later, when the founding emperor of the Great Xuan Dynasty seized power, he relied on them even more heavily, ultimately uniting the divine land and swallowing the entire northern steppe.
Once the world settled into peace, the flavor of the Divine Fist Association began to change.
Though they were not quite butchered like hounds once the hare was caught, how could the imperial court leave such a colossal force unchecked? Every manner of measure was deployed to tighten control, and the Divine Fist Association gradually went into decline.
Now, it was a semi-official entity.
The head of the Divine Fist Association, Grandmaster Huo Yin, even served as martial instructor to the imperial princes.
They stood as middlemen between the court and the jianghu—the Great Xuan imperial house's grasping hand extended into the rivers and lakes. They frequently coordinated with yamens to suppress banditry across the provinces, particularly against groups like the Maitreya Sect.
Some within the jianghu took offense, sneering at them as imperial hounds.
Yet by contrast, local chapter heads of the association reaped plenty of perks. Operating in the gray between black and white, they commanded throngs of disciples and wielded considerable sway.
In the jianghu, conflict was inevitable.
Li Yan's father, Li Hu, known as the Sick Tiger, had once aimed to vie for the post of president of the Xianyang Divine Fist Association to carve out a future for his household, only to meet an untimely end.
President Zhou, whom Sha Lifei mentioned, was named Zhou Pan. Skilled in Red Fist and Xingyi Monkey Fist, he had been one of the rivals. Only because Li Yan's father perished had this man been able to ascend to the seat.
Zhou Pan was narrow-minded and vengeful. Word had it that over the past two years, not only had his kung fu grown deeper, but he had also raised two large macaques and taught them Monkey Fist.
Anyone who came knocking for a sparring match had to defeat the monkeys first before earning the right to face him.
Those along the Guanzhong circuit who found it unpalatable joked: *When the tiger leaves the mountain, the monkey crowns himself king.* It was a quip directed squarely at Zhou Pan and Li Yan's father.
Given the man's standing, he naturally would not stoop to bullying a junior by picking a fight with Li Yan, but he could hardly stomach the old grudge.
With these thoughts, Li Yan understood the game.
The fact that this Meng Haicheng was leading a band of wheat reapers meant he was doing rather poorly for himself.
Evidently, he had caught wind of Li Yan's identity and wanted to stomp on him hard, then go curry favor with his master Zhou Pan. That was why he had thrown out those taunts.
Li Yan was hardly the sort to take a loss lying down. He nodded. "I see. You want to tread on a junior like me to climb the ladder, chasing fame and profit. Fair enough."
The moment these words fell, everyone's expression turned queer.
All of them were seasoned veterans of the jianghu; the second Meng Haicheng stuck his tail up, they knew what sort of filth he meant to drop, and they held him in contempt for it.
Yet clearly, Li Hu's son was no soft persimmon either.
Meng Haicheng had needed to scrounge for an excuse to provoke, but this boy had laid it bare with a single phrase.
Sometimes, the truth cut far deeper than a lie.
Sure enough, Meng Haicheng's face flushed crimson. Unable to refute it, he could only roar in fury, "A slip of a brat like you dares be so ignorant of propriety! Keep wagging your tongue, and I'll teach you how to behave today!"
Yet Li Yan showed no anger. He merely shook his head faintly. "You have no shame and no grace. I wager your kung fu is mediocre at best. I don't feel like fighting you."
This blow struck straight to the bone.
"Sharp-tongued whelp, take this!"
Meng Haicheng could hold back no longer and bounded forward in an instant.
This leap was called the Monkey Pounce.
Monkey Fist demanded five essentials: the form must resemble, the intent must be genuine, the steps must be light, the method must be tight, and the body must be agile. Without the essence of the monkey, it fell flat.
A monkey perched on a bough would snap into a spring if startled; even a mountain beast caught off guard might have its face raked bloody.
It was all about the unexpected—swift, precise, and ruthless.
