Chapter 213

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The clear sky appeared somewhat gloomy at the moment. The mid-morning sun was not yet intense, and its gentle rays shone on the lotus pond, making the scene exceptionally enchanting, exuding an indescribable freshness. A soft breeze swept past, causing the lotus leaves to sway, rippling the calm surface of the water and creating gentle waves.

If Zhang Xiaohua had been here, he would have surely enjoyed such a beautiful scene. Unfortunately, at this fine moment, he was beneath this beauty.

Zhang Xiaohua posed a question to Zhang Chengyue.

Zhang Chengyue, however, gave no clear response, merely sitting quietly behind the writing desk, seemingly weary of Zhang Xiaohua’s chatter.

Seeing this, Zhang Xiaohua decided not to speak further. He gathered his focus and, in the somewhat dim yet brightly lit martial arts training ground, began performing the Big Dipper Divine Fist from start to finish.

Zhang Xiaohua practiced this Big Dipper Divine Fist dozens of times daily and had naturally become extremely familiar with it. The 108 movements were executed with vigorous intensity, as the ancients aptly described: “The phoenix is reborn through fire; one can only grow through battle.” Having been refined by the experience of the martial arts competition, this Big Dipper Divine Fist was no longer comparable to what it had been just a few days ago. As Zhang Xiaohua executed his techniques, he felt that his fists were guided by his heart. Every move flowed naturally, and the transitions between techniques were as seamless as flowing water, with not the slightest pause or awkwardness. In truth, describing the fist’s momentum as “vigorous and imposing” was merely a way to convey its aura. It felt like the progenitor of all martial arts fists, disdainful of all beings. However, the actual techniques produced no audible whooshes or visible force dispersions. Every ounce of power was concealed within the movements, like a tiger storing its strength. It appeared calm and unthreatening, but the moment it was provoked, it would reveal its ferocious might.

Zhang Chengyue was undoubtedly an expert in martial arts. Although he didn’t hold much regard for techniques lacking the support of inner force, his initial understanding of the Big Dipper Divine Fist’s extraordinary origins had already left an impression. Upon closer observation, he couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath. Leaving aside the techniques themselves, the sheer momentum of Zhang Xiaohua’s punches was something that could not be underestimated.

However, Zhang Chengyue faced a particular challenge.

Having practiced martial arts for many years, he was familiar with a wide range of fist techniques, from the Luohan Fist to the Erlang Fist and others. Some he had studied extensively, while others he only knew by reputation. As a distinguished practitioner of his time, these techniques had long been imprinted in his mind, deeply rooted. Zhang Xiaohua’s Big Dipper Divine Fist, however, differed significantly from the techniques in his memory. If the differences were completely distinct, it would have been easier—he could simply learn them anew. Yet the subtle variations in angles or directions, while slight, made the techniques diverge just a fraction from what he remembered. Such minor discrepancies made memorizing the moves all the more challenging.

Thus, after Zhang Xiaohua performed the set twice, Zhang Chengyue had no choice but to ask him to slow down and execute the moves more gradually.

Zhang Xiaohua, of course, didn’t mind. To him, the speed of the techniques made no difference; after all, by the seventh repetition, a warm current would inevitably manifest within him. Therefore, he truly slowed down, demonstrating the movements bit by bit.

After observing a few more repetitions, Zhang Chengyue said: “Zhang Xiaohua, you can stop now. Let me reflect for a moment before preparing to transcribe it.”

Zhang Xiaohua, however, mentally counted and realized it had only been the fifth repetition—there were still two more to go. He replied: “I’m not tired, Uncle Master Zhang. Please watch two more repetitions.”

