Chapter Seven: The Threefold Realms

Three days later—

“Did you hear? That Eighth Senior Brother barely managed to stand for half a stick of incense today.”

“Well, he’s a genius, isn’t he? Hahahaha.”

“A genius who can’t even manage the basic Child’s Stance.”

“Someone like that would have been beaten to death in my village!”

“I really don’t know how a useless person like that got in here. I heard he used connections.”

“Connections? More like backdoor deals!”

Zheng Bao’er’s face flushed bright red. He sprang to his feet, ready to argue, but was restrained by Kou Li, who said quietly, “Eat.”

“But... it’s not like that at all,” Zheng Bao’er’s eyes brimmed with tears of grievance. He knew all too well how hard Brother Kou worked—every time he came back inside, his clothes were soaked through, his hands and feet trembling uncontrollably. Even so, every morning and evening, he arrived earlier than anyone.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kou Li replied calmly, swallowing his eighth bun. If standing in stance had changed him in any way, it was in his stomach—he now ate three times as much as before.

“Eighth Senior Brother is eating so much today, it must mean his training is tough,” Jiang Shuiyuan sneered sarcastically.

Aside from him, only Tan Yu among the group of four—Tan Yu, Ma Yuan, Xia Tou, and Wang Shennu—greeted him, being slightly older. The five of them formed this year’s junior group. Technically, Kou Li and Zheng Bao’er were part of it, but it was clear the five had formed a clique, excluding the other two.

Kou Li glanced at them, expressionless, and agreed, “Indeed, it’s hard work.”

These three days, the nightly cramps nearly broke him; if not for his adult willpower, anyone else would have given up.

Jiang Shuiyuan choked, jealousy flashing in his eyes. He was the one who’d spent a fortune to join the martial hall, aiming to become an inner disciple. But the hall master, Lin Xianshi, was unyielding and hard to please, so he was forced to mix with these country bumpkins. And then Kou Li appeared out of nowhere—such a “talentless” interloper, the perfect outlet for his accumulated resentment.

Still, Jiang was the son of a wealthy merchant, and though young, he was cunning. Knowing Kou Li’s status in the hall was high, he realized he’d have to act from the shadows. He’d already devised several malicious schemes; this ostracism was merely the first step.

“If you’re so great, I’d like to learn from you,” Ma Yuan, the youngest but second best in stance training, stepped forward with a cold snort.

This was Jiang Shuiyuan’s second ploy: incite the proud, gifted Ma Yuan to stir up trouble. No matter how Kou Li responded, he’d get dirty in the process.

Kou Li slowly finished his last bite of bun, looked at Ma Yuan, and said, “Very well. Let’s go to the practice yard—I’ll instruct you in stance work.”

What!? Ma Yuan couldn’t believe his ears. How thick-skinned could someone be, to offer to instruct him?

But in truth, Kou Li had every confidence. He could tell—among these five, only Tan Yu had barely begun to anchor his internal force; the others were still fumbling at the stage of sensing energy.

The sensation was faint, but he could “see” these changes.

This ability, too, was something he needed to explore further.

But those five boys ultimately didn’t dare cause trouble in the practice yard. It seemed that, as Eighth Senior Brother, he still held some authority. Kou Li was satisfied—though he subconsciously overlooked Yue Wuho’s cannibalistic glare.

The longer one stood in the Child’s Stance, the more one could sense the flow of water within. After three days’ hard practice, Kou Li’s mind could sink into this flow. The little stream, he realized, was formed from countless trickles—what looked like a small brook actually branched in many directions.

Kou Li liked to reason things out. If the stream was “energy,” then what was its essence? How did the immortals’ celestial energy relate to this martial energy?

If energy was a kind of power, what then were the hidden currents and rocky obstructions in the riverbed? He was determined to find out.

He let his awareness sink deeper. He could feel his mind merging with the flow. After three days’ exploration, he noticed the current’s speed had increased, ever so slightly.

What did that acceleration mean?

He was close—the bottom was near. What was at the bottom? Mud and stones? No—Kou Li’s eyes snapped open.

What he saw was a tunnel formed of blood vessels and flesh!

There was pulsing flesh, protruding bone, and at the stream’s end—a massive, throbbing heart.

“Kou, you’re amazing! You stood for half a stick of incense today,” Zheng Bao’er chirped, face glowing with pride. He himself had already reached two sticks yesterday, but still looked delighted for Kou.

Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was born tanned.

Kou Li smiled wearily, but felt a thrill. Not because of the time, but because he had grasped something crucial.

Not just the technique of stance work, but the truth behind the Child’s Stance!

He couldn’t wait to go back and study further, not even noticing the disdainful looks from the five boys.

Back in his room, he changed clothes. He had never understood why he reeked after stance practice, while Zheng Bao’er did not. Now he knew—the scent was from impurities, the ones adults accumulated after their bones and flesh had set and stretched.

