Break his legs…
And throw him out of Xianyang?
In that moment, Li Yan understood why his father had been friends with this foul-mouthed old man Zhang and why Zhang had willingly schemed on his behalf.
Perhaps only his father's bold, easygoing nature could tolerate this sharp-tongued elder.
Though inwardly grumbling, Li Yan had no interest in talking.
Ignoring Zhang Shitong across from him, he turned to a chair at the side, first unstrapping his Guanshan blade from his waist, then slowly undoing the clasp to remove the sleeve-dagger from his left wrist.
His movements were deliberate, carrying a ritualistic air.
"The tiger's sleeve-dagger too?"
Zhang Yuanshang, seated above, caught sight of the short blade, a flicker of memory stirring. But noticing Li Yan's demeanor, a sly smile curled his lips. "Interesting…"
In this world, martial artists trained to kill.
Most kept their bodies relaxed, not strutting like fools to draw attention. When they struck, it was a thunderbolt.
But this was a spar, with no room for ambush, so Li Yan used the act of disrobing to adjust his state in mere moments.
When he turned, his eyes gleamed like cold steel.
Across from him, Zhang Shitong shed his carefree air, silent now. His hands shifted to palms, body slightly crouched, legs staggered in a half-squat, resembling a great rooster.
Chicken legs?
Li Yan's brow tightened, and he angled his body, setting his stance.
These "chicken legs" were anything but appetizing to an opponent.
The Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Fist emphasized a tiger's pounce, with starting moves like eagle's grasp, chicken legs, dragon body, bear waist, and tiger's embrace. Its reputation wasn't for show.
The chicken leg was the crux of the style—speed, power, all hinged on it. As the saying went: "Advance like a whirlwind sweeping the earth, all depends on the back leg's push, every step rooted in the chicken leg."
Most vividly, it mimicked a fighting cock.
Leaping, striking, defending—always ready in an instant.
Hence, practitioners of the Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Fist had an old saying: "Train the fist but not the legs, and you'll be a reckless fool till old age."
Li Yan's father, Li Hu, a seasoned wanderer of the martial world, had explained many widespread fist techniques to him.
Young as he was then, an ordinary boy might have forgotten, but Li Yan's mature soul had memorized every detail.
The Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Fist had many schools, each with distinct traits.
Cangzhou's was open and grand, Jinzhou's was compact and cunning, and the Central Plains' was fierce and domineering.
From Zhang Shitong's opening stance, Li Yan knew it stemmed from Jinzhou.
Jinzhou, home to many wealthy ticket merchants, was a hub for escort agencies and thriving martial circles.
When Zhang Shitong invited him with talk of "three parts smile, three parts reason, three parts wine," Li Yan had suspected as much, for it was a mantra of escort agents.
Escort agents prioritized negotiation, fighting only when words failed, but their strikes were secretive and slippery, adapted to any terrain, their fist techniques reflecting this.
Better watch for his hidden moves…
As this thought crossed Li Yan's mind, Zhang Shitong moved. His legs crossed in a quick step, closing the distance.
Li Yan's brow furrowed, and he sidestepped back.
He'd heard the Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Fist struck without moving the shoulders. Now, facing it, he felt the trouble—unable to read Zhang's intent.
Zhang Shitong surged forward. The short distance meant nothing. His right hand flicked, swiping at Li Yan's eyes.
The palm's wind stung Li Yan's eyes, forcing him to lean back.
But it was a feint. Zhang's left hand curled like a hammer, stabbing at Li Yan's upper abdomen. If it landed, Li Yan would be gasping like Meng Haichen.
But Li Yan, daring to spar, was no showman.
His right hand deflected the punch, then flipped to a claw, seizing Zhang's wrist.
This was the essence of Red Fist: cunning strikes!
Red Fist wasn't about taking hits. Its agile footwork—whether advancing, retreating, attacking, or defending—was all for setting up a strike.
Even a parry was a trap.
If this grip held, the next move would draw blood!
But Zhang's move was another feint.
His left hand slipped from Li Yan's grasp like an eel. Like a tiger pouncing, he accelerated, slamming his shoulder into Li Yan's chest.
Their movements were a blur, over in a breath.
Li Yan felt his chest tighten, as if struck by a wild ox, and was sent flying.
Behind him loomed a row of chairs.
Just as he was about to crash, his right foot braced, and he flipped backward, landing lightly on a chair.
His fists crossed in a guard, as if untouched.
"Well, you can take a hit…"
Zhang Shitong smirked, charging with a whip-like kick.
"You brat, don't break my chairs!"
Zhang senior barked from his grandmaster chair.
But Zhang Shitong's kick was another feint.
He aimed for the chair to force Li Yan down.
As expected, Li Yan leaped, his right leg sweeping at Zhang's head.
