Chapter Five: The First Trial of Fists and Feet

For a long while, Li Chongyuan remained dazed by shock before gradually regaining his senses. He had only ever seen Li Jiu demonstrate the Wind and Thunder Palm before, but at the time, Li Jiu had deliberately slowed down, explaining each move in detail so he could observe clearly. Thus, he had never realized the true power behind the technique.

Zi Lan completed her demonstration of the Hard Wind and Thunder Palm, her breath steady, though beads of sweat glistened at her nose. She drew back her stance and smiled, “So, how did you find my Hard Wind and Thunder Palm, little brother?” Li Chongyuan stammered, “I never imagined the Wind and Thunder Palm could possess such force. I must have made a fool of myself earlier.” Zi Lan replied, “As I watched you practice, I noticed a major flaw in your technique. Your Wind and Thunder Palm doesn't incorporate your inner strength at all—you're relying solely on your muscles and bones. How could you possibly evoke the true might of wind and thunder like that?”

Suddenly, Li Chongyuan recalled that when Li Jiu first taught him the Wind and Thunder Palm, he'd warned him to channel his Primordial Energy into the technique. Yet, overwhelmed by daily chores and memorizing routines, he had completely forgotten this crucial point. Moreover, the disciples of Mingxin Cave each trained alone, giving him no one to compare notes with. Had it not been for Zi Lan’s guidance, he might have remained oblivious. Now, awakened as if from a dream, he hurriedly thanked her.

Zi Lan sighed, “The people of Mingxin Cave are all preoccupied with their own cultivation. Ninth Brother, though skilled, spends all his time either training or... well, he’s neglected his little junior brother. From now on, if you have any questions, come to me. I like to practice by the cliffs on the back mountain during the day.”

Li Chongyuan could hardly contain his joy and thanked her profusely. After a moment, he asked, “Senior Sister, have you already mastered the Wind and Thunder Palm?”

Zi Lan’s face darkened. “Mastered? Mastery isn’t so easily attained. I’ve only just reached the upper level of the Hard Wind and Thunder Palm. It’ll take at least another half year before I can break through to the Soft Wind and Thunder Palm. As for reaching the Transformative Wind and Thunder Palm... who knows how many years that will take? Anyway, remember to come to me if you need anything. I’ll be going now.” With that, she turned and left.

Watching her recede into the distance, Li Chongyuan felt a pang of loss. He gathered his scattered thoughts and resumed his practice, attempting to circulate his Primordial Energy through all his limbs and meridians. He began again from the very first form of the Wind and Thunder Palm. At first, there was little change, but after several repetitions, he noticed a subtle whistling of wind accompanying his movements—gone was the old, muffled “whoosh.” Elated, he devoted himself even more diligently to his training. Yet, unaccustomed to coordinating his internal energy with the forms, his breathing often caught and stagnated, leaving him short of breath. But this, he knew, was a common hurdle in the early stages of internal training; perseverance would see him through.

After a full day’s practice, he was utterly exhausted. That night, he fell into a dream—first of Zi Lan, then of Huang Shan. In his dream, both girls kissed him, but just as the moment blossomed, he abruptly awoke. Frustrated, he sighed, wishing to return to his dream, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t recapture it. After a moment’s annoyance, he suddenly thought: “Zi Lan is so close to Eldest Senior Brother, and he is a true hero. How can I harbor improper thoughts about her? And now Huang Shan is training hard in the Ling Shu Pavilion, while I wallow in such sordid fantasies—truly shameful!” With that, he slapped himself twice, and after venting his frustration, soon drifted into a deep sleep.

Thus, his days passed by—hauling ice and practicing martial arts—for nearly half a year.

One morning, as Li Chongyuan was sweeping snow, he saw two figures approaching from below the peak. In front was Du Xin, the chief disciple of the Heavenly Thunder Hall, followed by Ma Beifang. It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen Ma Beifang, and the latter had grown tall and robust.

