“…The martial world runs deep and long, and as for our Li family’s monkey fist, its earliest form can be traced back to the Wei-Jin period. But if we’re speaking of the man who truly gathered together the strengths of every school and forged them into a unified whole, that credit belongs to none other than General Yuan Dingtian, one of our own Wu dynasty’s founding generals. Two hundred years ago, this Pacifying-the-East General combined battlefield tactics with the monkey fist’s principles of leaping, dodging, feinting, and turning, and established the distinction between the Large and Small Monkey Fist styles. The Large Monkey Fist carries a fierce, powerful form, swift footwork, advancing like a maddened beast and retreating with lethal intent hidden within — and it incorporates staff and cudgel techniques as well, echoing the image of the Monkey King’s iron tail and steel whip…”
Under the warm autumn afternoon sun, beneath the eaves of the assembly hall in front of the Li family compound’s training grounds, old Li Ruoyao held forth on the subject of monkey fist, occasionally sweeping his arm or raising a wooden staff. His movements weren’t large, but anyone who knew what to look for could see, in the subtle power behind them, the deep mastery of a lifetime’s training — like thunder held in check, not to be taken lightly. Yan Tiehe, Yan Yunzhi, and the others listened with evident respect, their expressions growing solemn.
“To think this comes down from the legacy of General Yuan Pingdong himself — I’m honored, truly honored.” Yan Tiehe cupped his hands and offered praise repeatedly.
“…As for the Small Monkey Fist.” Pleased by this admiration, the old man gave a hearty chuckle. “The Small Monkey Fist is nimble and treacherous. If you’re asking about the real secret to the technique, it lies mainly in footwork and the eye. On the surface, the feet seem to move like the wind, but in truth the center of gravity has already taken root — the leaping and dodging and turning may look flashy and ornamental to an outsider, but that’s exactly what tests the real skill. Think about it — if you’re leaping about on a steep mountainside for no good reason and your footwork isn’t solid, you’ll injure yourself before you even land a blow on your enemy — now that would be embarrassing indeed. So you see, the more nimble a technique looks, the steadier the footwork actually has to be underneath it. Once the footwork is solid and the body’s movements become impossible for an opponent to track, only then does the real hand technique come into play…”
“…When I say the Small Monkey Fist is treacherous, I don’t mean that as an insult — our Li family’s Small Monkey Fist targets vital points, every single strike.” The old man pressed his fingers together, his hand flashing out like lightning, tracing a few strikes in the empty air, the whistling sound of displaced air unmistakable. “The eyes! The throat! The kidneys! The groin! These are the essence of the Small Monkey Fist’s technique. Remember, General Pingdong came up through the battlefield, and battlefield combat, by its nature, spares no method at all — so these techniques were, from the start, killing moves meant for combat on the field, and moreover, techniques meant for a battlefield scout facing a single opponent. That’s the true origin of the Small Monkey Fist.”
By this point, rows of folding chairs had already been set out beneath the eaves above the training ground, and everyone took their seats as they talked. Having seen the old man’s few demonstrative strikes, Yan Yunzhi, who had already set aside any earlier condescension, now felt a fresh jolt of alarm as she watched him trace those strikes through the air — this was exactly the difference between the outsider watching for spectacle and the insider watching for the real substance.
To someone with no martial training, the old man’s gestures would have looked like nothing more than an elderly man waving his arms idly through the air. But to Yan Yunzhi, who had trained for years in swordsmanship, the old man’s fingers had struck like iron hooks, with absolutely no warning before the strike — his upper body hadn’t moved at all, yet his arm had already shot forward. Had she been standing in front of him, her own eyes might well have been gouged out by that single motion.
“The study of battlefield combat has always been the most vicious branch of the martial arts,” Yan Tiehe said with a smile, agreeing readily. “Our martial world has passed down countless techniques over the centuries, and many of them are taught quite openly and honorably — safe to teach to a thousand people without concern. But the more brutal combat methods have generally only ever been passed down to three or five trusted disciples, and the reason lies precisely in this: we martial artists tend to love a good fight, and if such lethal methods were passed on to someone with ill intent, the consequences could be endless. That’s been the logic of the past two hundred years. But these days, that logic doesn’t quite hold up the way it used to.”
