Chaos begins when one joins a martial arts school

Chapter 5 Horse Meat
Sun Yong's gaze swept across the faces of the martial arts school disciples, and he nodded slightly, saying, "Xu Hong, two more new disciples have joined the martial arts school today, haven't they?"

Senior Brother Xu Hong nodded hurriedly, "Yes, Master. There was one person yesterday and two people today. In the past two days, a total of three people have joined the martial arts school."

Sun Yong gave a light "hmm" and continued, "Since there are new disciples joining the school, I'll say a few more words."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was like thunder rolling through the ears of every disciple present.

"What is martial arts? What is martial arts?" Sun Yong's gaze swept over the new disciple's tense face, then returned to the old disciple's composed expression. His tone suddenly turned stern: "Is it fancy moves? Is it a nice-sounding name? Neither!"

"Remember this well—good martial arts are those that can catch your opponent's moves, break their bones, and survive and fight your way out of a life-or-death struggle!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Sun Yong suddenly moved.

Everyone only felt a blur before their eyes, and no one saw how he moved. Then they heard a muffled "boom" as his right fist slammed onto a large blue stone slab.

Amidst the flying pebbles, the fist imprint sank half an inch into the stone surface, and cracks spread out like a spider web for over ten feet—this was the starting stance of the "Mountain Collapse Fist".

"Alright!"

Sun Yong withdrew his fist and struck again, the wind from his punches making a whooshing sound.

Sometimes it struck like a heavy hammer, causing the robes of the surrounding disciples to flutter wildly.

At times, he pounced like a tiger, his fists moving so fast that only a blur remained.

Each punch landed on a stone slab or wooden stake, accompanied by a cracking sound; the simple moves concealed a deadly ferocity.

"Xu Hong, you lead the new disciples in honing their qi and blood, practicing stances and boxing forms. The other senior disciples should practice their boxing diligently and break through to the Ming Jin realm as soon as possible—remember, learning boxing is for survival, but even more so for winning."

Sun Yong withdrew his fist and stood still, stone chips falling softly from between his fists.

"Yes, disciple, keep this in mind."

The next moment, all the disciples, including the eldest disciple Xu Hong, bowed in gratitude to their master.

The new disciples who had just joined the martial arts school were a beat slow to react, but they quickly followed the example of their senior brothers and sisters and bowed in greeting.

Sun Yong smiled, clearly pleased with this, and nodded, saying, "Alright, you guys practice. If you have any questions, ask your senior brother. If he can't solve them, then ask me."

Yang Jinggang listened very attentively.

He knows too little about this world.

Although she received the original owner's memories, the original owner was not a very knowledgeable person to begin with.

What Yang Jing was most concerned about was what martial arts were like in this world.
Is it the kind of martial arts that allow one to leap across rooftops and scale walls in ancient times?

Or is it a magical skill or powerful martial art from a novel?

Or is it the so-called traditional Chinese martial arts?

Yang Jing originally thought he might be more inclined towards Chinese martial arts, because he had seen a passage in an ancient book in his previous life, in which the realms of Chinese martial arts were also called Ming Jin (明劲) and An Jin (暗劲).

However, Yang Jing was deeply moved and inspired by what the curator had just said.

"What is martial arts?" Yang Jing murmured, his eyes gradually brightening. "Good martial arts are those that can withstand an opponent's attacks, break their bones, and survive and fight their way out of life-or-death battles!"

Although the original owner's memories also contained similar words spoken by Sun Yong, the dead memories inherited from the original owner and the words heard directly from Sun Yong's mouth are different!
"Perhaps I had a narrow or rigid view of martial arts before. Martial arts should not be rigid, but flexible. How to defeat the opponent and how to survive is the key to good martial arts."

Yang Jing thought to himself silently.

Sun Yong returned to the inner courtyard with his hands behind his back.

The disciples in the front courtyard continued to hone their qi and blood, and practice the Mountain-Crushing Fist.

The newly enrolled disciples will be personally instructed by the senior disciple, Xu Hong, for the time being.

Yang Jing returned to the place where he used to practice martial arts and continued to practice the Mountain-Crushing Fist. Every punch he threw was accompanied by a whooshing sound.

Although he is still far from mastering the Ming Jin (明劲) technique, Yang Jing's physical condition is now much stronger than that of an average person due to his long-term, intense martial arts training.

In a normal fight, he could take on three to five ordinary men single-handedly, and if he seized the opportunity well, he could even expand his gains.

Yang Jing practiced until it got dark and everyone else left. His muscles ached all over, so he went to a stool by the wall to rest for a while, then put on his clothes and left the martial arts school.

Walking on the streets of Chengpingfang, Yang Jing had a sudden thought.

The next moment, a panel appeared before their eyes—

[Introduction to Bengshanquan (78/200)]

After a day of practicing punches, I finally improved my progress in the Mountain-Crushing Fist by two points, bringing me one step closer to breaking through to the minor mastery level.

Leaving Chengpingfang, we headed south along Zhuque Avenue until we arrived at the West Market. Although it was already dark, the West Market was still bustling with activity. Lanterns hung from the eaves of shops on both sides of the street, their warm light spreading along the bluestone pavement and making the wine flags and cloth banners on both sides sway slightly.