Li Chongyuan greeted Ma Beifang warmly, tossing aside his broom and running over. “Ma Beifang!” Ma Beifang turned, smiling, and as they drew near, Li Chongyuan suddenly found himself at a loss for words, grinning foolishly instead. Ma Beifang clapped him on the shoulder and said with a laugh, “Brother Chongyuan, how have you been?” “I’m well! Just practicing every day,” Li Chongyuan replied. “Oh? And how far have you gotten with the Primordial Energy Art?” “I’m on the second level. Once I pass the end-of-month assessment, I can move on to the third. Brother Ma, I can already make the Wind and Thunder Palm whistle with wind—want to see?”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered across Ma Beifang’s face. “Let’s wait until after Du Senior Brother and I have met with Third Uncle-Master,” he suggested. “Then you can show me.”

Du Xin turned back, smiling, “Third Uncle-Master is lax in his discipline, never pushing his disciples after teaching them martial arts—whether they train or not is all up to them. Ninth Brother, too—why not help share your master’s burdens? This won’t do. To only reach the second level of the Primordial Energy Art after a year—in the Heavenly Thunder Hall, my master would have scolded you to death for lagging behind.”

“Second Uncle-Master always puts on the airs of a lay Buddhist, reciting sutras day and night. Would he really ‘scold his disciples to death’? Is that the boundless compassion of the Buddha, or Second Uncle-Master’s peerless martial prowess?” Li Jiu interjected, emerging from the main hall of Mingxin Cave.

Du Xin laughed. “Brother Li Jiu, I was only teasing my junior here—why take it to heart?”

“Du Senior Brother, my master is waiting for you in the main hall. Please follow me,” Li Jiu said coolly.

As they reached the doors, Du Xin noticed the thick accumulation of snow on the eaves. His eyes narrowed, and he covertly gathered his inner energy before suddenly letting out a tremendous shout—the Buddhist “Lion’s Roar,” its force reverberating through the building. Li Chongyuan, caught unprepared in the distance, saw stars and nearly collapsed. The snow above, disturbed by the vibration, slid off and crashed down toward the pair. Du Xin’s protective qi shielded him, shattering the snow before it could touch him, scattering it far and wide. Li Jiu, appearing oblivious, let the snow pour down upon him, yet it halted half a foot above his head, then slid gently away to either side, as if blocked by an invisible shield. The snow piled in a ring at his feet. With an apparently casual motion, he flicked his hand, and the snow between them swirled into a pillar, which shot toward Du Xin. Startled, Du Xin hastily summoned his qi to block it, but the snow pillar, imbued with hidden force, passed through his defenses without pause, stopping right at his face. Just as he panicked and tried to dodge, the pillar exploded with a “pop,” covering him from head to toe in snow.

Ignoring his disheveled state, Du Xin cried out in alarm, “The Formless Nirvana Technique! You… your Primordial Energy has reached the seventh level?!”

The Formless Nirvana Technique was colorless and formless, requiring no specific martial forms, and could merge with any technique in the world. Originally a secret of Buddhist sects, the elders of the Tianshan School had discovered it through deep study of the Diamond Sutra, then modified it with Daoist metaphysics. Though it lost some of its regal serenity, it gained a fierce and domineering quality for subduing demons. Yet, this technique demanded deep reserves of inner strength and could only be performed by those who had reached at least the seventh level of the Primordial Energy Art; anyone less was simply incapable.

Li Jiu smiled faintly. “Second Uncle-Master is learned in Buddhist doctrine; surely Du Senior Brother is blessed by the Buddha’s grace as well. Yet you remain arrogant and lack compassion. Remember: those who brandish their sharpness cannot keep it for long. Du Senior Brother, you should temper your heart more in the future.”

Rendered speechless, Du Xin dared not boast further. After all, among all the disciples of the Tianshan School, only a handful had reached the seventh level or higher of the Primordial Energy Art; even the head of Ling Shu Pavilion, Miao Wushuang, had only reached the seventh level. He had no choice but to enter the hall, crestfallen.

