Chapter Four: The Seventh Grandmaster of Cantonese Boxing (Part I)

The carriage was lavishly decorated, twice the size of a standard one. Its beams were crafted from premium eaglewood, accented with jade and emeralds, while the interior was reinforced with a mesh of pure steel wire. It featured an emergency mechanism: with the press of a button, all doors, windows, and the floor would lock tight, impenetrable to even ink or cannon fire.

This was the vehicle Young Master Huang had used for his long journey from the capital to Lingnan, and it still held the faint, orchid-like fragrance of a woman.

Zhu Ying'er, however, could not have cared less. She was practically wreaking havoc, crumpling the silk bedding into a heap and kicking her small legs about with a look of pure, mischievous satisfaction.

"I’m just collecting some interest for now. One day, I’ll pin you to the bed and spank you! Hahahaha!"

Zhu Xiaojun, meanwhile, sat stiffly on his chair, watching her antics with a mixture of envy and apprehension. He glanced at Master Kou and straightened his posture even further.

Kou Li remained unperturbed by their antics, though he couldn't fathom why he had been summoned at such a critical juncture. This was the moment when the provinces of the southeast were busy carving up interests and reaching compromises; as a martial artist—or perhaps, by his scholarly title, a licentiate—he was of little use in such political maneuvering.

"Zhu Ying'er."

"Yes, Master Kou!"

The Princess’s temperament was truly bizarre. On one hand, she made life-threatening attempts on Kou Li’s life every night; on the other, she observed the rituals of etiquette with a reverence that surpassed even the most devoted of students.

Seeing her kneeling respectfully by his side with a solemn expression, Kou Li smirked. "According to what you said earlier, this 'Dojikiri Yasutsuna' was once an ordinary fine blade, and it only displayed its supernatural qualities after slaying the Kappa?"

"Yes, Master Kou. Two hundred years ago, when demons plagued the seas, the sword saint Priest Asakusa slew the beast and forged the blade in the fire of its flesh and bone. Only then did it become the legendary cursed blade known throughout our land. It is said that in battle, it can bewitch the minds of its foes."

"Are there many demons like that Kappa in your land of Wa?"

Zhu Ying'er furrowed her brow in thought. "My grandfather once said that no demons have appeared in the last thirty years."

"I see," Kou Li murmured. The human-faced python he had encountered, tasked with guarding a treasure, didn't count, but the fully formed monsters he had seen in the Soul-Falling Valley were deeply unsettling.

His predecessor had traveled to countless famous mountains and rivers, yet he had never encountered such creatures. Although he was a transmigrator, he didn't believe his luck was any better than his predecessor's. Especially lately, encountering these demons time and time again—this could hardly be a coincidence.

If they had been absent for a long time only to erupt in such a short period, did that mean the conditions that once restricted their emergence had vanished?

A sense of anxiety stirred within Kou Li. It felt as if the world he had been desperately trying to understand had finally revealed a mysterious corner, one that was now beginning to collide with reality. Whether this impact would be a blessing or a curse for him remained to be seen.

"However, I have heard that there are mysterious monks in our country who can borrow the power of demons, and they are incredibly formidable."

"Borrow the power of demons? How so?" Kou Li raised an eyebrow.

According to Zhu Ying'er, there were two ways these monks harnessed such power. One was through prayer and ritual, generating demonic spiritual energy to control others; the other was by consuming the flesh and blood of demons, granting them monstrous strength and turning them into half-human, half-demon hybrids.

Of course, in the mouths of these monks, they were not demons, but Shinto deities.

"...I’ve heard the most powerful warriors in Siam enhance their bodies by consuming the flesh of vicious beasts. In Luzon, sorcerers feed human infants to insects to create the deadliest poisons. In Annam, they train wild beasts for war, fielding troops of apes and elephants. As for the Central Plains, it goes without saying—it is full of powerful fist-fighters like yourself."

Zhu Ying'er truly lived up to the daughter of a notorious pirate lord, recounting the hidden customs of a dozen nations with ease.

In all these tales, human strength could become unimaginably great—some entities were nearly on par with grandmasters of martial arts. Yet, compared to the "immortals" he had seen, they seemed to fall short. What was the connection?

Kou Li’s heart skipped a beat. He realized there was a common thread: aside from martial artists, all other methods of power enhancement were, to some degree, linked to demons or local mystical entities.

Before martial arts were combined with internal alchemy, they could not be considered a form of supernatural power. Thus, the key lay in the unique internal alchemy of the Central Plains. It did not rely on external objects but rather on excavating one's own potential.

