Chapter Fifty-One: The Martial Arts Trial

At dawn the next morning, as the sky lightened and the lingering mist had yet to disperse, delicate rays of morning sunlight filtered through the shrubs and flowerbeds of the campus. The light, dappling through the leaves, resembled fireflies dancing in the night—sometimes settling on fallen, withered leaves, sometimes shimmering in the rippling stream, and occasionally resting on the passersby. Autumn had come, though its presence was subtle.

On the sports field not far from the woods, many students had already gathered. Some sat alone, quietly reading; others played in cheerful groups of three or five; still others exercised. Yet on the track, only four young men jogged slowly.

Leading the group was a strikingly handsome youth, his straight, sword-like brows shadowing deep, luminous eyes, his features radiating confidence. Dressed in blue athletic shorts and a black, tight-fitting tank top that accentuated his sculpted chest and well-defined abs, his exposed arms displayed sinewy, angular muscles. Such a near-perfect physique moved with effortless ease, drawing admiring gazes from many smitten onlookers.

Behind him ran a burly figure, well over six feet tall, breathing a little heavily but still composed. Next was a bespectacled, slender young man, face pale but teeth clenched in determination as he pressed on. Bringing up the rear was another in athletic gear, hair slicked with wax and shining with sweat, his legs trembling so much that he seemed ready to collapse at any moment.

“Phew… Hey, Third Bro, is the hour up yet? I really can’t go on anymore. If this keeps up, forget mastering martial arts—I’ll be dead before I learn a thing.” The speaker, gasping for breath, was none other than the flamboyant Zhang Yi.

“Second Bro, weren’t you the one insisting on learning martial arts yesterday? Now it’s been less than an hour and you’re giving up? Look at Four-Eyes over there—he’s about to turn white, but not a word of complaint. That’s what I call a man. You, not so much!” Of course, this was their eldest, Chen Gang.

“You… You think everyone’s a gorilla like you, all brute strength?” retorted Chen Yi with a snort of disdain.

“I just want to get a bit stronger, not become some big-shot. At least I won’t get bullied anymore.” Despite his slight frame, Wang Shiren had surprising endurance—a good deal more than Zhang Yi, the spoiled rich kid. Though pale, he didn’t even sound winded as he spoke.

“Sigh! If I’d known it’d be this tough, I’d never have started. I thought learning kung fu would let me uphold world peace, but here I am, half-dead before I’ve even begun. Why am I so unlucky?” Zhang Yi continued his litany of complaints as he staggered along.

“Pah! Uphold world peace? You? Who do you think you are, Spider-Man swinging around with a rope, or Superman flying about with his underwear on the outside? You’re just a show-off, learning kung fu to look cool and flirt with girls.” Ever since they’d met, Chen Gang and Zhang Yi had played off each other like this. Given a chance to poke fun, Chen Gang never missed it.

“Come on, Eldest, could you be any more shameless? You think you’re any different? Same milk, different carton—stop pretending.” Zhang Yi shot back, refusing to be outdone.

Only Liu Fan’s three dorm mates could manage such outrageous banter. The previous night, after Liu Fan and his group of seven left the police station, it was already too late and the campus dorms were locked, so they found a nice hotel to stay the night.

Under Three Wolves’ persistent questioning, Liu Fan told them how he became a special forces instructor. The moment Zhang Yi learned Liu Fan was a martial arts master, he eagerly begged to be accepted as a disciple, dragging the other two along for fear Liu Fan would refuse. Although the formal initiation hadn’t happened, Liu Fan agreed to teach them kung fu.

True to his word, Liu Fan dragged the three sleepyheads out to the sports field at dawn, leading to the present scene.

“All right, that’s an hour. Stop now.” Liu Fan looked at the exhausted trio with helpless amusement. As an immortal cultivator, he could have instantly imbued them with energy, as he’d done for special forces soldiers before, but he chose not to. Each person’s life follows its own path; if the three of them truly set out on the way of martial arts—or even cultivation—their future would be filled with hardship and danger. Circles of ability draw their own perils; the higher one climbs, the greater the risks.

Liu Fan wished for a peaceful life for his friends, but if they were determined, he would withhold nothing.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m dead! Thank heaven it’s over—any more and I’d have lost my life.” Zhang Yi, hearing the ordeal was done, flopped to the ground like a dead dog, grumbling all the while.

