Chapter Seventy-Nine: Lessons from Afar (Part One)

Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Stone from Another Mountain (Part One)

In the days that followed, it was not uncommon to see Lu Hongti sitting on the steps lost in thought.

“…As for joint locks, their main purpose is to strike at a person’s joints under certain circumstances, causing dislocation and rendering them incapable of fighting. Some techniques use leverage, others rely on brute force. I know your own martial arts must include many grappling methods and the like, so going into the specifics in front of someone as skilled as you would be showing off my meager skills. What I want to discuss are some more direct ideas, specifically targeting the fingers, ankles, elbows, knees—these spots. The intent is clear, perhaps even forceful in purpose…”

“Quick eyes, fast hands—a snap, and it’s broken. When someone kicks at you, instead of dodging or counterattacking elsewhere, you can catch the leg and apply force directly to the ankle. No matter which way they turn, you follow. This place is extremely fragile; one move and, generally speaking, they’re crippled for life. I feel that many martial arts don’t really pursue this aspect thoroughly or directly enough. Of course, maybe that’s not so useful on the battlefield…”

“This is the basic idea—it should be simple to grasp. Then we can analyze more specifically: the force on the fingers, on the elbows, knees, and ankles. The human body has many vital points. We can list them. For example, the hand… here, um, a single cut here will usually cause bleeding that won’t stop. Behind the ear, here, will…”

At first, it all sounded like amusing bravado. Someone forged on the battlefield would naturally value practicality in every technique. Truth be told, the ideas of snapping fingers or attacking joints were not foreign; martial arts were full of them, and Lu Hongti was well aware of all the vital points on the human body. Ning Yi’s explanations seemed simple enough: “If you come at me with a palm, I break your fingers, or I strike your elbow in the opposite direction”—what more was there to say?

Yet, as the discussion grew more detailed, something began to change.

It was all too meticulous, too precise, too systematically organized. Within these explanations, every detail of the human body was analyzed using a structure of “because” and “therefore.” Some vital points, indeed, she had never considered in such depth before; even if she was aware of them, she’d never thought to make them the immediate goal in combat.

“Who taught you all this?”

“Uh?”

“It’s almost as if… you’re applying your method of scientific investigation to martial arts…”

Ning Yi thought for a moment, then nodded with a smile. What he was really doing was summarizing various modern fighting techniques, mainly those used in self-defense. In his previous life, he’d dabbled in jiu-jitsu, aikido, Muay Thai—though he never trained systematically. Apart from the fitness aspect, what he’d learned was mostly high-impact self-defense, even some military combat techniques and special forces methods. He didn’t need to teach Lu Hongti the specifics; she was already too familiar with these concepts. So he focused on broad strategic analysis, making the objectives clearer.

“…For masters, there are always different responses. But for ordinary people, if they practice repeatedly with sharp eyes and quick hands, aiming to destroy specific points on the body in the shortest time, and combine that with the internal strength of a second-rate fighter… becoming a true master might be difficult, but in certain situations against regular soldiers, it would be far more efficient. Instead of chasing after everything in a muddled way, clarify the goal and train specifically—cutting like a scalpel… Well, ‘scalpel’ is a term from the study of things…”

“For example, you could consider organizing into groups of five or so, specializing in infiltration, mutual support, silent killing, and coordinating with long-range observation. Assassination doesn’t have to be a solo effort—systematic teamwork would make assassinations or disruption more efficient. But it requires deep study, identifying patterns, and finding weaknesses… Well, that’s for the next stage; let’s discuss martial arts first…”

“I have a few fist routines—I’m not sure how useful they are, but you’re the master, you can judge. If they’re no good, just take a look for curiosity’s sake. The first set is designed to target these weaknesses, but unfortunately my left hand isn’t in great shape, so I might not demonstrate it well…”

A few days had passed, and Ning Yi’s left hand could move a little. Of course, full recovery, according to Lu Hongti, would require half a year of continuous treatment, but there shouldn’t be any lasting consequences. The first routine was, naturally, military boxing—designed entirely for practicality and to strike deadly points. But as with joint manipulation, proficiency required relentless practice. Even if an ordinary person learned it, they wouldn’t necessarily be able to defeat someone as strong as the Yang brothers. Ning Yi himself didn’t plan to invest much time in it. Still, Lu Hongti could grasp its essence at a glance.

