Chapter 21 — Cousin 'Green Tiger'

Teng Zhaoxian, the clan chief of Teng Rongjun, had in his day been reckoned the finest man in all Teng Rongjun.

This Teng Zhaoxian, who was also Teng Xuanji's maternal grandfather, held the highest position of clan chief in Teng Rongjun, and likewise he had once been Teng Rongjun's foremost blacksmith.

A blacksmith he was called, yet the Teng family's ancestral craft of forging weaponry outshone even that of the master smiths in the arms shops within the city walls.

He had taken more than ten disciples, and the finest of them was none other than Teng Xuanji's father, Teng Yuening. Teng Zhaoxian had grown old, and Teng Yuening had now fully inherited his craft, becoming the foremost blacksmith of all Teng Rongjun. And being the foremost blacksmith in the village, barring any mishap, Teng Yuening would be the next clan chief.

For in Teng Rongjun there were, by and large, only three trades: hunting, farming, and forging weapons.

Hunting and farming brought in far too little gold and silver.

But forging a fine weapon could bring in enormous income; a blacksmith could make Teng Rongjun wealthy. Moreover, every weapon in all Teng Rongjun had to be forged by the blacksmiths. Blacksmiths could make Teng Rongjun rich, could give the men of Teng Rongjun blades of keen edge.

And so the blacksmith stood very high in the village.

The foremost blacksmith, barring mishap, was either the clan chief or the chief's heir.

Teng Xuanji's father, Teng Yuening, spent the greater part of each day shut up in the forge. And his mother, Yuan Lan, was likewise kept busy with all manner of things. Often, Teng Xuanji was the only one left at home.

Teng Xuanji was glad enough of it: shut the courtyard gate, and he could train in peace.

"Psst."

His left foot cut out like an iron plow turning the earth; one step, and his right foot and right fist burst forth almost as one.

The three-body stance of Xingyi—simplest of all, and deepest of all.

The three-body stance is the wellspring of Xingyi; even a grandmaster of Xingyi must practice it without cease. And every fist, every kick Teng Xuanji made now was surely of a grandmaster's intent. Come close and listen carefully, and you could hear the faintest sounds—the sounds of the inner sinews and bones in motion.

Sinews and bones ringing in unison.

"Hff." "Hff." "Hiss."

In time with the three-body stance, his breath came now short and quick, now slow and long; his chest worked like a bellows, holding within it some strange and subtle rhythm.

And so he trained for two double-hours.

He closed the stance.

"The ancient world truly is better suited to martial training." Teng Xuanji's heart was already without ripple. "In barely a year of practicing Xingyi, the inner force within me is thicker and deeper than it was in my last life at the Dacang Peak stage. No wonder secrets of lightness like Tianya Xing exist."

Only living truly in the ancient world did Teng Xuanji understand: it was not that Tianya Xing consumed too much inner force, but that in his last life he had simply had far too little.

"Too much inner force has its own vexations."

Teng Xuanji was much troubled.

For he was only four years old now, and scarcely a few of the meridians in his body were fully clear. Nor did Teng Xuanji dare force his inner force through to open them, for doing so would drive the impurities of those meridians to silt up in the other primary and secondary channels, making it forever impossible to open all his meridians thereafter.

To trade future prospects for present gain—

that Teng Xuanji would not permit.

"Still, with inner force to spare, I can temper my body to my heart's content," Teng Xuanji thought to himself.

The inner martial arts fall into three stages, and each stage raises the quality of the body. In the first stage, sheer muscular strength is pushed to its limit.

In the second, once inner force is cultivated, it is used to stimulate the deep muscle, so that muscle, sinew, and bone absorb the energy of inner force and grow again, making the body stronger once more. That Teng Xuanji had once taken a bullet from the marksman Sun Ze and lived was precisely because his muscular strength had reached a terrifying pitch.

In the third stage, having attained the grandmaster realm of Dacang, one may surpass the limits of the human body and continue to strengthen it.

After all, in the modern world the vital essence of heaven and earth is too sparse, and inner force too scant; naturally, everything must be bent toward strengthening the body.

"Now that I have more inner force than I can use, I shall follow the second stage—stimulate muscle, sinew, and bone, and temper the body." Teng Xuanji had been a grandmaster; of course he knew what to do.

Inner force is like fertilizer, and muscle, sinew, and bone like plants: take in the fertilizer, and they grow.

And the method by which sinew, bone, and muscle are stimulated to absorb the energy of inner force is the secret art of the inner martial schools—their most precious treasure.

In the time and space of Teng Xuanji's former life, for more than a thousand years countless men of genius had risen one after another, each generation refining it further, before the inner martial arts—this wondrous, almost inconceivable system—were created.

"Mm, Mother ought to be back by now." Teng Xuanji opened the courtyard gate, locked it behind him, and headed straight for the Teng Rongjun training ground.

The Teng Rongjun training ground was the noisiest, liveliest place in all Teng Rongjun.

"Hah!"

"Hoh!"

All manner of ragged shouts and casual chatter came drifting over. Teng Xuanji walked up and looked: across the whole training ground were some young men in their prime, and some youths and children besides, each one rolling an iron ball, or hoisting a stone lock, or practicing spear technique.

Apart from the collective morning drill of the clan's grown men each day, at all other times the training ground was given over to whoever came to train of their own accord.

Along the edge of the ground were women washing clothes, sewing clothes, and seeing to other such chores, working with their hands while they watched the men train.

"Here comes Qingshan," some of the women called in greeting, smiling.

"Good day, aunties," Teng Xuanji answered politely.

"What a good child Qingshan is, never a bit of trouble. Only four, and Alan lets him play about on his own without a worry." The women laughed and praised him. In Teng Rongjun, Qingshan was famed first for his appetite, and second for being docile and sensible. Children are a nuisance—anyone who has raised one knows it.

Yet Teng Xuanji was so well-behaved that he gave his parents not a moment's worry.

"Mother," Teng Xuanji said, walking over.

Yuan Lan was sitting at the edge of the training ground with a baby in her arms. The baby was Teng Xuanji's little sister, nearly three months old, named Qingyu.

"Qingshan, your cousin is over there," Yuan Lan said with a smile.

Teng Xuanji turned to look. A youth nearly six chi tall was steadily hoisting a great stone lock—one that, at a glance, weighed a hundred jin at the least. To hoist a hundred-jin stone lock over and over like that called for tremendous strength in the arms and shoulders.

"In this world the vital essence of heaven and earth is abundant; the body of an ordinary man is two or three times stronger than that of a common person in the modern world of my last life," Teng Xuanji reflected.

"Your cousin Qinghu, at the New Year, lifted a boulder of three hundred jin. Three hundred jin at nine years old—I reckon he'll be the finest man in all Teng Rongjun," Yuan Lan said with a sigh of feeling.

Teng Xuanji answered with an "Mm."