Chapter 53: The Art of Kung Fu

Originally, I planned to go back and change clothes before seeking out that feng shui master, but when I reached downstairs, I found Wu Dahai actually playing chess with Uncle Yong.

Seeing me approach, Wu Dahai reached out his hand for a greeting. Yet, when he noticed the dirt and grime caked all over me, his outstretched hand froze mid-air, and the smile on his face immediately stiffened. He stood up at once and said, “Acheng, what happened to you...?”

“I went to work. Just found a job,” I replied.

Wu Dahai’s eyes instantly reddened. Here was a man in his forties, standing there utterly at a loss.

Uncle Yong chuckled softly, packing up the chessboard and said, “Dahai, you haven’t answered my question earlier. What do you think is the highest level such a young man could reach in the future?”

Wu Dahai pointed upwards, “Very high—about three stories tall.”

Uncle Yong nodded, “I think so too. The era belongs to young people like you. Don’t think you’re old; can the old bones like me outlast you?”

With that, Uncle Yong laughed and carried the chessboard back inside.

Seeing Wu Dahai’s troubled expression, I walked over and said, “Brother Dahai, don’t feel embarrassed. Carrying cement is one thing, the three hundred thousand yuan is another; they don’t mix. Didn’t you say you were taking Niuniu to Beijing for treatment? Why haven’t you left yet? Go early and ease that burden weighing on your heart.”

“I told your sister-in-law about the situation, and she said she could take the child alone. It’s the time when you need the most help, so I must stay and support you,” Wu Dahai said.

“Can your sister-in-law manage alone?” I asked.

“No problem. She’s experienced, and besides, we’ve been to that hospital before,” Wu Dahai assured me.

I didn’t fuss any further. Having Wu Dahai stay to help was truly reassuring. Though I already had the Five Generals of Qianmen, an extra ally like him was an even greater guarantee, especially with his skills.

I took Wu Dahai upstairs to shower and change. Looking at the wounds on my skin, Wu Dahai said, “Acheng, you really don’t have to push yourself so hard.”

“Before anything succeeds, I must provide them with the bare minimum for life. It’s rare that everyone trusts me; I can’t let the brothers work for nothing. Dreaming and painting grand visions don’t fill stomachs. Money is the most concrete thing,” I smiled and then shot him a glance. “Brother Dahai, if you don’t turn around soon, are you trying to look at my backside?”

He laughed heartily, “A solid body is a good foundation!”

Despite the joke, he turned away, and I quickly stripped and stepped into the bathroom. After showering, I asked, “Brother Dahai, where did you learn your kung fu? Can you teach me?”

“Our hometown is a martial arts hub. Many people know kung fu. I was weak as a child, so the old man had me train in Bagua Youlong Palm. Later, I studied Xing Yi Quan under a master for five years. My body grew strong, and I gained skills, but I was mischievous, always fighting and causing trouble. My family couldn’t control me, so they sent me to the army for training. I served three years and almost joined the special forces, but when my mother fell ill, I returned home. I had a job lined up at the local textile mill, but the bosses treated us poorly. Since the workers knew I could fight, they sent me as their representative to protest. I even beat up the factory manager and some leaders. When their wages finally arrived, I ended up in jail for two years and lost my job. Since then, I’ve never used kung fu again,” Wu Dahai recounted with a smile.

“That’s quite a legendary story,” I said.

He sighed, “Legendary? What’s legendary about it? Kung fu is useless in peaceful times. Few people back home still practice it. Learning kung fu offers no future. When the body grows strong, the mind often becomes simple and impulsive. Among my Xing Yi brothers, some ended up in jail, one was even killed. The rest just work and farm.”

“Then what about Cheng Yi? What style does he practice?” I asked.

