Break his legs…
And fucking throw him out of Xianyang?
In an instant, Li Yan understood why his father had been on good terms with Old Man Zhang, and why the old man was willing to scheme on his behalf.
Perhaps only his father's bold, openhearted nature could tolerate this foul-mouthed old fellow.
Though he grumbled internally, Li Yan could not be bothered to argue right now.
Paying no mind to Zhang Shitong across from him, Li Yan turned and walked over to a chair on the side. First, he unbuckled the Guanshan saber from his waist, then slowly undid his cuff buttons and unstrapped the sleeve blade from his left wrist.
His movements were unhurried, carrying a deliberate sense of ritual.
"You learned Tiger's sleeve blade too?"
Sitting up above, Zhang Yuanshang caught sight of the short blade, and a flicker of memory seemed to stir within him. But he quickly noticed Li Yan's expression, and the corners of his mouth curved into an intrigued smile. "A bit of spirit…"
In this world, martial artists trained to kill.
Most of the time, their bodies remained relaxed. They would not swagger about like fools just to draw attention. But when power erupted, it struck like thunder.
Right now, Li Yan was engaging in an open bout where neither side had room for a sneak attack. By taking off his outer layers, he had used those brief moments to adjust his physical and mental state.
When he turned back around, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes, cold as frost.
Across from him, Zhang Shitong had cast aside his earlier sloppy demeanor. Without uttering a word, he shifted his hands into open palms, lowered his stance slightly, and sank into a half-squat with one leg forward and one behind, looking remarkably like a gamecock.
Chicken legs?
Li Yan's brow tightened. He turned sideways, shifted his shoulders, and settled into his stance.
These "chicken legs" were anything but a treat for an opponent.
Xinyi Liuhe Fist placed great importance on its core dynamic forms: pouncing like a tiger, seizing like an eagle, moving with chicken legs, coiling like a dragon's body, anchoring with a bear's waist, and clasping like a tiger embracing its head. There was good reason its fame had spread far and wide.
The chicken leg was the crucial pivot of Xinyi Liuhe Fist. Speed, agility, and the explosiveness of power all depended on it. As the saying went: *The intent to strike is like a wind sweeping the earth; every signal relies on the rear leg kicking off; every step never strays from the chicken leg.*
The most vivid example was a fighting rooster.
Soaring, leaping, attacking, defending—it could switch in an instant at any moment.
That was why practitioners of Xinyi Liuhe Fist shared an old proverb: *If you train the fist without loosening the legs, you'll remain a blundering fool till old age.*
Li Yan's father, Li Hu, had roamed the Jianghu and possessed vast experience. While he was alive, he had explained all those widely practiced fist styles to his son.
Li Yan had been young back then. An ordinary boy would have long forgotten those lessons, but Li Yan possessed a mature soul, and every vital principle had been etched deeply into his memory.
Xinyi Liuhe Fist had branched into numerous sects, each boasting its own characteristics.
For instance, the style in Cangzhou was broad and expansive; in Jinzhou, it was compact, nimble, and cunning; while lineages in the Central Plains tended to be fierce and domineering.
The moment Li Yan saw Zhang Shitong's opening stance, he knew the man's lineage traced back to Jinzhou.
In Jinzhou, major merchants running draft banks were everywhere, drawing countless escort bureaus together and fueling a thriving martial community.
When Zhang Shitong had invited him earlier, he mentioned having "three parts smile, three parts reason, and three parts wine." Li Yan had already formed a guess, for that was a well-known catchphrase among escort guards of the guazi trade.
Escort guards protected shipments; they only resorted to violence when personal connections and courtesy failed. But once they fought, their methods were exceptionally covert and slippery, designed to adapt to all kinds of terrain and circumstances. Naturally, their martial arts reflected those same traits.
It seemed he needed to watch out for underhanded tricks…
Just as the thought crossed Li Yan's mind, Zhang Shitong burst into motion. Shuffling his feet in a quick stutter-step, he closed the distance in a flash.
Li Yan's brow creased slightly as he shifted sideways and retreated.
He had long heard that in Xinyi Liuhe Fist, the hands struck without the shoulders moving. Only now that they were actively sparring did he realize how troublesome that was—he could not read what his opponent intended to do.
Zhang Shitong unleashed his force. A gap of a few paces was nothing to him; with a flick of his right wrist, he swiped directly toward Li Yan's eyes.
The gust of wind from his palm howled, stinging Li Yan's eyes so sharply that he instinctively leaned back.