Meng Haicheng had truly grasped the flavor of it. Like an alarmed macaque, he covered five or six paces in the blink of an eye, pouncing directly at Li Yan.
The onlookers furrowed their brows in disgust.
This Meng Haicheng was shameless enough to launch a sneak attack against a junior.
He had shouted 'take this' beforehand, but paired with the Monkey Pounce, what difference did the warning make?
Fortunately, he still had some sense of proportion. His hands hooked into claws, aiming not for Li Yan's throat but reaching for his right shoulder, showing he wasn't going for the kill.
Even so, it was sinister enough.
If they guessed right, he would follow through with silk-reeling grappling and bone-dislocating techniques to pop Li Hu's son's arm from its socket, subjecting him to humiliation.
Youngsters were often proud, but brittle pride shattered easily. If crushed like this upon first entering the jianghu, failing to recover would ruin a boy for life.
Destroying the spirit was sometimes crueler than taking a life.
Of course, while they saw through it, none would voice it aloud.
After all, Zhou Pan was petty and vindictive, and none of them wished to court trouble. At most, they would gossip afterward so everyone knew what sort of garbage this master and disciple were.
Li Yan, however, had been on guard from the start. The moment Meng Haicheng lunged in his Monkey Pounce, Li Yan’s whole body thrilled with tension, hairs standing on end. Planting the tip of his right foot, he shot backward two paces while turning his body and shifting his shoulders. His left hand rose slightly while his right crossed behind in an exploratory reach.
In a single motion, the distance widened.
"Oh...?"
The old bladesman in the sheepskin vest from Longyou let out a soft exclamation, his eyes glinting.
He held the highest seniority and the greatest age among the crowd.
Though he had never made much of a name for himself in all his years, traveling far and wide had granted him vast experience and honed a discerning eye.
Li Yan’s movement had already captured the subtlety of Red Fist.
The sixteen-character maxim of Red Fist held: *Bracing and complementing are the mother; hooking and hanging are the skill; body transformation is the marvel; cunning strikes are the method.*
Its footwork dictated that the body must be a line, not a plane; shoulders must stay lively through turning shifts, and lively shoulders required nimble steps—that was the essence of transformation.
Left was not left, right was not right; retreating yet advancing, advancing yet retreating, showcasing the marvel of sheer change.
As the old saying went: *Master the turning of the shoulders, and even immortals cannot strike you true.*
Li Yan's shoulder-shifting maneuver had not only evaded Meng Haicheng's ambush, but his distance control was exquisite. Paired with the alternating palms—bracing to defend, complementing to attack—he held complete command whether pressing or falling back.
*Not good, this brat has real skill!*
Meng Haicheng, caught mid-assault, felt a jolt of panic.
The moment an expert moved, their depth was laid bare.
Alas, it was already too late.
Still airborne before landing, his old momentum was spent while new strength had yet to gather. If he reached out forcibly, he could not touch the boy and would only expose his own opening.
Meng Haicheng had roamed the jianghu for several years. He instantly pulled his claws back to guard his head and chest, twisting his torso to attempt a spinning side thrust kick.
He sought not to wound, only to force distance and prevent his opponent from following up.
Yet Li Yan was already set, shifting his stance even faster.
As he retreated and turned, bracing and complementing into position, his frame sank low. His center of gravity settled onto his right leg, muscle contours bunching, his spine curving slightly like a compressed steel spring.
The split second Meng Haicheng began his transition, Li Yan snapped forward with a heart-striking elbow!
*Thud!*
A dull impact rang out. Meng Haicheng was sent flying, tumbling twice across the ground. Clasping his chest, his face turned deathly pale as he gasped frantically for air.
Li Yan's elbow had smashed straight through his centerline, landing dead on target.
"Good!"
While the crowd looked on in shock, Sha Lifei was the first to cheer.
The others exchanged glances, thoroughly astounded.
