Chapter Nine: Tiger Fist

Strangely enough, after several days of observation, Kou Li discovered that although Yue Wuhuo was the chief instructor of the martial hall, the important task of teaching boxing techniques was always entrusted to three subordinate coaches rather than himself.

Today, Coach Zhao was teaching the most iconic move in Fierce Tiger Boxing—Tiger Pounce!

He gently pressed his palms against the wooden post, fingers slightly bent, hips, waist, shoulders, and back relaxed, arms loosely curved, front leg poised, back leg slightly bent to store power. The back leg pushed off with force, waist and arms suddenly exerted strength, both palms thrust forward, eyes wide with fury, brow raised, energy surging from the dantian as he let out a loud shout, "Ha!"

A ripping sound accompanied a rush of wind, and Coach Zhao’s figure appeared a dozen feet away, while the wooden post now bore two deep grooves.

A chorus of exclamations erupted. Although it didn’t possess the supernatural brilliance of Luo Yanzong’s skills, it was nonetheless refined and impressive.

“The Tiger Pounce is the essence of the seventeen forms of Tiger Boxing. It can connect to any move or be used independently. The nature of the tiger is fierce and formidable; it embodies the crouching stance, the courage to hunt, the authority of sitting in its lair, and the power of its leap. Only by mastering all four aspects can you truly grasp the spirit of this move…”

Kou Li’s heart trembled. In his eyes, Coach Zhao seemed to transform into a living tiger—eyes blazing, fangs bared—pouncing from above, just like the one he had encountered atop Nantianmen Mountain.

Moreover, he sensed something different in this 'tiger,' akin to what he had felt during his own standing practice—

“Eighth Senior Brother,” Jiang Shuiyuan suddenly spoke with a mischievous smile, “Today you must guide me with my stance training.”

Kou Li glanced at him; the fellow had somehow sidled up to him, occupying the spot where Zheng Bao’er usually liked to linger.

“Senior Brother, I have something to tell you, though perhaps it’s not my place,” Jiang Shuiyuan feigned hesitation before lowering his voice, “But Ninth Senior Brother has really been out of line lately—playing every day, dragging us along. We’re at a prime age for stance training and qi cultivation; if our foundation is weak, it will affect us later. If not for you being here, we were ready to go confess to Second Senior Brother together.”

Kou Li replied with an amused half-smile, “Is that so? I’ve been busy lately and wasn’t aware. Who knows if you’re telling the truth?”

“It’s true, Senior Brother! If you don’t believe me, ask around. Yesterday, Eighth Senior Brother only stood for the time it takes an incense stick to burn—”

“Words alone aren’t proof,” Kou Li interrupted. “Let’s do this: today, you and Bao’er will compete in stance training. It will be clear who is diligent and who isn’t. If Bao’er slacks off, I’ll personally reprimand him.”

Jiang Shuiyuan’s eyes rolled and he eagerly agreed, “As you say, Eighth Senior Brother.”

He summoned Zheng Bao’er, and the two struck their poses and entered a meditative state.

Stance training is the foundation for all forms, much like a house without pillars is unstable. The martial hall’s requirements were strict; not only must one stand, but truly generate force.

Zheng Bao’er was just beginning his stance training; at first, he felt swelling pain in his legs, aching waist and shoulders, restless thoughts, and struggled to endure—hence, he was easily tempted by Jiang Shuiyuan.

Jiang Shuiyuan stole a glance at Zheng Bao’er, seeing his breath slow, lower abdomen gently expanding and contracting, as if in deep sleep. Yet this wasn’t a literal sleep—it was entering the state of ‘jin’ in stance training.

The requirement for Foundation-Building Stance was that only after standing for three incense sticks’ worth of time could one move on to the Source-Nurturing Stance. By youthful strength alone, it was impossible to last so long; only by entering ‘jin,’ relying on the body's continuous generation of stance energy, could one persist.

Yet just yesterday, Zheng Bao’er couldn’t even last one incense stick before losing focus and giving up. How could he be so transformed today?

Jiang Shuiyuan stared in disbelief, nearly stumbling and ruining his own stance, falling flat on his face.

Kou Li smiled lightly, ignoring them, and began his own child’s stance. Instantly, the sound of rushing water filled his ears, and the illusion of a stream reappeared.

Had Kou Li been born in ancient times, he would have considered the scene before him supernatural and fantastical. But he had crossed over from a technologically advanced era, so he understood concepts like visual afterimages, psychological suggestion, and sensory hallucinations.