A knock sounded at the door.

Kou Li was startled—who could be looking for him at this hour?

He and Zheng Bao’er, despite their seniority, were weak; the apprentices kept their distance. Among their seven brothers, Second Brother Yue the Black Bear couldn’t stand him, Fourth Brother Luo the Blockhead was a man of few words, and the rest were elusive.

As for hall master Lin Xianshi, he was away on a visit and had yet to return.

“Eighth Brother, are you in? It’s me, Luo Yanzong.”

So, it was him.

…

The Tidewatch region faced the sea, and along the shore grew groves of coconut trees, their fruits emitting a fresh fragrance this time of year.

Luo Yanzong and Kou Li walked among them. No matter how muddy the ground, the Senior Brother’s feet remained dry, while Kou Li’s calves were soon caked in black mud.

“This is called ‘Wading Step.’ When you’ve mastered your skills, you’ll be able to do this too,” Luo Yanzong smiled, seeing Kou’s thoughts.

Kou Li could only gasp for breath—his energy was spent.

“You must be wondering why I haven’t returned these past few days,” Luo Yanzong explained. “There was some small trouble. Some scoundrels tried to stir up trouble over Elder Zheng’s incident, but we stopped them.”

Kou Li raised his eyebrows, noticing only now the few red stains at Luo’s hem. He asked quietly, “What happened to Old Man Zheng?”

“That’s why I came to find you. According to Fifth Brother, no body has been found so far—but we did find Elder Zheng’s iron spear.”

Kou Li’s heart sank. Even he knew—a martial man never abandons his weapon lightly.

Luo Yanzong sighed. “It’s not good news, so I told only you—not Bao’er. He’s still young and fragile. I’ve already sent word to the Zheng family.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Kou Li knew he was powerless to help. His own special skill was limited in use—otherwise, that night, he wouldn’t have only saved Bao’er.

When someone suited him, or even looked kindly at him, Kou Li was never stingy with his efforts.

“But let’s not dwell on that,” Luo Yanzong took a deep breath and smiled. “It’s been several days, and as your Senior Brother, I haven’t even given you two juniors any guidance. That’s remiss of me. Since we have the chance, let me tell you about the ways of us martial folk.”

Kou Li’s spirits lifted. This was what he needed most: to understand the world, to understand himself, and to find a path he could stake his life on.

This was far more practical than chasing immortals or relying on others.

“In ancient times, for war, for defense against beasts, for power and ambition, or simply for the love of combat, martial arts—or more accurately, the arts of weaponry—were created. In times of peace, the court forbade private arms, and so fists and kicks replaced weapons. The wise then drew on ancient Daoist texts, blending martial arts with alchemical techniques—that’s what we now call martial arts.”

“Martial arts are divided into methods of training and methods of fighting. There are three training methods: fixed stance, moving stance, and breathing methods. There are also three fighting methods: initiation, mastery, and perfection.”

“When you can use your waist, bones, and muscles to blend stance work into your fist techniques, combining all your force into one, and strike with true power—that is initiation.”

“When you can apply fist techniques in combat, using the unique force of each style, that is mastery. Most martial halls grant succession at this stage.”

“The last stage is to sense the inner energy of the style itself, to use it even with other techniques—where every move is powered by intent and energy. That is perfection.”

“This is where the higher arts come in—the use of force.”

“Force?”

“Watch,” Luo Yanzong stepped lightly to a coconut tree, let out a low shout, and his muscles and bones twisted and bulged, his palm swelling to twice its size, fingers thick as carrots. With a gentle slap—crack!—like a wave crashing on rock, a half-inch-deep palm print appeared on the tree’s trunk.

“That’s the Crashing Wave Force. It looks like a single blow, but I layered it nine times.”

He then inhaled deeply, like a whale drinking the sea, the sound roaring for the length of half a stick of incense, then jabbed the tree with lightning speed. Even Kou Li’s sharpened vision couldn’t catch the move.

He looked closely—the trunk showed no sign of damage. Three heartbeats later—pop!—a piece of wood, as thick as a finger, shot from the tree. The massive trunk had been pierced clean through.

Extraordinary!

“Muscles like springs, bones like needles—this is the Cold Crisp Snap, with astonishing penetration and destructive power.”

“Crashing Wave is an overt force, Cold Crisp Snap is a hidden force. There are many such unique forces in different fist arts—you’ll encounter them all in your travels.”

“Remember, the most important thing in fist training is to train force. This is the pinnacle of fighting technique. Beyond that is using fighting methods to temper the body.”

“The four most crucial hurdles—we martial artists call them the Four Great Refinements.”

Kou Li took a deep breath, clenching his fists. He knew—the truth he sought lay within these Four Great Refinements.