The instant Li Yan had struck, his sinews and bones had popped in a crisp crackle—the peak of clear jin!
Subtle forms could be explained away; Li Hu was an established figure, and the Li family had its own heritage, meaning someone skilled might well have fed him practice bouts.
In this world, so-called clear jin was the beginning of the martial path. A martial artist conditioned the body and tempered bone and sinew to make their force distinct and transparent, pouring solid power into every strike and stance.
The hallmark of its mastery was the vibration of the great sinews, where sinew and bone resonated in harmony.
The body's great sinews were tethered to the skeleton, interconnected across the limbs; their vibration could marshal all bones and muscles to focus the entire strike onto a single point.
For a mere youth to stand at the peak of clear jin was exceedingly rare.
On the other end, Meng Haicheng was in utter agony.
Taking a heart-striking elbow squarely had locked his breath gates, leaving him unable to draw air for several heartbeats while he rubbed his chest to recover.
Fortunately, Li Yan only possessed clear jin. Had he cultivated hidden jin and harbored murderous intent, this single strike would have ruptured the lung meridians, leaving Meng Haicheng vomiting blood uncontrollably.
Even after years of recovery, he would have been ruined.
Moreover, Meng Haicheng had gorged on mutton offal soup and flatbread earlier. Now his stomach churned uncontrollably, and he could bear it no longer—hurling up with a violent retch.
In an instant, a foul, sour stench billowed through the air, prompting the surrounding reapers to chuckle and retreat.
Though thoroughly humiliated, the breath jammed in his chest was finally cleared.
Catching the looks from the onlookers, Meng Haicheng's face shifted between green and white. Not daring to drop another harsh word, he scrambled up unsteadily and bolted into the distance.
He could tell that despite his youth, this Li Yan was ruthless.
He had lost all face today; if he didn't run now, he wouldn't even have a chance to salvage the scene.
Li Yan cast him a cool glance and paid him no further heed.
After all, this was not an era of chaos. A sparring bout and outright murder were two entirely different matters, especially in broad daylight. The laws of the Great Xuan Dynasty showed no mercy to men of the jianghu.
Besides, through this short clash, an understanding dawned on him.
He was stalled at the peak of clear jin primarily for lack of combat experience. To break through, he would inevitably have to trade blows with others.
With the substitute idol, he had nothing to fear from ordinary injuries.
So long as it wasn't fatal, he would take on however many came.
"A tiger father breeds no dog of a son..."
Several surrounding bladesmen chimed in with praise.
As old hands of the jianghu, they never passed up a chance to add flowers to brocade.
Besides, if this tiger cub commanded such authority upon first leaving the den, there was no telling what heights he might reach in the future.
"You honor me too much, seniors."
After humoring them with a few pleasantries, Li Yan pulled Sha Lifei aside to a secluded spot, his gaze turning sinister. "Uncle Sha, setting me up like that—what game are you playing?!"
Having dealt with all sorts of people in his past life, and having been instructed by his father in the ways of the jianghu in this one, how could he fail to see that Sha Lifei had dug a pit for him?
Knowing full well Xianyang was Zhou Pan's turf, with his disciples present, Sha Lifei had deliberately blabbed his identity—a glaring trap.
"You brat, what wild talk..."
Sha Lifei began with a smirking scoff, but before he could argue, his expression froze.
Without him noticing, a short blade had appeared in Li Yan's hand. While seemingly just chatting, the blade had slipped from his sleeve, its tip pressed right against Sha Lifei's heart.
Sha Lifei swallowed hard. "Easy now, let's talk this through. Let's talk this through."
Meeting those eyes glinting with cold light, a tremor ran through him. Inexplicably, he felt this kid truly held no reservations and would dare run him through.
Daring hesitate no longer, he dropped his voice to utter a sentence that left Li Yan stunned on the spot.
"Don't you want to know... how your father died?"
Chapter 17