At this, the others around him spoke up in agreement as well. “Miao Blade” Shi Shuifang said, “The realm has fallen into chaos, the Jurchens are utterly savage — this is no longer the time for any single household to shut its doors and train in private. That’s exactly why the Li family has thrown its doors wide open, letting every able-bodied young man and militia fighter from the surrounding area come here to train. The Li family teaches the Large and Small Monkey Fist openly, holding nothing back — and that, more than anything else, is what earns my own admiration for the Li family’s patriarch!”
“The Li family’s noble spirit is truly admirable, truly admirable.”
“The Yan family has done much the same. Lord Taiwei’s repeated successful assassinations of enemy commanders are truly worthy of the deepest respect.”
Ever since the fall of Jingping, the realm of the Wu dynasty had been in turmoil for over a decade, and practitioners of the martial arts had migrated south from the north, spreading their teachings as they went. Great clans like the Yan and Li families, rising with the tide of the times, largely shared the same slogans and pursued similar aims. At this moment, both sides exchanged compliments freely, and host and guest alike were well pleased.
Down in the square below, Yan Yunzhi could see various installations set up for practicing the monkey fist — sheds hung with rows of clay jars like gourd racks, wooden posts of varying heights and sizes for practicing evasive footwork, and other such features, all reflecting the distinctive character of the monkey fist style. By now, several disciples trained in the Li family’s monkey fist had gathered and were preparing to give a demonstration. After a bit more conversation, at Li Ruoyao’s signal, they began performing the forms of the Large Monkey Fist for the Yan family’s benefit.
After the Jurchens seized the Central Plains, martial practitioners from every faction had been driven south, bringing with them a wave of mutual exchange and blending of styles. When powers like the Li and Yan families met, demonstrating and sparring with one another was considered a perfectly ordinary part of the proceedings. Between parties who weren’t well acquainted, they might simply demonstrate the forms of their techniques; between those on closer terms, it wasn’t unusual to show off a few genuine “signature skills,” or even exchange teachings outright, strengthening both sides together. For now, though, this demonstration was just the warm-up. As Yan Yunzhi watched, she also listened to the tales of the martial world that Li Ruoyao was sharing with her second uncle and the others nearby.
“…After General Yuan Pingdong first organized and passed down the Large and Small Monkey Fist styles, it took another hundred years before the techniques finally reached the hands of a certain extraordinary figure of the martial world named Wang Hao. Many of the younger generation may never have heard this elder’s name, but in his day, he was truly renowned…”
At this point, Yan Tiehe, well-read in popular fiction and widely informed, spoke up. “Could that be the grandmaster once known as one of the ‘Three Wonders of the Martial World’? I happened to come across that title once, in some old account.”
Yan Yunzhi turned her attention this way, listening intently. Li Ruoyao stroked his beard and gave a hearty laugh.
“Indeed — Second Master truly is well-versed. As for just how remarkable these ‘Three Wonders of the Martial World’ really were, you’ll likely recognize the other two once I mention them. A hundred years ago, there was a great master among the martial world’s outlaws whose blade technique was said to border on the divine — he wrote the Blade Classic, which has been passed down ever since. His surname was Zuo, given name Chuanshu. The lineage of his blade technique survives to this day in the southwest and in the Miao borderlands — it’s none other than the Overlord Blade style everyone knows so well. The famous Liu Dabiao of years past was said to be a direct heir of the Zuo family’s Blade Classic.”
Yan Yunzhi’s eyes widened — only now did she realize just how formidable these “Three Wonders of the Martial World” truly were. Beside her, “Miao Blade” Shi Shuifang gave a short grunt. “That’s all true. Though I’ve had my own old grudge with the Overlord Blade clan, I have nothing but the deepest respect for the Zuo family’s blade technique.”
Li Ruoyao smiled. “As for the second of these Three Wonders, his reputation is even greater still than Zuo Chuanshu’s. His surname was Tan, given name Zhengfang. The lineage he passed down is known to everyone throughout the realm today — I imagine the heroine Yunshui here has surely heard of it as well.”
He looked toward Yan Yunzhi with a smile, and she nodded, her expression turning solemn. “‘Iron Arm’ Zhou Tong — the great hero Zhou Tong — was his final, closest disciple.”