“Huff… Huff… This is the longest I’ve ever run. It’s really exhausting.” Even the strong-as-an-ox Chen Gang was sweating profusely, his clothes soaked, breath coming in gasps.

As for the slender Wang Shiren, he was too spent to speak, swallowing hard and saying nothing.

“You three, don’t just lie there like corpses. You can’t lie down right after running, or you’ll cramp up. Get up and walk it off.” Liu Fan was speechless at their lack of stamina, never realizing it was not their weakness but his own monstrous strength that made the difference.

“I can’t move. Not even if you kill me. Not everyone’s a freak like you,” Zhang Yi replied, shooting Liu Fan a resentful look.

“You guys are hopeless. If you want to learn martial arts, you have to be ready for hardship. There are no free lunches in this world. You reap what you sow—heaven rewards diligence.” Since he’d agreed to teach them, Liu Fan would do so thoroughly, but a little testing was necessary; even ancient apprentices faced three trials. The long run was a test of their endurance and willpower.

Of the three, only Chen Gang fared decently; the other two were pitiful. But the fact that they persisted at all spoke to their determination.

“Third Bro, who doesn’t know these principles? Spare me the lectures. Anyway, I’m not getting up,” Zhang Yi insisted stubbornly. Liu Fan was helpless, but for his friend’s health he decided to lend a hand. Approaching Zhang Yi, he knelt, pulled off Zhang Yi’s shoe, and with his right hand formed a sword-finger, pressing it to the Yongquan acupoint on Zhang Yi’s sole. Instantly, a barely visible golden glow flashed and entered the point.

At first, Zhang Yi thought Liu Fan had some strange fetish and tried to pull away, but the moment Liu Fan’s finger touched his foot, a stream of energy surged from his sole up to his kidneys, filling his body with a blissful sensation, as if drifting on clouds. Just as he closed his eyes to savor it, the sensation vanished. He sprang to his feet.

“Wow! I feel full of energy! But that felt so good—can I have another go, Third Bro?” Zhang Yi was back to his flamboyant self, grinning at Liu Fan.

“You think inner energy is candy, to be handed out at will? Dream on.” Seeing Zhang Yi’s antics, Liu Fan gave him a light kick, speaking with mock annoyance.

“Exactly! If cultivating inner strength were that easy, there’d be masters everywhere—and we wouldn’t have to run at all.” Chen Gang took the opportunity to rib Zhang Yi again, though he secretly wanted to try it himself.

“Mmm… Second Bro, be generous, do things properly—once you’re done, let others have a turn, understand?” Even Wang Shiren was intrigued, Zhang Yi’s performance having sparked his own curiosity.

“Is my character really that bad?” Zhang Yi wondered silently at their words.

Ten minutes later, Liu Fan repeated the process, using the true dragon’s qi to restore the other two’s strength as well. Their reactions were identical to Zhang Yi’s, and in no time, all three were lively again. The obvious effects piqued their interest, and they clamored for Liu Fan to teach them inner cultivation. Resigned, Liu Fan promised to find a quiet place another day to instruct them, finally quieting their excitement.

“Ow! Ah!” In the midst of their banter, Zhang Yi suddenly clutched his chest, calling out in pain. His vision darkened and he nearly fainted, but the pain passed quickly, leaving him feeling strangely empty inside.

“Second Bro, what’s wrong?” Moments ago he was fine, but now he was doubled over, throwing Chen Gang and Wang Shiren into a panic.

“I’m… I’m fine. I just felt a sharp pain in my heart, as if something important was slipping away from me. My left eyelid kept twitching, too. But I’m okay now,” Zhang Yi replied with a shaky smile.

“Good, as long as you’re all right. You looked so pale just now—we were really scared,” Chen Gang and Wang Shiren said, patting their chests in relief.

“No, let me check his pulse. There’s no major illness—this happened because something has gone wrong at home. It’s a bad omen.” To others, Zhang Yi’s sudden pain might seem a coincidence, but Liu Fan knew better. He had been taught by Fuxi himself, a master of prophecy and medicine. With a single glance at someone’s face, he could read the course of their fate; though he seldom used this skill, he could not ignore such a sign now.

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