Was this alchemy related to the immortals? Or was alchemy itself a skill practiced by immortals? That couldn't be right; as far as he knew, cultivation required innate talent and bone structure, whereas martial arts seemed to have no such requirements.

...

While Kou Li pondered the mysteries of immortals, martial arts, and foreign techniques, a large mansion near the government relay station had become occupied by a host of eccentric characters.

There was an elderly man with a missing eye and white whiskers, his lean frame clad in a simple shirt that struggled to contain his powerful muscles. There was a portly monk in a red cassock, jowls trembling as he fingered a string of red beads the size of fists. There were twin middle-aged men in blue silk headwraps, wielding Bagua-style Yin-Yang chicken-claw daggers. There were weathered martial artists from the northern provinces, a pale-faced elder with sinister, gloomy features, and a mysterious figure wearing a demon mask. In total, there were dozens of these strange, formidable individuals.

Beyond them, the local martial artists were divided into two camps. One group consisted of young, spirited men with upright postures—each arrogant and constantly sizing the others up. The other group was made up of middle-aged men in their forties and fifties, seasoned and grave, their movements precise and their auras heavy.

Occasionally, figures in black robes would flicker around the courtyard, their sleeves embroidered with a colorful, small phoenix. These were the Phoenix Guards, the personal bodyguards brought by Young Master Huang from the capital. An old eunuch flashed past, casting a deep, penetrating look at the portly monk before bowing his head and departing.

If there was one person present who commanded universal fear, it was the middle-aged man seated at the head of the hall.

He had a sallow complexion that still hinted at a youthful handsomeness, a thin goatee, and phoenix eyes narrowed in concentration. His hair was as thick as ink, his skin as smooth as warm jade, entirely devoid of wrinkles even at the corners of his eyes or neck.

He sat there simply, yet he possessed a natural, haughty elegance—like a lotus amidst silt, a phoenix among common birds. Even the others seemed to accept this as only natural.

Crucially, this man bore a fifty-percent resemblance to Guo Feng, who had been lost on the pirate ship.

This was Guo Jing, the grandmaster of Cantonese martial arts, who had fused the three styles of Dexiang—Lion Dance, Flying Cloud Step, and Phoenix Nod—into one, and was famed alongside Master Lin Xianshi.

Among the martial arts circles of the various regions, the Cantonese, Shanxi, Beijing, Shandong, and Yunnan schools were the strongest. As a grandmaster of the Cantonese school, Guo Jing naturally held a position of higher prestige than the others. Thus, despite the mysterious backgrounds and immense influence of the foreign guests, none dared to slight him.

Finally, the portly monk stopped turning his beads, a thin smile spreading across his fat face. "Master Guo, I have a question. I hope you might enlighten me."

Guo Jing nodded slightly. "Please speak, Master of the Esoteric Sect."

The monk’s expression stiffened, a flash of apprehension crossing his eyes—the man had seen through his origin at a glance. He quickly laughed, however. "I hear there are six great grandmasters of Cantonese martial arts, whose reputations echo across the sixteen provinces of the two rivers: Lin Xianshi of the Burning Body Martial Hall, Lu Wangshen of the Five Elephant Hall, Village Chief Che of Chejia Gou, Daoist Baihe of Qingyuan Mountain, the Sea Demon Meng Tianban, and yourself. Is that correct?"

"Those are just flattering titles given by friends in the martial arts circles; they are not to be taken seriously."

The monk dismissed this, continuing, "Meng Tianban was once known as the Pirate King, his power far exceeding even the current Zhu Baozai. He was the only one during the Great Sea Calamity who dared lead troops to attack a provincial capital, though he was eventually blown to bits by Marshal Hong's cannons. Daoist Baihe earned merit in suppressing bandits and was bestowed the title of First-Rank Immortal, living out his days in comfort in the capital."

"As for Lin Xianshi, Lu Wangshen, and Village Chief Che—the masters of the three great martial halls—their skills are said to be ghostly and unfathomable, their backgrounds deep, and their connections vast. Yet, it is said that Lin Xianshi was a remnant of the Arhat Temple, and his entire Burning Body Hall has been wiped out, his own fate unknown. The other two are not in the province, and it seems neither has formally shown their hand in many years."

"As it stands, you are the only grandmaster left in Guangdong to hold the line. For a school as prestigious as the Cantonese, it seems a bit... lacking in strength."