“Exactly right,” Li Ruoyao said. “Among these Three Wonders, Zuo Chuanshu passed down the blade, Tan Zhengfang excelled in spear and staff, and as for the hero Zhou Tong, he further added techniques from the Fanzi Fist and Zhuojiao styles, branching out even further. As for the elder Wang Hao, he combined the Large and Small Monkey Fist styles with the White Ape Arm-Extending style, truly turning the monkey fist into a major school of its own in its own right. Elder Wang Hao passed his teachings on to thirteen disciples in all, and he himself was the first-generation ‘Monkey King.’ As for Ruoque, he was the third-generation ‘Monkey King,’ and now with Yanfeng, we’ve reached the fourth generation… Actually, this title of ‘Monkey King’ has been contested in every generation — though outsiders in the martial world may not know it, there was once a formidable villain named Qiu Tianhai who long coveted that very title…”
The demonstration continued below, and as Yan Yunzhi listened to Li Ruoyao hold forth at length, she found herself, at first, somewhat irritated by his boasting about his own family’s lineage — but by now she’d grown genuinely engrossed in the tale.
In truth, though martial-arts fiction had already become quite popular by this time, there were few true elders within the actual martial world who could speak so fluently and knowledgeably about all these various anecdotes and legends. She had once visited, alongside her father, the martial-arts luminary Old Man Liutong of Jiayu, and had come away deeply impressed by his breadth of knowledge and dignified bearing — but she had, if she was honest, always looked down somewhat on a style as seemingly comical as monkey fist. She’d never have guessed that this old man, whose reputation had always been overshadowed by his elder cousin Li Ruoque, would turn out to have such remarkable depth himself.
Watching the demonstration below with fresh eyes now, she began to notice a great deal of subtle brilliance in it that she hadn’t seen before.
After the demonstration of the monkey fist forms concluded, the Yan family sent out its own people to demonstrate the essential principles of their Tan Gong Sword technique, followed by a round of friendly sparring between the Li family’s monkey-fist disciples and the Yan family’s own practitioners. By this point, both sides had already shown each other considerable respect, and were beginning to exchange genuine techniques in private, behind the more formal demonstrations.
The Yan family’s journey to Jiangning, with this visit to Tongshan along the way, actually carried several layers of purpose. Chief among them was the intention to open up a route of passage running east to west — after all, once the marriage between Yan Yunzhi and Shi Baofeng’s side was finalized, both families would gain close, mutually beneficial ties, and having such a route open could lead to all manner of future profit, with the Li family, too, standing to benefit as a key link along that chain.
Of course, a matter this complex couldn’t possibly be settled here and now — it would very likely need to wait until they reached Jiangning and consulted Li Yanfeng himself.
But beneath this larger objective, the natural thing to do in the meantime was to build goodwill between the two sides through mutual visits, and as fellow martial families, to exchange skills with one another. And since the larger matter of the trade route couldn’t be settled on the spot, the Li family clearly wasn’t holding back when it came to smaller courtesies, like sharing a few “signature skills” of the monkey fist — after all, even setting aside the complexities of the passage deal, how could the Li family fail to show some favor elsewhere, given that Yan Yunzhi was the intended daughter-in-law of Shi Baofeng himself?
The disciples’ exchange on the training ground was kept fairly restrained, and honestly rather dull. Toward the end of the demonstration, the monk Cixin stepped onto the field and showed the assembled guests a few of his signature internal palm techniques, splitting wood and shattering stone right there on the grounds — a genuinely fearsome display. Everyone watching felt a quiet chill, thinking to themselves that if that monk’s palm ever landed on their own body, there’d be little chance of surviving it.
After the monk Cixin’s demonstration, the Yan family sent out one of their retained guest-fighters, who demonstrated the signature “Mandarin Duck Consecutive Kicks” technique. Everyone’s spirits were high at this point, and there was no real hostility brewing, so the Li family’s steward, “Lightning Whip” Wu Cheng, stepped onto the field as well with a smile, and the two matched leg technique against leg technique in a fierce, evenly-fought bout that ended, after a while, in a draw.
Yan Yunzhi had always known the skill of her own family’s guest-fighter, and though both sides had clearly held back in this match, it was more than enough to demonstrate just how formidable Wu Cheng’s leg technique truly was. Watching, she felt an itch to test herself, eager for a turn. After a moment, “Miao Blade” Shi Shuifang rose with a smile as well. “Well, everyone’s had their turn to perform — I suppose it’s time for this humble one to make a fool of himself as well. Any brother here feeling restless, willing to cross hands with me?”
