Chapter 62: The Etiquette of a National Scholar

I took out three hundred yuan, handed it to him, and said, "Go get it bandaged."

He quickly waved his hands and said, "Every debt has its debtor. Young Master Lin has money, and I know who to hold accountable. Brother, would you mind leaving your name?"

"Just remember my face. As for my name, you will hear it before many years pass," I replied.

He stood up, cupped his fists in a salute, and turned to leave. He came in a hurry, and he departed just as swiftly, leaving not a trace behind.

This meal had now come to an end. The two of us, along with Li Mengge, whose face had been drained of color from fright, left the restaurant and escorted her to her rented room. When we said goodbye, the young girl's eyes were red and filled with lingering reluctance; she took ten steps and turned back three times.

"If you had asked to go up for a sit-down, she definitely wouldn't have refused," Wu Dahai chuckled.

"Forget it, playing the big shot just for the thrill is enough. The things we're about to do are too dangerous; we shouldn't drag her into this mess. Did those people follow us?" I asked.

"No, they don't have the guts. I didn't hold back much; it'll take them at least a week to recover," Wu Dahai said nonchalantly.

At that moment, I had only one thought: those three hundred thousand yuan were truly well spent.

"Brother Dahai, with your skills, if you had wanted to pledge your loyalty and work for someone else before, you could have saved Niuniu's life much earlier, right?" I asked.

Wu Dahai looked at me.

After gazing at me for a full minute, he softly said, "How could it be as simple as you think? Back when I was with Awang, I showed my skills more than once. Did he ever think I was anything more than a gatekeeper? He never considered giving me any other kind of work. Rich people never lack lackeys, and I've never been good at bootlicking. To tell you the honest truth, Ah Cheng, the reason I'm willing to help you isn't just because you helped me borrow money for Niuniu. It's because you were willing to bring me two bottles of wine, because you dared to borrow that three hundred thousand for my sake, and because out of those forty-seven thousand you had today, you were ready to give thirty thousand to a poor brother to buy a phone. I've lived for thirty or forty years. I've seen plenty of people go through hardships together, and I've also seen plenty of people fall out over money. Money is the ultimate test of human nature, and the clearest mirror to see through a person. You're the first young man I've ever seen handle things the way you do. I'm willing to help you because I want to see, alongside Uncle Yong, just how far you can actually go."

"Keep praising me and my feet will leave the ground," I laughed.

"You won't," Wu Dahai said.

"Brother Dahai, can you teach me kung fu? I want to be formidable too; I can't always rely on someone else's power to bully others," I said.

"I can, and your physical foundation isn't bad either. But my style of kung fu might not suit you. Whether it's Bagua Zhang or Xingyi Quan, neither can be mastered in three or five years. Even if you do master them, they might not be suited for actual street combat. The reason I'm confident in my skills is because of my traditional martial arts foundation from youth combined with my training in the military," Wu Dahai said.

"I understand. Train in the blazing heat of summer and the freezing cold of winter, practice both external forms and internal strength—it's all written in the books. What if I want a shortcut that's especially suited for street combat, one against five?" I laughed.

"Among modern combat sports, Muay Thai is the most grueling to train in and yields results the fastest. But things meant for the ring aren't necessarily the best for the streets. What truly suits the street are weapons and hidden projectiles. No matter how formidable bare hands are, they can't compare to holding a kitchen knife, right? When I was in the military, I had a comrade surnamed Tian, from Sichuan. He could throw stones with deadly accuracy, hitting a willow leaf from a hundred paces. He would keep a dozen solid steel balls in his pockets and hit whatever he pointed at within thirty meters. Used on the street, wouldn't that be more lethal than any martial art? How many people you can take down depends entirely on how many steel balls you load. If you want a quick path to mastery, these two suit you best: one is broad and sweeping saber technique, and the other is this hundred-pace-piercing hidden weapon. Coincidentally, I've learned both," Wu Dahai said.

A phrase involuntarily popped into my mind.

*Little Li's flying dagger never misses its target.*

First take down a few opponents from a distance with steel balls, then draw a kitchen knife and slash through the crowd at close quarters.

That was the street.

No rules, no restrictions.

"I'll learn. But we might have forgotten one thing: Uncle Yong said he wants to spar with you tonight," I said.

"That's right, let's head back quickly," Wu Dahai said.

The two of us hailed a taxi and rushed back to Jinku Village. Upon our return, my cousin Chen Jianjun and Wang Chuyi were already waiting to report their battle results. Time was tight; I pulled out my phone, tossed one to each of them, and ignoring their surprise, said, "We'll talk on the way. Tonight, there's going to be a showdown between Jianghu masters. If you miss this village, you won't find this shop anywhere else."

Hearing this, the two of them immediately followed me out. When we reached downstairs, even Xiaowen was already waiting there. I went back upstairs to call my senior martial brother Lin Chongsheng, and our group, led by Uncle Yong, marched imposingly forward along the street. It wasn't until we reached our destination that I realized the place where Uncle Yong and Wu Dahai were going to spar tonight was actually the Huang Family Ancestral Hall—more precisely, a martial arts hall behind the ancestral hall.

The martial arts hall was brightly lit, with a group of bare-chested young men undergoing training. Uncle Yong introduced that this was training for the Dragon Boat Festival races: they practiced coordination in the river during the day and strength training here in the martial arts hall at night.

The rhythmic beat of drums and the synchronized shouts filled the air, making my blood rush with excitement.

Dragon boat racing during the Dragon Boat Festival was a tradition, but back in our hometown, most families at best ate zongzi or stuck mugwort leaves at their doorways. Why didn't we hold dragon boat races? Was it really because the North lagged behind the South in preserving traditional culture? Did we not want the lively atmosphere?

Ultimately, it boiled down to poverty—to not having money.

The pursuit of spiritual and mental fulfillment is a luxury that can only be sought after the material world is satisfied. In our hometown village, where the annual household income was less than two thousand yuan, if anyone took the lead in organizing such an event, they would be cursed as having too much time on their hands and nothing better to do.

Bypassing the group of training youths, there was a slightly smaller area in the back where several old men were brewing tea and chatting beside a tea table. Seeing us approach, these old men stood up and walked toward us. As they walked, they laughed and said, "Old Five, I heard you're trading blows with a young man tonight. The few of us were so excited we came hours early. If the fight isn't thrilling later, you'll be doing our anticipation a great injustice."

"Old Five" was the name they used for Uncle Yong.

During this time, I had heard a few of the elders address him this way. The origin of this nickname was that among the male cousins of his generation, he ranked fifth.

Uncle Yong smiled and said, "He's from Cangzhou, Hebei. He started practicing Bagua Youlong Zhang at age five, Xingyi Quan at age twelve, wielded a tasseled spear for five years, and enlisted at eighteen to become a top recruit. If he hadn't had to retire because of his mother's failing health, he almost would have made it into the top three special operations companies in all of North China. A person like this certainly won't disappoint you."

The old men all wore amazed expressions as they looked at our group. Uncle Yong pulled me forward first and introduced me, saying, "Zhang Zhicheng. I'm about to take him as my sworn godson. He's only twenty years old this year."