Chapter Forty-One: Stirring Up Trouble

One month later—

Once again, he stood atop the plum blossom stakes, but this time Kou Li was bare-chested. His muscles were defined, his frame lean yet brimming with a force that defied imagination. He stood in a horse stance upon the stakes, with each leg suspended by oil-soaked hemp ropes carrying heavy green stones. From the first day of training, the weight had increased by ten jin every ten days, and now the combined load was sixty jin, making the wooden stakes creak and groan beneath him.

Among the apprentices and instructors of the martial hall, the highest record was also sixty jin, but that was the fruit of half a year, or even a year's toil.

“Come on!” Kou Li let out a low cry. At the four corners outside the plum blossom stakes, four apprentices simultaneously seized their white nanmu poles, the ends whittled sharp and wrapped in cowhide, making them into spears. They lunged, thrust, and swept toward him.

In that instant, Kou Li spun in a tiger's turn, his figure brushing past the east and west stakes, dodging two of the poles with a sudden twist of his scapula, bouncing another away. For the last one, with nowhere to escape, he raised his guard, and with a sharp “crack,” took the blow squarely on his back.

But Kou Li was no longer who he once was. His body only wavered slightly. He stepped and twisted nimbly, bracing himself, sinking his energy downward. Using the momentum, he shifted his stance, only growing steadier for it.

The four apprentices were no less determined, wielding their poles like spears—stepping forward to slash, thrusting, lifting, spinning to stab, pushing forward in a bow stance, blocking with a lunge, holding the spear at middle height.

In a breath, a barrage of spear shadows wove together, enveloping Kou Li’s form. Above the stakes, the sharp “crack, crack” of impact rang out again and again.

This was the true trial of standing firm and moving lively upon the stakes: legs burdened with massive stones, beset from without by sweeping poles, and required to endure for a full half hour to pass the test.

No one had ever succeeded in just a month. The fastest record was set by Second Brother Mo Yi, who had needed two and a half months.

This was not merely a test of fist technique, stakework, and experience—it was a trial of one's ability to withstand blows. There are limits to human strength; it is impossible to evade every strike.

And if you failed to withstand even one, you lost.

Time slipped by. Kou Li’s movements grew slower; apart from thrusts, stabs, and blows to vital points, he no longer bothered to dodge most of the lashes.

“He’s almost there! If he can last the time it takes for half a stick of incense to burn, Senior Kou will pass!” Shrimphead whispered tensely, while Zheng Xiaobao pumped her tiny fists to cheer him on.

Success seemed within reach—a new record for the martial hall was about to be set.

But just then, Yue Wu Huo suddenly said, “Old Li, go give him some help.”

Old Li referred to Instructor Li, the very man from the Xu family who, for insolence, had once been dragged here like a dog by Five Elephants Hall. He bore a bone-deep grudge against Kou Li, and was also the only instructor in the hall truly skilled in spear techniques.

The reason for sending him was plain as day.

“No way, what’s the Chief Instructor up to?”

“You can’t tell? He’s jealous! His cousin’s already been snatched away.”

“Chief Instructor is really that petty?”

“Hush, hush! Not so loud, or he’ll hear you!”

But of course, Yue Wu Huo heard every word, his face darkening like iron. He roared, “You all have too much time on your hands? Double today’s training!”

The groans and wails rose in unison.

After another hundred heartbeats, a fierce and merciless spear drove into Kou Li’s chest, knocking him and the stones from the stakes to the ground.

“Senior Kou, I think you should train a bit longer,” Instructor Li sneered, strutting away in high spirits.

“Kou!” Zheng Bao’er and Shrimphead rushed to comfort him, but Kou Li stopped them with a calm shake of his head. “Don’t waste time on trifles. Go stand on the stakes.”

When they had left, Kou Li frowned, massaging his chest. That Li truly hadn’t held back. But he understood—Instructor Li may have wanted to humiliate him, but Yue Wu Huo surely had deeper motives. Even if he disliked him, would he ignore the importance of the Tiger Fist’s breathing method?