Yan Yunzhi glanced toward her second uncle, then pressed her lips together and rose to her feet. “I’ve long admired the name of Miao Blade — I wonder if Master Shi might be willing to lower himself and offer this humble girl a few pointers.”
Her words caught everyone momentarily off guard. Shi Shuifang’s brow furrowed slightly, clearly at a loss as well. A demonstration was one thing, but a proper sparring match between peers — and Shi Shuifang himself a renowned master of the martial world — being challenged by a junior, and a woman at that, what exactly was the meaning of this? In any other setting, a fight might well have broken out on the spot.
After a moment, Yan Tiehe finally rose with a smile. “Master Shi, don’t take offense — allow me to apologize to everyone on her behalf first. My niece Yunzhi here — don’t let her quiet, gentle manner fool you, she’s actually loved martial arts since she was a little girl, an absolute fanatic for it. In the past, whenever the group got together to spar, she’d always insist on joining in, wouldn’t hear of being left out. And it’s my own fault, really — I mentioned the wonders of your circular blade technique to her on the way here, and she declared that once we reached the mountain, she absolutely had to seek your instruction personally. Master Shi, what do you say to—”
At this, Yan Yunzhi added, “Master Shi, Yunzhi is only a junior here — I wouldn’t dare speak of ‘sparring’ with you. I only hope Master Shi might offer a few pointers.”
Put this way, Shi Shuifang broke into a laugh, and the others laughed along as well, nodding in agreement at once. Beside him, Wu Cheng said with a grin, “Master Shi, mind you don’t lose to her, now!”
Old Li Ruoyao, seated at the head of the group, laughed as well. “If you injure our heroine Yunshui here, none of us present will let you off easily!”
Shi Shuifang gave a wry, furrowed smile. “Now that’s a tricky spot to be in.”
With that, Yan Yunzhi turned on her heel and descended the steps, her movements light and graceful. In a few swift motions, she leapt like a swallow onto the uneven, staggered wooden training posts set up along the side of the training ground, spreading both arms wide as the short swords in her hands suddenly flashed into view, then vanished behind her back just as quickly. In the afternoon sunlight, she stood perfectly balanced atop the highest post, as if riding the wind itself, carrying herself with the ethereal grace of an immortal skimming across water, a faint aura of severity emanating from her.
Everyone present froze for a moment. Shi Shuifang shook his head and said again, “Now that’s a tricky spot to be in.” He picked up the Miao blade at his side and walked toward the posts.
It was the twentieth day of the seventh month that year, and the evening sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon.
Yan Yunzhi and the others walked out of the Li family compound and gathered on a nearby hillside to take in the surrounding scenery. Old Li Ruoyao was pointing out to the group where the Jurchen soldiers had once come storming through, and which mountain Li Yanfeng had led everyone into hiding on, while in her own mind, Yan Yunzhi was quietly turning over and replaying the sparring match from earlier.
Back on the wooden posts at the Li family’s training ground, her match with Shi Shuifang had come to an end at the eleventh exchange. There had been little suspense as to the outcome, but everyone watching had felt their hearts pound with alarm all the same.
The Yan family’s Tan Gong Sword technique excelled at the art of assassination, its swordwork sharp and edged with considerable risk-taking; while the circular blade technique in Shi Shuifang’s hands was even more vicious and unpredictable, each stroke of the blade scattering out like a nest of striking snakes. Yan Yunzhi could see clearly that every single strike had been aimed at a vital point — a single bite from any one of those “snakes” could well have proven fatal. And the fact that Shi Shuifang had managed to defeat her by the eleventh exchange, even holding back at the critical moment, was more than enough proof that his own level of mastery lay well beyond her own.
On the other hand, after this sparring match, the way others spoke of her — this “Cloud-Water Sword” heroine — no longer carried any hint of condescension. Li Ruoyao, Wu Cheng, the monk Cixin, and the rest had all nodded in solemn approval, remarking that reaching this level of swordsmanship at seventeen was truly no small feat, and any lingering doubts about the tales of her having once killed Jurchen soldiers had likely been put to rest. As for Yan Yunzhi herself, she knew that, someday soon, she would genuinely surpass this “Miao Blade” Shi Shuifang in swordsmanship.