Yet that was merely a feint. Zhang Shitong hooked his left hand into a tight spike, driving it forward like a claw hammer toward Li Yan's upper abdomen. Had that blow landed cleanly, Li Yan would likely have ended up just like Meng Haicheng, unable to catch his breath.
However, Li Yan had dared to accept this bout; his skills were no empty show.
Flowing with the momentum, Li Yan swept his right hand out to deflect the incoming punch. At the same time, he flipped his wrist into an eagle's claw, clamping down on Zhang Shitong's wrist.
This was the true essence of Red Fist: snatching and striking!
Red Fist had never been an art meant for taking beatings. Its footwork was nimble; whether advancing, retreating, striking, or parrying, every move was preparation for the next offensive.
Even when pulling back a hand, it sought to hook and control the enemy.
As long as this grip held fast, the very next strike would draw blood!
Yet to his surprise, Zhang Shitong's thrust had also been a feint.
With a twitch of his left wrist, Zhang Shitong slipped free of Li Yan's grip like an eel. Pouncing like a tiger, he surged forward with another burst of speed, slamming a shoulder strike directly into Li Yan's chest.
The exchange took place at blinding speed, unfolding within a single breath.
Li Yan felt a heavy tightness in his chest, as if rammed by a wild ox, and went flying backward.
Directly behind him stood a row of heavy wooden chairs.
Just as he was about to crash into them, Li Yan planted his right foot against an armrest, channeled the momentum into a clean backflip, and landed atop the chair as light as a feather.
Crossing his fists in a steady guard, he looked as though he had taken no damage at all.
"Oho, quite tough, aren't you…"
Zhang Shitong chuckled and lunged forward with a sharp whip kick.
"You little bastard, don't break my chairs!"
Sitting atop his grand armchair, Old Man Zhang barked in annoyance.
However, Zhang Shitong's whip kick was another feint.
He swept at the chair purely to force Li Yan down.
Sure enough, Li Yan leapt into the air, whipping his right leg around in a kick aimed straight at Zhang Shitong's head.
*The little brat took the bait!*
Zhang Shitong gloated inwardly. Snapping his right leg back, he thrust it upward in a skyward kick.
In martial arts bouts, a solid lower base was paramount. Few fighters relied on mid-air strikes, simply because generating power without ground support was extraordinarily difficult, and taking a hit in mid-air meant disaster.
Yet the moment that skyward kick shot out, Zhang Shitong realized something was wrong.
Mid-air, Li Yan twisted his torso. His left arm swept down, hooking Zhang Shitong's kicked leg, while his own legs snapped together in a flying scissor choke around Zhang Shitong's neck.
Li Yan then flipped his entire body. Leveraging his full weight and momentum, he ripped Zhang Shitong right off his feet like yanking a radish from the soil, sending him flying upside down to crash hard against the hall's overhead crossbeam.
This move drew from modern combat concepts, blending the seizing techniques of Red Fist with the agile acrobatics of the Nine Rolls and Eighteen Falls.
Zhang Shitong took a brutal knock. The moment he hit the floor, he sprang back into a combat stance, the easy smirk wiped clean from his face. "What kind of Red Fist is that?"
"The kind that knocks people flat!"
Li Yan snorted coldly and charged forward.
From that brief clash, he had already sensed the danger. His father Li Hu's past warnings surfaced in his mind:
*In Xinyi Liuhe Fist, strikes shoot forth without the shoulders moving, hands thrusting straight ahead. It springs from the heart's intent and manifests through the fist, making it extraordinarily elusive.*
*More importantly, its offense flows like churning waves!*
Once an opponent gained the upper hand, they would unleash an endless barrage of strikes like crashing tides. Defending indefinitely was impossible; once caught on the back foot, one could never recover.
Therefore, Li Yan chose to seize the initiative.
"Come on then!"
Far from panicked, Zhang Shitong beamed with battle lust. Springing forward with a rooster stride, he punched straight toward Li Yan's solar plexus.
Yet this punch was also a feint.
The instant Li Yan swiped his right hand to parry the strike aside, Zhang Shitong retracted both hands, turned his palms inward, and thrust them violently forward.
Xinyi Liuhe Fist: Double Grips!
A forward thrust was called Tiger Pounce; an upward angled thrust toward the chin was known as Old Ape Hanging the Seal, or White Ape Offering the Peach.
Zhang Shitong drove his palms straight toward Li Yan's chin.