Seeing this, Ma Beifang laughed. “Since we both train in the Wind and Thunder Palm, why don’t we spar instead of just performing? What do you say?”

“Very well, I’ll make the first move then.”

“Brother Chongyuan, be sure to hold back!” With that, Ma Beifang crossed his palms, settled into a stance, and lunged forward, launching a “Snow Covers the Head” palm at Li Chongyuan. Li Chongyuan quickly raised both arms above his head, using “Canopy Over Heaven” to block. The two began to spar.

Inside the hall, Zi Wuzhuo asked, “Nephew Du, to what do we owe your visit?”

Du Xin bowed and replied, “Uncle-Master, my master sent me to inquire: in just over four months, the Grand Competition will be held. Will Junior Brother Li Chongyuan be representing your sect?”

“Oh? So you came all this way just to ask that?” Zi Wuzhuo inquired.

“My master’s point is this: five years ago, Brother Li Jiu won the Grand Competition, and Uncle-Master announced in public that he would no longer participate. With Mingxin Cave having the fewest disciples, and without Brother Li Jiu, the other sects might get a bye—winning without a fight. If you do not plan to have Junior Brother Li Chongyuan participate, then my master will also withhold Ma Beifang from entering. If you do, then perhaps Junior Brother Li and Ma Beifang can compete against each other, sparing the need for a draw. After all, they both joined late, and if they are matched against other disciples, what chance would they have? Please advise.” Though Du Xin looked down on the Mingxin Cave sect, he remained impeccably polite.

Though the seven branches of the Tianshan School belonged to the same order, a subtle rivalry persisted. Every three years, the school held a Grand Competition, where disciples of all branches would fight until a winner emerged. Anyone who won three consecutive tournaments would be in line for the position of sect leader, and the other six branches would naturally defer to their authority. Thus, though the competition was intended to assess progress, none of the branch leaders dared take it lightly. Currently, the only disciple to have won three consecutive tournaments was Lang... [text missing due to corrupt characters], and the rest could only hope to follow in his footsteps. If a disciple could win the next tournament, he would be in the running for sect leadership.

Zi Wuzhuo was still pondering when a sudden cry rang out outside; a moment later, someone tumbled in, rolling across the icy floor before clambering up—it was Li Chongyuan. Ma Beifang followed with an apologetic air, “Brother Li, I’m sorry—I lost control. Are you hurt?”

Li Chongyuan, thoroughly embarrassed, insisted, “No, not at all.” Yet when he turned away, he was clearly in pain, hissing as he drew sharp breaths.

Du Xin’s face lit up with glee, though he scolded, “Ma Beifang, how could you be so careless? If you injure Junior Brother Li, your master will surely punish you!”

Li Jiu’s face darkened and he moved to intervene, but Zi Wuzhuo raised a hand and said calmly, “Please tell your master that Li Chongyuan will participate. Four months hence, let the two of them face each other on the field. Li Jiu, see our guests out.”

After Du Xin and the others had left, Li Chongyuan stood anxiously before Zi Wuzhuo, deeply ashamed for having brought disgrace upon his sect. He felt wronged, for Ma Beifang had promised to hold back, yet had suddenly struck him in the chest. Were it not for his own protective qi, that blow might have made him cough blood.

How could Ma Beifang do such a thing?

Zi Wuzhuo sighed. “Child, you need not blame yourself. A loss is a loss—just work harder in the future. You may go now.”

After Li Chongyuan left, Li Jiu said, “I watched them spar from afar. Ma Beifang attacked first, but even so, his skill is superior—had he not struck by surprise, Li Chongyuan would still have lost, only lasting a little longer. Must he participate in the tournament?”

Zi Wuzhuo replied, “Those who train in martial arts must not become accustomed to retreating at the first sign of difficulty, or they’ll never improve. A setback now will do him good.”