Chapter 20 — Ancient and Modern Times Differ

In the blink of an eye, Teng Xuanji had turned three.

One early morning, a rosy-lipped, white-toothed little child in a padded jacket was eating breakfast with a kindly-faced woman. It was Teng Xuanji and his mother, Yuan Lan.

"Qingshan, would you like a little brother, or a little sister?" Yuan Lan gazed fondly at her son.

"I want both." Teng Xuanji wolfed down an entire bowl of congee in great mouthfuls.

"Mm, then Mother will give birth to twins." Yuan Lan smiled and stroked her belly, which was faintly rounded. She had been with child for nearly four months now.

"Mother, I'm done eating."

Teng Xuanji tossed down his bowl and chopsticks and raced outside.

"Slow down, watch your step." Yuan Lan called after him again and again, then glanced at his empty bowl and shook her head with a sigh. "That Qingshan of mine, what an appetite. This morning he ate two flatbreads and then a whole big bowl of congee. He is only three, and already he eats nearly as much as I do."

A three-year-old child who could eat that much—in Teng Rongjun, many a person who spoke of Teng Xuanji would click their tongue in admiration.

"The more I can eat, the better." Walking along the little path, Teng Xuanji muttered to himself. "It means my organs are strong, my powers of absorption are great, and the qi and blood in my body are abundant."

Since coming to this world, Teng Xuanji had lived a very easy life. Here there were no enemies—only parents who cared for him and watched over him. As for playing with children of two or three, to him that was sheer torment.

So Teng Xuanji, with perfect peace of mind, began training according to his own plan.

As a super-assassin and a grandmaster of the inner arts of his generation, Teng Xuanji knew very well what to train at what time.

Though he was three this year, a child is reckoned one year old at birth, so he had actually been in this world only two years. In those two years he had not dared undertake any strength training. The only thing he had done was train the suppleness of his body and hasten the growth of sinew and bone.

This method Teng Xuanji had distilled from ancient yoga and the fundamental drills of the internal martial arts.

A child's body is supple, and easiest to train.

An adult might train for half a year or a year before he could split his legs into a straight line, but a child could do it in ten days or a fortnight—because a child's sinews are soft, and because he is right at the age when the body grows.

The suppler the body and the stronger the sinews, the greater the benefit to the practice of the internal martial arts.

"Qingshan, off to the training ground to play?" Now and then along the path a village neighbor would greet Teng Xuanji with a smile.

"Mm." Teng Xuanji nodded.

The training ground was an open field fully two hundred meters long and wide. Every morning the men of Teng Rongjun trained there.

"Heh!"

"Hah!"

Wave upon wave of forceful heh-hah cries rolled toward him from ahead like peals of thunder.

Teng Xuanji arrived at last at the training ground. In the midst of that great open expanse stood several hundred men in neat ranks, every one of them stripped to the waist and drenched in sweat, each gripping a long spear and thrusting it forward again and again. Several hundred men chanting in perfect unison, thrusting their spears in perfect unison—watching them, Teng Xuanji could not help but feel his blood surge.

Along the edge of the ground stood no small number of children, staring wide-eyed.

"Head level, shoulders level, spear level, feet level, body level!" A great shout rang across the whole training ground. A lean middle-aged man with sharp, piercing eyes was pacing through the center of the ground when suddenly he lifted a foot and kicked a spearman beside him on the thigh, sending him staggering.

"Swaying all over the place—where's the strength in your waist? Wasted it all on some stinking woman, have you? Hold it steady!" the lean man barked.

"Yes, Master Jiji." The man hurried to stand straight and did not dare say another word.

"A little hardship now, and when you meet bandits and mountain raiders, or the beasts of the mountain, you'll bleed less," the lean man said coldly as he walked. "When danger comes, we can only rely on ourselves."

"Enough. Now, the spear shake." The lean man shouted, "Front hand grips, rear hand twists and aims—then thrust. Offense or defense, this one move serves for both. Master it, and when danger comes, it will save your miserable lives."

One by one the men performed the move, practiced and sure.

This move—they had practiced it more times than they could count.

Watching all this, Teng Xuanji let a faint smile show on his face.

"The men of Teng Rongjun train every day. Simple as this training is, it is highly effective. The level thrust and the spear shake alone are enough to fill a lifetime of practice." Teng Xuanji was, after all, a grandmaster of Xingyi in his former life, and Xingyi boxing is itself the boxing of the spear.

Whether the collapsing fist or the drilling fist, each carries within it the essence of the long spear.

Teng Xuanji could see it plainly: let a few dozen of Teng Rongjun's stalwarts step out at random and form a spear array, and their power was not to be underestimated.

"With Teng Rongjun's fighting strength, ordinary bandit gangs would never dare provoke them." Teng Xuanji could not help thinking of the White Horse Gang. "But that White Horse Gang is the foremost sect within two hundred li of Yicheng, and to join it a man must meet physical standards. Even so, the White Horse Gang still has eight thousand core members."

Eight thousand core members, with a whole swarm of petty underlings on the periphery besides.

They were absolute local overlords within Yicheng's borders.

Teng Rongjun, too, had to pay an annual tribute every year to keep the peace.

Watching the several hundred men of the clan train, Teng Xuanji was suddenly struck by an idea.

"The suppleness of my sinews is about trained. It's still too early for compressive strength training, but there's no problem now with practicing Xingyi." After watching a while, Teng Xuanji trotted home.

"Qingshan, you're back." Yuan Lan was holding an armful of dirty clothes, about to go out and wash them.

"Mm, Mother, I'm tired. I'll sleep a while." Teng Xuanji went into his own room by himself. A three-year-old child would never be set to do chores at home, and this excuse of wanting to sleep roused not the slightest suspicion in his mother, Yuan Lan.

He shut the door and the window.

"It's been a long time since I practiced Xingyi." Teng Xuanji limbered up a little. Having gone several years without practice, he felt a stir of excitement.

He drew a deep breath, and his mind settled. Then Teng Xuanji began to move about the room—the twelve forms of Xingyi, the five-element boxing of Xingyi, the three-body stance of Xingyi, all mingled together, performed freely as the mood took him. In a moment he was a fierce tiger descending the mountain, then a python coiling about its prey, then a swimming dragon leaping from the water.

An ordinary child, with his little arms and little legs, even if he practiced the internal martial arts, would only be going through the motions, with no effect at all.

Even with a grandmaster's awareness, a body too small to stretch out would not do. That was why Teng Xuanji had spent his first two years training suppleness, training sinew and bone. Now, when he bent his waist backward, his mouth could touch his feet. With a physique like that, of course he could perform the internal martial arts with ease.

With the physique in hand, and a grandmaster's awareness besides—need anything more be said of the result?