Thus, the scene before him was likely merely a natural bodily response.

The ‘rushing water’ was the sound of blood coursing through his veins.

The stream represented the fluids within his body—blood, water, connective tissues, cartilage, and the liquids in his bones.

As for the imagery within the riverbed—heart, liver, intestines, stomach—it was nothing more than a three-dimensional image rendered in two dimensions. Humans perceive in three dimensions due to the spatial structure of their eyes, but when sensing the internal body, vision is useless. Instead, various tactile sensations transmit what appears to be a frightening two-dimensional image.

The stones, sand, and gravel in the stream were, he surmised, the most crucial point. With a thought, a current within the swift stream began to swirl, forming a whirlpool the size of a bowl, enveloping one of the stones.

White waves crashed, the current like knives, continuously grinding at the stone.

Agonizing pain!

An unimaginable agony, as if knives were tearing through his body. Though Kou Li had never endured such torment, he reckoned it was not far from this. Yet the more intense the pain, the more real it felt.

Because it was real, Kou Li was ecstatic, almost unable to restrain a wild roar within.

No pain could surpass death.

For someone like him, the worst suffering was not physical torment, but having no path ahead; it made him feel that everything was a waste of his life.

Even if the road was lined with thorns, he would cherish the scars all over his body.

His consciousness began to blur. As he endured pain beyond his limits, his body’s protective mechanisms activated, and the illusionary stream began to distort and fade. It seemed this ability was tied to his clarity of mind.

‘Hold on a little longer. If only I had another quarter of an hour, I’m so close—’

Just as his consciousness was about to collapse, Kou Li, with iron will, forced himself to last ten more breaths. With a bang, the stone shattered, turning into countless fragments, like brilliant fireworks scattered in the nearly vanished stream.

Somewhere in his body seemed to break through at the same moment.

His mind snapped back to reality, his head pounding fiercely—clearly, overusing this ‘ability’ carried some aftereffects.

“You only stood for a quarter of an incense stick today.”

He looked up to see the most handsome of the five youths speaking—it must be Ma Yuan, his face cold and proud.

Kou Li’s lips twisted oddly, like a beast scenting blood, and he rasped, “Short doesn’t mean weak, kid. Do you understand?”

The arrogant youth frowned, giving Kou Li a strange look, then strode away.

At that moment, Kou Li realized that he reeked—an overwhelming stench as if all bodily wastes had blended together.

Jiang Shuiyuan, nearby, was affected as well, finally unable to endure, collapsing onto the ground, drenched in sweat, exclaiming in disbelief, “Impossible! How could I lose?!”

Not far away, Zheng Bao’er had shifted from Foundation-Building Stance to Source-Nurturing Stance; his feet barely touched the ground, spread shoulder-width apart, knees bent inward, palms facing downward raised to brow level, shoulders tucked, elbows wrapped, eyes half-closed, body utterly relaxed, limp as mud, without a hint of tension.

This signified that Zheng Bao’er had stood in Foundation-Building Stance for three incense sticks’ time—surpassing two of the other youths.

Before today, the best Zheng Bao’er had managed was two incense sticks.

Such a feat drew the attention of others in the martial hall.

“A genius, truly a genius!” Wu Tou exclaimed belatedly, thinking, if he trained a genius, might he learn the second set of boxing earlier?

“The last time someone reached the second stance at age six was Third Senior Brother Mo Yi!” Coach Zhao was astonished.

“Hmph,” the proud youth snorted coldly, a hint of apprehension in his eyes—even he hadn’t accomplished this at that age.

It was another half an incense stick before Zheng Bao’er exhaled slowly, ending his practice. His skin was only flushed, not drenched in sweat or dehydrated like Jiang Shuiyuan—he had locked his pores, preventing moisture loss, another sign of innate talent.

Listening to the apprentices, whether praising or envying, Jiang Shuiyuan grew more agitated. It shouldn’t have been like this—the other had spent days playing with him, yet could stand for so long? Impossible!

The more he thought, the more frustrated he became. Was half a year of hard work less than ten days of effort? His anxiety grew, his head spun.

Then, an unbearable stench overwhelmed him, and he could no longer hold back; with a retch, he vomited all over himself.

“To think stance training could make someone vomit—seems my muscle strain is nothing in comparison,” Kou Li mused, stroking his chin.