“This… is a fist technique purely for speed and power. Within certain limits, it’s… quite terrifying.”

“If you reached the ultimate in speed and power, could you take on a first-rate master?”

Ning Yi was curious about this. Lu Hongti smiled as she sat across from him, then walked over: “Try to hit me.”

“I’m injured, and I don’t hit women…”

Ning Yi spread his hands, but before he finished, he prepared to strike with his right fist. Yet the moment he clenched his fist, all the strength vanished. Lu Hongti’s two fingers soundlessly pressed against his elbow, then withdrew. He tried to punch again, disregarding his injured left hand, but her fingers tapped his hands at will, touched his leg, and with a slight lift of her skirt, her toe tapped his ankle. When he tried to lunge and bite, her finger gently pushed his forehead, making his mouth snap shut before he could even open it, as he swallowed a berry she’d tossed in.

From start to finish, Ning Yi’s arms and legs barely moved—he just swayed a bit. Covering his mouth, he muttered in frustration, “That’s not fair…”

Lu Hongti laughed joyfully. “The autumn wind has yet to stir, but the cicada senses it first. Your scientific method seeks a simple goal, but if your blood and energy already tell me what you’re about to do before you even move, then no matter how fast or strong you are, what’s the point? If you learn some martial routines in the future, your master will tell you the same: the moves aren’t just for show. If we’re evenly matched, the moment your shoulder moves, I raise my hand; you see my finger twitch, you shift, and I know my attack is wasted and must change as well…”

She paused, then added, “But if all you want is quick results, this fist routine is enough…”

“Well, I guess I’ll only ever be a second-rate fighter…” Ning Yi swallowed his berry, his words muffled. That afternoon, they studied military boxing, and even discussed martial arts fiction. The next day, Ning Yi demonstrated a set of Tai Chi, reciting as he moved.

“Tai Chi is born from Wuji; the moment between movement and stillness is the mother of Yin and Yang…”

That was all he remembered, but it sounded mysterious enough. After saying it, he quickly closed his mouth and put on an air of profundity as he demonstrated. In truth, what he practiced was nothing like the legendary Tai Chi—more like the slow, gentle exercises old men and women did in the park: from the opening posture to “Grasp the Bird’s Tail” to “Single Whip.” It was early morning; Lu Hongti sat on the steps, nibbling on red berries she’d picked from the woods, laughing at the sight.

“Are you kidding? What kind of fist is this? It’s so slow—how do you fight anyone with it…”

Ning Yi’s left hand wasn’t fully functional, so he stopped. “Be quiet and watch carefully—no laughing… That’s superficial.”

Embarrassed, he grew irritable. Lu Hongti popped a berry in her mouth, nodded seriously, though her eyes were still smiling, and let him start again. By the time he reached “White Crane Spreads Its Wings,” she was chewing thoughtfully and murmured, “This is the fist of shield-and-knife soldiers, but the intent is scattered…”

“Step Forward Parry Punch,” “As if Sealing,” “Open Hands,” “Right Single Whip,” “Punch Under Elbow”… In fact, Ning Yi’s movements were soft and his form not very standard. His approach was pure rationality and logic; military boxing and vital point analysis suited him better. He simply wanted to see if the fist routine would benefit Lu Hongti. Halfway through, she watched, frowning. When he finished, she pursed her lips, “That’s all?”

“Yeah, that’s all I know. What do you think?”

“I can’t make sense of it…” Her voice was low. She looked aside, almost talking to herself. “Your fist is too odd; it’s broken apart. It shouldn’t be like this. This is Daoist stuff… My master was a Daoist nun, she…”

Her master had long since passed, and who knew what she’d taught her. Tai Chi certainly didn’t exist in these times. Ning Yi knew this version was different; if you divided fist routines into training and application, this was hardly even a training method—more like a dance. Since Lu Hongti seemed inspired, he didn’t interfere. At noon, after fetching water, he found Lu Hongti at the ruined temple, repeatedly practicing the Tai Chi. From the starting posture to “Grasp the Bird’s Tail,” she started over three times in a row.

Each time she stopped, she changed something, sometimes shaking her head in thought before starting again. By the time she finished a round, more than an hour had passed, and in some places her movements were unrecognizable to Ning Yi. She finished again, moving at varying speeds, shedding the dance-like motions. Her skirt flared with each movement, and there was a unique blend of heroism and grace. One move even broke a small tree beside her, the wind whistling from her strikes. Afterward, she began experimenting with each form, slowing down, increasing the variations.