What was the real lesson here? Why not let him pass the iron stake trial?

He considered going to ask, but one glance at Yue Wu Huo’s thunderous face changed his mind. No wonder—just yesterday, for reasons unknown, that “Cousin Lin” had sent over a box of pastries.

At that moment, Kou Li had felt it—a murderous intent, plain as day.

The trouble was, he truly had done nothing to deserve it.

Shaking off these idle thoughts, Kou Li decided instead to seek guidance from the senior brother. On his way, he unexpectedly ran into Mo Yi, who hadn’t left his quarters for half a month.

Although Mo Yi lived at the hall, their encounters were rare, yet for some reason, Kou Li felt an odd sense of familiarity toward him.

“Senior Mo.”

Mo Yi gave him a peculiar look. As they passed, he said, “Don’t leave the martial hall these days.”

Kou Li was startled. What did that mean? Was there some danger outside directed at him?

Was it Young Master Huang? Or the Water Dragon Gang?

Burdened by these thoughts, he reached Luo Yanzong’s quarters almost without noticing.

“Here to complain, junior? I hear Second Brother’s been giving you a hard time lately,” Luo Yanzong laughed heartily.

It was only then that Kou Li noticed two strangers in the courtyard. They greeted him silently, their steps light as they took their leave.

“Who were those two—?”

“Friends from the martial world, here as guests today,” Luo Yanzong cut him off, then changed the subject. “So, are you here to report on someone?”

Kou Li smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t dare be so petty, Brother. I just don’t understand Senior Yue’s intentions, so I came to ask your advice.”

Luo Yanzong nodded approvingly. “That’s a good attitude, Eighth. Brothers should live in harmony. As for Second Brother, his emotions are plain to see, but he’s known for being fair. I suspect he just wants you to ponder the method of channeling energy.”

“The channeling method?”

“Yes—the method of sinking energy to the dantian in a high stance,” said Luo Yanzong, taking position: feet apart, knees slightly bent, arms encircling. He inhaled through his nose, his belly—especially just below the navel—swelling visibly, rounding like a toad’s. Inside, a gurgling sound could be heard.

“Remember my posture and breath: lift the perineum, lift the kidneys, draw the abdomen inward. This is embracing the dantian.”

Then Luo Yanzong shifted his stance, fingers slightly clawed, chest out, abdomen retracted, compressing the dantian to send energy at will to the crown of the head. His chest, belly, and forehead flushed dark red—Kou Li could tell by sight that they were hard as stone, tough as steel.

“This is the vertical dantian, another way to gather energy and blood.”

Finally, Luo Yanzong took a deep breath, his throat bulging as if he’d swallowed an egg. With that breath, his waist, back, legs, and arms all tensed, as if he were giving birth. The channels in his body compressed, his belly drawing in as if pressed against his spine.

Then, at last, he “delivered”—without hesitation, he struck out with both fists. With a resounding crack, a sapling as thick as a wrist snapped cleanly in the courtyard, even its roots torn up, tendrils splaying like a blossom.

“This is compressing the dantian. Embracing, vertical, compressing—all together with explosive force, that is the channeling method, the essence of every way to draw power from the dantian.”

Kou Li recalled the feeling of unleashing his power in a life-or-death moment, relying on instinct and speed so great that no one could react. He had never imagined there were such intricacies.

“The Tiger Fist’s explosive power is too wild. Learning the channeling method will help you master the beast-like strength of the Tiger Fist, and perhaps reach true perfection.”

After Kou Li left, Luo Yanzong sighed softly. In truth, there was another reason he had not mentioned: Kou Li’s progress was too fast. Though this was a good thing, and no problems could be seen for now, he still wanted to slow him down.

The best seedlings need stronger soil—this, he and Yue Wu Huo agreed on.

Otherwise, this was a method only needed near the body-forging stage—he would never have taught it so soon.

In this stormy land of Yuezhou, the martial hall could not remain isolated forever. Pressure was mounting.

Even if only as a precaution, he had to preserve a spark of hope for the hall.