The little punk fell for it!
Zhang Shitong grinned inwardly, retracting his leg for an upward kick.
In a duel, a steady base was key. Few struck midair, as it limited power—one hit could spell trouble.
But as his kick shot upward, he sensed danger.
Li Yan twisted midair, his left hand grabbing Zhang's leg, his legs scissoring around Zhang's neck.
With a flip, using his full body's force, Zhang was uprooted like a radish, flung upward, crashing into the hall's beam.
This move blended modern combat concepts with Red Fist's grappling and the "nine rolls, eighteen falls."
Zhang Shitong took the hit hard, landing but instantly resuming his stance, his smile gone. "What kind of Red Fist is that?"
"The kind that knocks people down!"
Li Yan snorted, charging forward.
That last exchange had tipped him off.
His father's warning echoed:
The Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Fist struck without moving the shoulders, charging forward, driven by heart's intent, shaped into fists—elusive and unpredictable.
Its attack was like waves crashing!
Once it gained the upper hand, it unleashed relentless, wave-like assaults. Defend too long, and you'd falter, unable to turn the tide.
So, Li Yan chose to seize the initiative.
"Bring it!"
Zhang Shitong, unfazed, lunged forward with a chicken-step, throwing a heart-piercing punch.
But it was a feint.
As Li Yan deflected it with his right hand, Zhang retracted both hands, palms inward, then thrust outward.
Heart-Mind Six Harmonies Fist: Double Push!
A forward strike was a tiger pounce; an upward diagonal to the chin was "Old Ape Hangs the Seal" or "White Ape Offers Peach."
Zhang aimed for Li Yan's chin.
If it landed, Li Yan would be out cold.
But Li Yan's neck snapped back, his body angling, left foot sliding forward, closing the gap.
Distance was the key to combat.
This small step let Li Yan brace and push, exposing Zhang's guard, his shoulder twitching as his right palm shot out.
Zhang's vision was blocked, unable to see the low strike.
Red Fist's Thirty-Six Deflecting Hands: Flower Hidden Under Leaf!
Zhang wasn't worried at first.
He'd just retract his wrist to avoid being caught.
At worst, he'd take a palm.
If caught, whether by Red Fist's hawk-shoulder or sword-carrying leg, one hit would end the spar.
But when Li Yan's palm landed, Zhang's face changed.
Before he could react, a tremendous force sent him flying again, crashing into a pillar and sliding down.
"Hidden strength?!"
Zhang Yuanshang stood, stunned.
He was surprised but not worried.
Hitting like hanging a painting looked fierce but held back.
If hidden strength struck with lethal force at the heart, that'd be a killing blow.
Sure enough, Zhang Shitong sprang up, his face grim. "Good kid, no holding back now!"
He too had reached hidden strength, roughly on par with Li Yan, though newly mastered, lacking finesse.
But using it or not was a world apart.
"Enough!"
Zhang Yuanshang sat back down, waving. "No blood feud here. Save your strength for the duel."
"Kid, don't worry about the rest. I'll arrange the arena—no dirty tricks. Whether you win is up to you!"
Zhang Shitong dusted himself off, adding, "That Zhou Bai's young but stronger than me. If you can't break his monkey fist's 'circle,' you're done."
"Thanks!"
Li Yan clasped his hands, grabbed his clothes, and left.
His purpose here was fulfilled.
First, Zhang Yuanshang had promised a fair arena.
Second, the old man had indirectly tipped him off.
Zhou Bai was likely close to Zhang Shitong in skill.
But one was twenty-seven or eight, the other just seventeen—vastly different potential.
This life-or-death duel might not require his Great Law Body.
As he left the academy, Zhang Shitong lost his earlier brashness, frowning with his dead-fish eyes. "He's got some of Li Hu's flair. Mastering hidden strength so young, no wonder he's so bold…"
"But Father, Zhou Bai's likely a cut above. You're gambling!"
"Of course I'm gambling!"
Zhang Yuanshang puffed his water pipe, saying coolly, "Life's a gamble. Zhou Pan's already linked with Chang'an. If we don't bet now, there won't be a chance later…"
"And if you lose?"
"I lost once before—lost face, kept cursing. This time's on you. If you lose, head to Cangzhou quietly…"
"That's… that's not fair!"
"Son talking fairness with his father? Asking for a beating!"
…
"How'd it go? How'd it go?"
Sha Lifei and Wang Daoxuan waited at the street corner.
Seeing Li Yan, they rushed forward.
"All set."
Li Yan paused, thinking. "You two, though Zhang made assurances, the Iron Blade Gang are lowlifes. The graveyard beggars were likely their doing, and they might pull more dirty tricks. Stay sharp these next few days."
"Also, I need something."
"What?"
"A Qin-Han war drum!"
*(End of Chapter)*