By sunset, she was still at it. As the sun filtered through the trees, steam rose from her hair. She’d modified the routine many times, and each version seemed increasingly formidable to Ning Yi. He started the fire and cooked dinner, pondering whether to interrupt her. But when the meal was ready, Lu Hongti finished her practice and came over to sit beside him.

“Have you figured it out?”

“I can’t quite make sense of it. Some of your forms are clearly for battlefield use, which is easy enough to understand, but others aren’t… Using softness to overcome hardness, like the Daoist concept of Yin and Yang—it doesn’t seem like something from scientific study… Where did you really learn all this?”

“Uh, there was a Daoist who passed by my house when I was a kid…”

Lu Hongti laughed. “He recited a couple of poems… Don’t try to fool me. I’ve inquired about you. If you don’t want to say, you don’t have to. If you claim you thought it up yourself, I’ll just consider you one of those who are born to know…”

Asking about the source of someone’s skills was taboo, and Lu Hongti respected that boundary. Ning Yi shook his head. “If such a person existed, I’d introduce you, but there really isn’t… Yes, it’s about using softness to overcome hardness—there are some profound theories. Want to hear them?”

So that evening, he started expounding on various Tai Chi philosophies, some picked up in passing, some from television, and even some from business philosophy. Some were made up, some overly mystical, some too pragmatic for martial arts. He could write a paper on his own theories, but their relevance to martial arts was questionable.

For Lu Hongti to reconstruct Tai Chi would not be a matter of a day or two. Over the next couple of days, Ning Yi “force-fed” her all sorts of ideas about explosive force, Wing Chun, half-step power, and Jeet Kune Do—though he’d never actually trained in them, he knew a bit here and there. He described, for instance, the approximate stance for Wing Chun’s goat-gripping stance, leaving the application for Lu Hongti to figure out. His explanations about close-range striking were often offhand, such as, “There’s a punch you can do like this, and it can achieve this effect—how, exactly, is up to you.” He also talked about the spirit behind Japanese Kendo, Bushido, and Muay Thai.

Partly, he did this because it was easy for him, but also, sharing these concepts wasn’t just showing off—he was genuinely interested. Martial arts would continue to evolve for another thousand years, with changes, advances, and setbacks. What would happen when he poured a millennium’s worth of concepts into the mind of a martial master? He was eager to find out.

His feelings about Lu Hongti could be summed up in three points: first, they were friends; second, they were partners in an exchange, and perhaps he could ask her for help in the future—an invisible resource; third, this was an investment—he wanted to see what would come of it. There was no need to overanalyze, but as friends, he was happy to offer her what he could, especially since it was no trouble to him.

Initially, he’d planned to trade some of this knowledge for martial arts manuals from Lu Hongti. In recent days, he’d been thinking and organizing information, considering what would suit her best. It was like managing a company for someone in his spare time, offering strategies—first he needed to understand the company’s situation.

So, a few mornings later, Ning Yi said to Lu Hongti, “Next, I’d like to discuss the situation on Mount Luliang with you—the annual raids by the Liao army, the conditions in your mountain villages. I have a general outline, but not the specifics. Then… I’ll help you develop a comprehensive plan—some strategies for your future development, tailored to your circumstances, practical and usable.”

Lu Hongti regarded him for a long moment before replying, “I think I understand what you mean, but… you know how to do this too?”

Ning Yi smiled. “This is actually my real specialty—it should be helpful.”

From last night to this morning, he’d hardly been home—a friend had just returned from America, and with a packed schedule, had managed to fly from Harbin just to visit him. He’d only slept four hours after finishing his writing, then went out. Upon returning in the morning, he was startled and pleased to find that, though he’d asked for a hundred votes, readers had given him over three hundred. He was deeply grateful for everyone’s support, including special thanks to “Qiankun Rope,” “The Growth of the Rich Man,” and all the readers who’d sent him rewards. Whenever he lays long-term plans, he’s always anxious, but everyone’s support reassures him that many of his choices are correct. He’ll keep working hard to bring everyone even better, more compelling stories.

He napped a bit at noon, then got back to writing. The next chapter should be out before midnight; inspiration is flowing, so there shouldn’t be any problems. Once more, he bows and thanks everyone. ^_^