If that blow landed clean, Li Yan would be knocked unconscious on the spot.
Yet right at that split second, Li Yan jerked his neck backward. Simultaneously shifting his shoulders, his left foot glided forward, closing the distance.
Distance was everything in close-quarters combat.
That single short step gave Li Yan enough room to throw up a forearm and prop open Zhang Shitong's guard, exposing his centerline. Li Yan's shoulder twitched, and his right palm whipped forward like lightning.
With his vision obstructed, Zhang Shitong could not see the low palm strike at all.
Red Fist's Thirty-Six Paishou: Flower Hidden Beneath the Leaves!
Zhang Shitong had not been overly worried at first.
He merely needed to yank his wrist back to prevent Li Yan from locking him up.
At worst, he would take a single palm strike.
If Li Yan managed to trap his limb, whether by Red Fist's Sparrowhawk Shifts the Shoulder or the Straddling Saber Leg, taking the full brunt of either would spell the end of the bout.
Yet the instant Li Yan's palm slammed home, Zhang Shitong's face twisted in sheer horror.
Before he could react, a terrifying burst of force blasted him backward once more. With a dull thud, he slammed against a pillar and slid down onto the floor.
"Hidden jin?!"
Up on his chair, Zhang Yuanshang shot to his feet.
He looked visibly stunned, though not particularly alarmed.
*Striking a man like hanging a picture on a wall*—it looked savage, but the boy had actually pulled his strike.
Had he driven that hidden jin with lethal yin force directly into the heart, it would have been a killing blow.
Sure enough, Zhang Shitong scrambled back up immediately, his face dark. "You little monster... Guess I can't hold back either!"
He had also crossed the threshold into hidden jin. Like Li Yan, he had only recently grasped it and could not yet wield it effortlessly, nor twist and redirect the force at will.
Yet choosing to use it or not made all the difference in the world.
"That's enough!"
Zhang Yuanshang sank back into his armchair and waved a hand. "It's not as if you two have a blood feud. Save your strength for the life-and-death match on the platform."
He turned his gaze to Li Yan. "Brat, don't worry about anything else. With my arrangements, they won't be able to tamper with the ring. But whether you can win will depend entirely on yourself!"
Dusting off his clothes, Zhang Shitong added, "That Zhou Bai isn't very old, but he's slightly stronger than me. If you can't break through the 'circle' of his Monkey Fist, you won't stand a chance."
"Much obliged!"
Li Yan cupped his fists, grabbed his saber and clothing, and turned to leave.
His purpose in coming here had been accomplished.
First, Zhang Yuanshang had promised to oversee the ring arrangements, ensuring no foul play.
Second, the old man and his son had subtly tipped him off.
Zhou Bai's skill was likely comparable to Zhang Shitong's.
Yet one was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, while the other was barely seventeen; their potential was vastly different.
In this life-and-death match, he might not even need to call upon the Daluo Dharma Body.
Watching Li Yan stride out of the martial arts school, Zhang Shitong dropped his earlier brashness. His brow furrowed, and he stared out with his dead-fish eyes. "He truly has some of Li Hu's formidable presence. To master hidden jin at such a young age, no wonder he acts so brazenly…"
He looked toward his father. "Still, Father, Zhou Bai is likely a cut above him. You're taking a massive gamble!"
"Of course it's a gamble!"
Zhang Yuanshang took a few puffs from his water pipe and replied casually, "Everyone living under the heavens has to place a few bets in their lifetime. Zhou Pan has already forged ties with Chang'an. If we don't gamble now, we won't even have the chance to place a bet in the future…"
"And if we lose?"
"I've already lost once in my life. At worst, I throw away my old face and keep shouting curses in the streets. But this time counts against you. If we lose, pack your bags and head obediently to Cangzhou…"
"Th-that's not fair!"
"A son demanding fairness from his father? You're asking for a beating!"
…………
"How did it go? How did it go?"
Sha Lifei and Wang Daoxuan were waiting right at the street corner.
Seeing Li Yan emerge, they hurried over to ask.
"Everything's settled."
Li Yan pondered for a moment before speaking. "You two, even though Old Man Zhang gave his word, the bastards from the Iron Saber Gang are absolute scoundrels. What happened with the beggars at the mass graves was likely their doing, and there's no telling what underhanded schemes they might try next. Don't wander around over the next couple of days."
He paused, then added, "Also, I need something."
"What do you need?"
"A Qin-Han war drum!"
Chapter 40