Without hesitation, he began his sixth set. Unexpectedly, as soon as he started this sixth repetition, a warm current immediately rose from his feet. Zhang Xiaohua couldn’t help but feel delighted—it seemed that his mastery of the Big Dipper Divine Fist had taken another step forward. Since this set was performed slowly, the warm current coursed through his bones at a similarly unhurried pace. Zhang Xiaohua felt a weight pressing on his entire body, as if he were bearing a burden. On the other side, Zhang Chengyue also sensed that Zhang Xiaohua’s momentum had grown even heavier. It was as if a mountain loomed before him, evoking a sense of oppression that made it difficult to breathe.

When Zhang Xiaohua finally finished and withdrew his stance, both of them remained immersed in the lingering feeling of the moment.

Zhang Xiaohua pondered, wondering why he hadn’t realized this earlier—when performed at an extremely slow pace, the Big Dipper Divine Fist could yield such remarkable effects.

Meanwhile, Zhang Chengyue was marveling at how extraordinary this “progenitor of all fists” truly was. For even a novice like Zhang Xiaohua to generate such a commanding presence, what would it be like if he himself—or the sect leader, Ou Peng—were to execute it?

The thought made his heart burn with anticipation. He couldn’t wait to finish transcribing the technique and delve into its intricacies.

Yet, due to the unique nature of the movements, he dared not hastily put pen to paper. After carefully reviewing the sequences in his mind, he stepped out from behind the desk and said: “Zhang Xiaohua, I’ve watched your demonstration six times. Now, let me perform it once, and you can observe.”

Zhang Xiaohua smiled and replied: “Uncle Master Zhang’s talent is truly exceptional. To grasp the technique after only a few observations is extraordinary. I am eager to see your execution.”

With that, Zhang Xiaohua stepped to the side as Zhang Chengyue began to demonstrate the technique.

It must be said, Zhang Chengyue was indeed extraordinary. In a very short time, he managed to break free from habitual constraints and link together movements from different martial arts techniques, performing a full set with decent form.

However, in Zhang Xiaohua’s eyes, while the first few movements of Zhang Chengyue’s demonstration were acceptable, the latter ones felt increasingly awkward. Even so, Zhang Xiaohua couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was off, let alone offer corrections.

When Zhang Chengyue, after much effort, finally completed the set and withdrew his stance, he looked at Zhang Xiaohua with a hopeful expression, waiting for validation. Zhang Xiaohua, unsure whether to praise or critique him, could only clap his hands and say: “Uncle Master Zhang, impressive.”

Then, scratching his head, he added: “But I’m not sure if your demonstration was correct. How about I perform it for you again?”

Just as he was about to start, Zhang Chengyue stopped him and asked: “Zhang Xiaohua, are you saying that you don’t know whether my movements were correct or not?”

Feeling awkward, Zhang Xiaohua replied: “Well, Uncle Master Zhang, I only know how to perform the technique. A lot of your movements felt uncomfortable to me, but as for whether they were right or wrong, I really can’t say.”

Zhang Chengyue was at a loss. Encountering someone like Zhang Xiaohua—who could perform the technique proficiently yet couldn’t discern the correctness of others’ performances—was truly rare.

After some thought, Zhang Chengyue said: “Let’s do it this way. You perform one movement at a time, and I’ll record them. I’ll compare them myself later.”

Zhang Xiaohua, happy not to have to worry about explaining, eagerly agreed. He performed a few movements and then stood by, waiting.

Zhang Chengyue observed closely, closed his eyes to reflect for a moment, and then began to sketch the movements with annotations alongside them.

After recording one movement, he asked Zhang Xiaohua to perform a few more. This process continued until ten movements had been documented. Finally, Zhang Chengyue, exhausted, threw down his brush and said: “That’s enough for today. Transcribing your technique is far more draining than recording any other martial art I’ve ever encountered.”

Zhang Xiaohua shrugged, signaling that the matter had nothing to do with him.

Then, walking over, he said: “Uncle Master Zhang, may I take a look at the recorded moves?”

Zhang Chengyue waved his hand. “Go ahead and take a look. This is the result of both our efforts today, so be sure to give me your valuable feedback!”

