Chapter Forty-Four: The Successor of the Tiger Cannon Fist

Feng Yisheng glanced around and noticed a thicket not far away, where an elderly man with white hair and a youthful face was practicing martial arts, his movements precise and methodical. Curiosity stirred within Feng Yisheng, compelling him to walk over.

Yet as Feng Yisheng looked at the old man, the Pure Yang Manual surged with information, flooding his mind. It turned out the Pure Yang Manual could analyze the techniques performed by others and assess their strengths and weaknesses. Feng Yisheng took a closer look and realized that although the old man's punches appeared aggressive, they were merely for show, lacking real combat efficacy. Despite their impressive appearance, the techniques were, in fact, quite weak.

Originally, Feng Yisheng had thought he might have encountered a master of martial arts and hoped to observe and perhaps learn some information about the discipline. But the elder was far too feeble; it seemed unlikely he would know anything of value, prompting Feng Yisheng to shake his head almost unconsciously.

This gesture did not go unnoticed. The old man practicing nearby and a young woman in her twenties beside him saw Feng Yisheng shake his head. The young woman immediately turned to the old man and said, "Grandfather, I told you not to come here, but you insisted. Now someone’s mocking you."

She continued, "That boy dares to ridicule Grandfather. I’ll go teach him a lesson."

"Xiaoyun, don’t be rude," the old man admonished, but his granddaughter was already striding over to confront the young man, leaving him no choice but to smile wryly and shake his head in resignation.

The young woman called Xiaoyun reached Feng Yisheng in a few brisk steps. Dressed in a white martial arts uniform, her brows knitted in slight displeasure, she sized him up and said, "Boy, do you understand what you’re seeing? Why the shake of the head?"

Feng Yisheng hadn’t realized that his inadvertent gesture would be seen as an offense. He quickly replied, "Sorry, my head shake just now was because I was thinking about something—it wasn’t meant as an insult."

"Hmph, who knows?" the woman retorted angrily. "Who knows what schemes you’re plotting?"

She suddenly declared, "Oh! I see now. You must have been secretly watching, hoping to steal my grandfather’s Tiger Cannon Fist, right?" Her expression was one of sudden enlightenment.

Feng Yisheng was momentarily stunned. So that was the Tiger Cannon Fist—the old man's technique did have a hint of a tiger descending from the mountain. However, mere momentum without actual power was meaningless.

This young woman certainly had an imagination, Feng Yisheng thought. Still, he could understand why his unintended observation might have caused a misunderstanding.

Seeing Feng Yisheng silent, the young woman assumed he was guilty and felt vindicated. "Well? Am I right?" she pressed.

"It’s not what you think. I truly didn’t mean to spy. I just happened to see it," Feng Yisheng answered, full of apology.

The woman was about to speak again, but noticed her grandfather approaching, so she kept quiet, her large eyes fixed on Feng Yisheng.

The old man walked straight up to Feng Yisheng. Earlier, he had seen someone shake their head at his technique and felt indignant, for his Tiger Cannon Fist was renowned throughout the martial arts world of China. He approached partly to protect his granddaughter, but also to discern the background of this young man who dared to shake his head.

Just as he was about to speak, he scrutinized Feng Yisheng—and was utterly shocked.

Feng Yisheng’s eyes burned like torches, yet possessed a simplicity that seemed to return to nature. His entire being radiated a force ready to burst forth. The old man had seen such presence only in the abbot of China’s ancient Shaolin monastery, a master monk whose age exceeded eighty. Yet Feng Yisheng appeared to be barely in his twenties.

The old man wondered, could he have mastered some ancient secret art? Was he really so young? If so, then he had truly failed to recognize greatness when it stood before him. Realizing this, the elder felt his earlier resentment at the head shake was misplaced and a desire to seek instruction arose within him.

He spoke, "So you are a fellow martial artist, young man! I am Yang Zhengwu, sixteenth-generation successor of the Tiger Cannon Fist. May I ask where you hail from, and who is your master?"

"Master?" Feng Yisheng murmured, puzzled. He felt it would be absurd to say he was taught by the founder of Pure Yang. That was out of the question. After a moment’s thought, Feng Yisheng forced a smile and replied, "Master, I have no teacher."

This answer left the old man confused, for now Feng Yisheng seemed just like any ordinary person. Had he been mistaken earlier?

Yet moments ago, he had clearly sensed an overwhelming aura from the young man—now it was gone. How strange.

Nevertheless, years of experience told the old man that this youth was not as simple as he appeared. He remained respectful and said, "Young man, my granddaughter was rude to you earlier—please accept my apologies."

Feng Yisheng replied, "No need, Master. I was the one who watched uninvited."

Seeing Feng Yisheng’s forgiving manner, the old man continued, "Just now you shook your head. Do you have critiques of my Tiger Cannon Fist?"

Noting the elder’s earnestness, Feng Yisheng answered, "Master, it’s only my personal opinion—you needn’t take it to heart."

"Speak freely," the old man urged.

Feng Yisheng said, "Master, your Tiger Cannon Fist is indeed fierce, but its flaws are considerable. Though the attack has momentum, it lacks follow-through, and your movements are too slow. Furthermore, each punch requires the mobilization of your entire body’s energy. I suspect, in perfecting this technique, you have suffered numerous injuries?"

Before the old man could reply, Xiaoyun interjected. Her grandfather had been tormented by injuries for years due to his dedication to the Tiger Cannon Fist—many outsiders knew this. Seeing Feng Yisheng pinpoint her grandfather’s ailment, she suspected he had deliberately investigated their family to gain access, given her grandfather’s unique status.

What she failed to realize was that, if Feng Yisheng truly intended to approach her grandfather, he would hardly employ such a crude tactic.

Her expression turned doubtful, but soon shifted to anger. "Speak! What are your intentions, boy? How did you know about my grandfather’s illness?"

At that moment, anger flared in Feng Yisheng’s heart. Here was her grandfather, eager to learn, yet she, a mere granddaughter, insisted on meddling.