Standing there on the hillside, watching the setting sun, Yan Yunzhi’s thoughts turned toward matters of martial skill — beyond that, in truth, there wasn’t much else on her mind these days. The marriage awaiting her ahead wasn’t something she had any say in; she had no idea what kind of character Shi Baofeng’s son possessed, what sort of man he truly was, and for most of the rest of her life, control would largely be out of her hands. But this one thing — the skill in her own two hands — was something she could genuinely and thoroughly master for herself.
The group of martial-world figures around her chatted and laughed together; she didn’t join in, understanding clearly in her heart that this kind of life among the martial underworld was, in truth, very far removed from her own.
This was not her future.
But even after marrying and bearing children, she could still continue training, and someday, she might become truly, formidably skilled. Perhaps, too, Shi Baofeng’s son — her future husband — would turn out to be a man who cared deeply for the realm, and her own future might yet turn into something like the legendary hero and general “Overlord Blade” Liu Xigua, sweeping unstoppably across the land.
This was a stretch of land beyond the Li family’s fortified compound, and here and there, near and far, some of the Li family’s tenant farmers moved about. She paid the ordinary people little attention, her mind still occupied with matters of martial skill, her gaze drifting instead toward the various formidable martial figures around her. It was at this very moment that, from somewhere not far off, a sudden commotion arose.
“Hey, Steward Wu!”
Someone called out.
The voice was young, still cracking with the awkward pitch of adolescence, and its tone wasn’t particularly pleasant. The group taking in the scenery didn’t immediately react, and Yan Yunzhi herself didn’t immediately register who “Steward Wu” might be. But the robed man standing closer to the Li family estate had already heard it, and called back, “Who’s there?”
It was “Lightning Whip” Wu Cheng.
Someone dared speak to him like that? And a child, no less? Yan Yunzhi felt a flicker of confusion, narrowing her eyes to look that way.
In the light of the setting sun, walking toward them was indeed a young man who looked rather young in years. He seemed to have been sitting at a tea table by the roadside outside the estate just moments ago, and was now walking toward Wu Cheng, saying as he came, “I’ve come here to settle a score.” His words carried a faint drawl at the end, flat and artless, with a certain matter-of-fact air, as if he had no idea at all how serious a thing he was about to do — but as people of the martial world, everyone present was acutely sensitive to the words “settle a score,” and every gaze immediately turned that way.
Silhouetted against the setting sun, the approaching young man dragged a long wooden bench behind him, his gait utterly ordinary. No one knew what was happening. One of the Li family’s outer disciples reached out to block his path. “What do you think you’re—” He shoved out a hand, but for some reason, the boy’s figure had already walked straight past him, dragging the bench along, apparently intending to attack the man he’d called “Steward Wu.”
It was the kind of move you’d expect from a common street brawler.
Wu Cheng had earned the name “Lightning Whip” through no small number of bloody encounters in the martial world — how many times had he faced down real danger? A single man swinging a wooden bench at him was, frankly, one of the more laughable threats he’d ever faced. He sneered and muttered something under his breath, and his right leg lashed out with a whistling kick, aimed upward at an angle.
Everyone watching the sunset assumed the boy’s bench would snap in two under that kick, and that the boy himself might well be sent flying, coughing up blood. Then came a thunderous crack.
In the golden-orange light spilling across the sky like splashed ink, the boy swung his bench downward with full force. Wu Cheng squared his stance and drove out a hard kick — sending up a spray of grass and dirt, and by all rights should have connected with the bench, and with the boy leaning forward from the momentum of his swing — but for some reason, the boy’s entire motion seemed to lag by half a breath. As his swing came down, Wu Cheng’s right leg kicked through empty air.
With a loud crack, grass and dirt scattered everywhere in every direction, followed immediately by a scream so agonized it sounded as though someone’s very heart and lungs had been torn out — the scream rising from low to high, spreading across the entire hillside in an instant. Wu Cheng collapsed to the ground; the left leg he’d planted as his pivot point now bent backward at an angle no normal human body could ever achieve — his entire knee, along with the bone of his leg, had just been shattered completely, brutally, by that single blow.
“Ahh… aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh—” Only now did everyone realize this sound was coming from him.
The bench in the boy’s hands hadn’t broken. Having smashed Wu Cheng and sent him rolling away, the boy followed after him and brought the bench down a second time — this one clearly shattering his fingers — then a third.
“I told you! Don’t you dare! Kick my bench! You kicked my bench…”
Beneath the setting sun, he held that bench and beat Wu Cheng in a frenzy…