In his mind, Zhang Chengyue thought that since Zhang Xiaohua couldn’t tell whether his movements were correct or not when he performed the technique, he likely wouldn’t be able to discern any mistakes in the written manual either. Only after the transcription was complete could he verify it by comparing each recorded movement with Zhang Xiaohua’s demonstration.

Zhang Xiaohua picked up the manual. Upon seeing the detailed descriptions and lifelike illustrations, he couldn’t help but praise: “Uncle Master Zhang, you’re truly a professional!”

However, after studying it further and mentally comparing the recorded movements with the figure in his mind, he noticed some discrepancies.

After a moment of thought, Zhang Xiaohua said: “Uncle Master Zhang, look at this part—shouldn’t it be like this instead?”

He then pointed to a section in the manual and demonstrated the movement himself.

Zhang Chengyue took another look and slapped his forehead. “Ah, you’re absolutely right! That’s the problem with relying too much on experience!”

After correcting the error, Zhang Xiaohua found several more issues in the transcription. Zhang Chengyue was somewhat embarrassed. Earlier, he had confidently assured himself that there would be no mistakes, but now, a number of flaws had surfaced. The blow to his pride was unavoidable…

To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault. When recording movements that were only slightly altered from techniques he already knew, it was easy for his hand to unconsciously follow old habits.

Diligently making the corrections according to Zhang Xiaohua’s suggestions, Zhang Chengyue finally couldn’t help but ask: “Zhang Xiaohua, how come you couldn’t spot errors when I performed the technique, but you can identify them so easily in the manual?”

Zhang Xiaohua chuckled and replied: “I have no idea why—I just know I can.”

What kind of answer was that?

Emerging from the underground martial arts training ground, the afternoon sun had already risen high in the sky. Zhang Chengyue arranged for Zhang Xiaohua to rest in a nearby small courtyard, instructing him to continue recording the Big Dipper Divine Fist the following day.

Zhang Xiaohua wanted to visit his second brother, Zhang Xiaohu, but Zhang Chengyue wouldn’t allow it. Without ensuring the complete transcription of the Big Dipper Divine Fist into a manual, he couldn’t rest easy letting Zhang Xiaohua wander freely around the Piaomiao Sect.

The guestroom in the courtyard Zhang Chengyue provided was far better than the accommodations in the Medicine Hall. The room was not only spacious and well-furnished, but there were even several young women assigned to serve him.

Zhang Xiaohua, unaccustomed to such treatment, hurriedly asked Zhang Chengyue to send the attendants away before he left.

After eating a few fruits, Zhang Xiaohua practiced the Big Dipper Divine Fist dozens of times in the peaceful and picturesque courtyard to complete the day’s training. Particularly, when the warm current emerged during his practice, he deliberately slowed his movements to deeply experience the weighty sensation of bone-tempering.

Sure enough, after nine cycles of the bone-tempering warm current coursing through him, Zhang Xiaohua, while unable to discern any obvious differences, felt a faint realization. The warm current for bone-tempering was distinct from the True Qi within his meridians—it required a slow pace. Just like the difference between drinking water and sipping tea: drinking water is fast and thirst-quenching, while sipping tea is a slow and deliberate experience. Different martial arts demanded different speeds and methods of execution.

Suddenly, Zhang Xiaohua recalled his left-handed sword technique. Those sixteen variations, weren’t they the same? Some changes required speed to catch opponents off guard with a decisive strike, while others demanded slowness, waiting for the sword’s momentum and body movements to reach their limits before unleashing an unavoidable attack, like a venomous snake striking from its coil.

Inspired, Zhang Xiaohua couldn’t resist practicing. He retrieved his small sword from his chest pocket and alternated between rapid and slow movements, carefully savoring the variations within each sword technique.

Ah, poor Zhang Xiaohua. Such simple principles, if taught through formal instruction, would have long been recorded in books for him to learn. How much easier that would have been!

But for one who learns on their own, the journey is indeed a challenging one!
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