Chapter Thirty-One: Learning Martial Arts

I had no interest in exchanging words with them; instead, I silently committed their faces to memory. I grabbed Chen Chen and pulled Li Zijian along, walking out of the school gate without so much as a glance back.

At the intersection, the three of us parted ways and headed home. School let out early today—it's only a little after nine. I decided to find something to occupy myself, though for now I had no idea what that might be. There was no news to investigate about the Ghost King, my parents were still away and didn’t seem likely to return soon, but judging by everything, things were safe for the time being.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, kid!”

Lost in thought and with my head down, I’d walked straight into a mountain of a man. Looking up, I saw that the person I’d bumped into must have weighed three hundred pounds, a fat hand pinching a cigarette, folds of flesh wobbling across his face, a couple of lackeys trailing behind.

“Sorry,” I murmured, intending to sidestep them and move on.

“You little punk, did I say you could leave? Get on your knees and apologize!” The fat man burst out laughing as he spoke.

Not long ago, I probably would have dropped to my knees without hesitation, but not now. I shot him a sidelong glance and kept walking, pretending not to hear.

“Hey! Get back here!” he bellowed, and I could feel the pavement vibrate as the fat man came barreling after me.

I twisted slightly, dodging his attempted slap, then called upon my spiritual energy and seized his wrist in a tight grip. The shock was plain on his face as I returned his slap, though I’d barely used any force. Still, several of his teeth went flying.

Only now did I realize just how vast the difference was between an ordinary person and a cultivator.

“Please, boss, I’m sorry…” The fat man sat on the ground, blood streaming from his mouth. I asked quietly, “What’s your name?”

“Guo Jiaxing.”

Guo Jiaxing… I repeated the name a few times in my heart, making sure to remember it.

“Get lost.”

No sooner had I spoken than Guo Jiaxing scrambled up, brushed off his pants, and, with his lackeys, hurried away down a side alley.

“Not bad… not bad at all…”

Suddenly, a voice rang out ahead of me. I tensed and drew Snowblade; even the very sound of that voice carried an oppressive weight.

But the voice was oddly familiar.

“Uncle Cai?” I called uncertainly.

The man approaching wore a tracksuit, surgical mask, and baseball cap, hands clasped behind his back.

“Seems you’ve made great progress lately,” he said, removing his mask to reveal a weathered face—it really was Uncle Cai, whom I hadn’t seen in ages.

“Not really, just messing around…” I put away my knife, scratching my head awkwardly.

Though I’d only met Uncle Cai a handful of times, there was a sense of camaraderie between us, as if we were old friends from different generations.

“Come on, kid, I’ll take you somewhere,” he said, his face aglow with health. He seemed less stern than when we first met, his features now softened with kindness. His hands were still clasped behind him as usual, though today he didn’t have his pipe.

He led me through winding streets for quite some time before we arrived at a secluded park. Choosing a small plaza at random, he removed his cap and jacket and turned to me.

“Your parents sent you to learn Bajiquan when you were younger, didn’t they?”

He was right. As a child, I’d been weak and sickly, so my father had me study Bajiquan for a while. But it was all for show—just basic exercises to build strength. I nodded.

“They really know you well, hahahaha…” He laughed, leaving me at a loss. I had no idea what he meant, but I followed his lead and took off my jacket, laying it aside.

“Today I’ll teach you a few moves of Bajiquan. No filming with your phone. How much you learn depends on your own understanding.”

I nodded, still confused—was he really going to teach me Bajiquan now? I wasn’t prepared for this.

Before I could react, Uncle Cai had already assumed the starting stance—left fist clenched, right palm pressed against the tiger’s mouth of the left fist, arms extended straight from the chest with a slight bend at the waist.

Thanks to my previous training, I could tell this was a textbook Bajiquan opening, more forceful even than the national champion who once taught me.

“Hah!” In an instant, Uncle Cai launched a punch, the air whistling with the force of his strike.

I’d heard that such power comes from years of practice and innate strength.

As he demonstrated each movement, he recited:

“Bow stance with a turning wrist, Tiger stance with an upward twist. Gun-carrying stance in the four-six step, Magpie step with a splitting palm.

Smashing knee hiding the fist, turning body for the double strike.”

It was a good thing the park was so deserted—anyone seeing this elderly man conjuring such gales with every punch would have been astounded.

After twelve forms, Uncle Cai finally relaxed and ended the routine.

“Well? Will you learn?” He casually wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

I was too astonished to speak. I’d always known Uncle Cai was skilled, but I hadn’t expected his mastery of Bajiquan to be so profound. He’d completely changed my view of the art.

“Yes!” I replied, eyes wide with excitement.

“Hahaha… Good lad, come on!”

Fortunately, I’d learned Bajiquan before, so copying the opening stance wasn’t hard. Standing behind Uncle Cai, I tried to follow his slowed movements, with him pausing now and then to correct my mistakes.

Despite his age, Uncle Cai showed no sign of frailty; he guided me through all twelve forms several times until I’d memorized them, though I was far from proficient.

It wasn’t until after one in the afternoon that we finally stopped.

“Excellent, you really are gifted. Back when I was learning, who knows how many years I spent on these moves…”

We sat on a bench, chatting. At one point, I asked without thinking, “Uncle Cai, when will my parents return? It always feels like they’re hiding something from me…”

He seemed to have anticipated this question and cut me off, saying, “Some things, child, you must discover for yourself…”

I pressed my lips together—he might as well have said nothing.

After a while, Uncle Cai said he should head home, so we parted ways in the park.

I’d expected to be exhausted after all that practice, but instead, I felt invigorated, as if I had energy to spare. Jogging home, I made some simple noodles and took a hot shower.

Only after stepping out of the bathroom did I realize how lonely it was to live alone. The kitchen, once filled with the sounds and smells of home-cooked meals, was empty; the television, which used to play the news, now gathered dust.

Suddenly, I slumped to the floor, my gaze fixed on a family portrait of the three of us.

It was a long time before I staggered to my feet and, out of habit, turned on the TV to watch a reality show.

And so the day slipped away in a daze. That night, I went to bed early, hoping to be well rested—for the Ghost King’s game waits for no one.