“His kung fu is a mix. It looks like Wing Chun but isn’t quite. It’s probably a small southern style. People used to say ‘southern fists and northern kicks,’ but during the Republic era, a few martial arts masters founded the Chinese Martial Arts Association to promote the fusion of northern and southern styles. So southern masters learned some northern kicking techniques, and northerners picked up some southern punches. It’s all mixed now,” Wu Dahai explained.

Talking to a professional about such matters was enlightening—these were details even Senior Liu Qingshan’s book didn’t cover.

“If you fought Cheng Yi, what are your chances?” I asked softly, adding, “Of course, I’m not asking you to hurt or kill him. We want to avoid violence whenever possible.”

“It’s not that simple. In street fights, it’s fifty-fifty. If there’s space to set up, I’d say I have a seventy percent chance. With weapons, I could kill him within three moves,” Wu Dahai said.

“You seem different today, Brother Dahai,” I laughed.

He nodded, “A weight has been lifted from my heart. By the way, Uncle Yong downstairs is also a martial artist, practicing both internal and external styles. He invited me to spar at Tianyi Plaza tonight. Do you think I should try to beat him?”

Seeing my hesitation,

Wu Dahai stretched out his hand.

His hand was large and looked smooth.

He let me touch it. When I did, I found it covered with dense, tough calluses beneath that seemingly smooth surface.

“When we were playing chess, he noticed my hands and recognized the signs of Bagua Palm. My hands have been soaked in medicinal solutions since I was five. Except for the years I was in jail, I’ve kept up the practice,” Wu Dahai explained.

“The three hundred thousand yuan I borrowed from him. He’s our true pillar for the future. If he wants to spar, let him. If you win, it proves the money was well spent. But don’t let him lose too badly—give the old man some face,” I smiled.

“If it were external kung fu, youth is an advantage. I’m confident. But Uncle Yong is skilled in both internal and external arts; I’m not sure I can truly defeat him,” Wu Dahai scratched his head.

“What about with weapons?” I asked.

“With weapons, it’s killing. Acheng, kung fu is meant for killing,” Wu Dahai said.

I didn’t ask more, as it was already late. We hurried outside and caught the number four bus. By the time we arrived at Zhiyi Hall, it was past six.

Zhiyi Hall was decorated in an ancient, elegant style. A wooden plaque at the entrance bore a couplet:

“Yin and Yang in the hexagrams foretell fortune and misfortune; destiny can be changed.

Within the sleeve lies the universe, embracing sun and moon; the Dao follows nature’s law.”

The horizontal inscription read: “Guiding Through the Mysteries.”

Wu Dahai was somewhat nervous. The Master Lai was reputed far and wide; ordinary people held deep respect for such metaphysical experts. I wasn’t without respect either, but until I was sure this feng shui master was truly extraordinary, my reverence was limited.

“Once inside, don’t say a word. I’ll test his skills,” I said.

Wu Dahai nodded silently.

We entered.

A man dressed in white layman’s robes was reading the palm of a woman.

His speech was professional; the woman looked devout.

From their conversation, it seemed she was a widow facing a new chapter in life and sought the master’s advice on whether remarriage was suitable.

The man pondered for a while, analyzing her zodiac, birth chart, yin and yang, and the five elements, then concluded that remarriage was advisable.

The woman’s face brightened with joy, she handed over a generous red envelope and thanked him profusely before leaving.

Judging by the thickness of the envelope, it contained at least a thousand yuan.

The man calmly placed the envelope into a drawer, stood up, and escorted the woman to the door. Then he turned his sharp gaze toward us. In an instant, I felt as if his eyes had scanned me from head to toe—this was a specialty of the Jin Dian Sect: reading subtle signs and testing sincerity.

“The Dao is not sold cheaply, the method not lightly shared. For seeking fortune and avoiding misfortune, three hundred yuan per reading,” the man said.

“Three hundred if the reading is accurate, that’s fair. But what if it’s not?” I asked.

“If it’s not accurate, not a cent will be charged. Which of you wants a reading?” the man asked.

“Me,” I smiled and sat down.