Yang Jing arrived at the butcher shop, which still had half its door open. On the cutting board, pork belly and ribs hung on iron hooks, glistening with oil. Next to them, a wooden basin was piled with chopped pig offal, the smell of blood mixed with the smoky aroma of the marketplace.

Yang Jing clenched the last half string of coins in his sleeve, his gaze sweeping over the various meats for a moment before finally settling on a pile of slightly darker-colored meat in the corner—horse meat, with a coarser texture than pork and slightly darkened edges, clearly having been left out for a day.

Practicing martial arts consumes the most qi and blood. Ordinary coarse rice and grains cannot fill the void. Only meat or more valuable medicines can replenish strength and nourish the muscles and bones after training.

During this period, he tried a lot of meat. Pork was mild and could fill his stomach, but it was not good for his blood and qi. Beef was strong, but it was too expensive. He didn't have enough money to buy too much beef.

It wasn't until a few days ago that Yang Jing accidentally tried horse meat and discovered that it was indeed very strong, but also extremely suitable for his martial arts training. After stewing it and eating it, the deep force could go straight from his throat to his dantian, making him more powerful when he threw punches the next day, and his progress in martial arts training was visibly faster.

"Shopkeeper, how much is this horse meat?" Yang Jing asked.

The shopkeeper was wiping the greasy cutting board with a rag when he heard the sound. He looked up and smiled, "I'll give you the rest of today at a discount, fifty coins a pound."

It's almost half the price of fresh meat during the day.

"Weigh out two jin," Yang Jing breathed a sigh of relief, but said helplessly, "The price has gone up again. Just a few days ago it was forty-seven coins a jin."

War broke out in Caozhou to the west, and there were reports of a rebellion in Yizhou to the east. Jizhou was caught in the middle and was affected in many ways, with inflation and currency devaluation being just some of the issues.

The shopkeeper deftly cut the meat, weighed it, tied it with straw rope, and handed it over.

Yang Jing took it; it was slightly cool to the touch and had a faint fishy smell.

Then, Yang Jing paid the money, and the large sum of money in his sleeve was less.

The currency of the Great Qi Dynasty was mainly silver, but for ordinary people, silver was too valuable. They usually used large coins to buy things, with one tael of silver equal to seven hundred large coins.

Yang Jing didn't linger. He turned and quickly disappeared into the deepening night, continuing south along Zhuque Avenue.

Although Chengpingfang, where Sun's Martial Arts School is located, is also in the outer city, it is extremely close to the inner city, while Yang Jing usually lives in Datongfang, which is on the very edge of the county town.

Yang Jing was, after all, a martial artist, with excellent physical fitness and a fast pace.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the place we had rented in Datongfang.

This is an ordinary courtyard with two rows of single-story houses on both sides, each row with five rooms. Yang Jing's room is the second room from the east on the north side.

Yang Jing returned to his room and immediately began stewing the meat.

The room was small, with a tiny clay stove in the corner, the flames licking the bottom of the clay pot and making a soft "gurgling" sound.

Yang Jing had already put the large chunks of horse meat into the casserole, with water covering the meat. Apart from that, there was only a small pinch of salt at the bottom of the pot, and no other seasonings.

Yang Jing sat by the roadside, his eyes fixed on the rolling water.

The horse meat wasn't fresh, but after stewing it for a long time, the unmistakable fishy smell gradually faded away, and instead, a rich meaty aroma slowly wafted out from the casserole.

Once the meat was stewed until tender, Yang Jing immediately turned off the heat. After the casserole cooled slightly, he picked it up directly without using bowls or chopsticks, reached in, scooped up a piece, blew on it to cool it down, and put it in his mouth.

It didn't have much flavor, just a little saltiness from the salt and the texture of the horse meat itself.

There were occasional noises coming from the doorway.

Yang Jing knew that it was other residents in the courtyard who had smelled the aroma of meat coming from his house and had walked around outside the door several times to smell it.

Yang Jing ignored him completely, eating very attentively, even licking the meat juice in the casserole clean with his tongue.

Yang Jing did not immediately wash the clay pot after putting it down.

He felt a solid warmth slowly spreading through his abdomen, coursing through his blood to his limbs and bones—this was the unique power of horse meat, unlike ordinary meat which floats on the surface, but sinks deep into the muscles, like a gentle fire, slowly warming his bones and muscles.

A moment later, he stood up, lowered his waist, gathered his breath, and slowly clenched his fists.

With a low shout, the starting stance of the Mountain-Crushing Fist was unleashed, the force of the punch accompanied by the sound of wind breaking.

The powerful punches shook the window paper, causing it to rustle slightly. Inside his body, the heat generated by the horse meat seemed to be drawn by the punches, surging suddenly.

Yang Jing practiced for more than an hour before stopping when he felt fatigue in his body.

With a thought, the panel appeared before my eyes—

[Introduction to Bengshanquan (79/200)]

Seeing that the progress had improved again, Yang Jing couldn't help but grin.

(End of this chapter)