Gou Zai, a corpse sewn into a spirit in a mortuary during the Republic of China era, became a spirit

Xie Bingxiang's face gradually darkened: "You didn't think that Master Zhou's skill tonight was impressive or impressive, did you? But he risked his life for it."

When you were three years old, I asked Master Zhou to assess your physical constitution. He said your physique was below average. In martial arts, seven parts depend on natural talent and three parts on hard work. Those with average physical constitution have to work twelve parts hard to make up for the three parts lacking.

Training in the coldest days of winter and the hottest days of summer, year after year, they gradually toughen their bones and refine their blood and qi. So many families send their young sons to martial arts schools, spending money and enduring hardship, only to end up with hidden injuries, hunched over in their early twenties, unable to get out of bed on rainy days… They've ruined their bodies.

After saying that, Xie Bingxiang turned to look at Xie An and said, "Your fourth uncle is always away from home and has no children. You are the only son in our Xie family. I don't expect you to be successful. I just hope that you can stay safe and sound and keep the charitable estate in place for as long as you can."

Feeling the concern in his father's words, Xie An felt a surge of warmth in his heart, but his eyes became even more determined. "Today it's Master Wang's corpse turning into a zombie, and who knows what strange things will happen tomorrow. We can't rely on Master Zhou for everything. I think that once I've achieved something in martial arts, I can better protect the manor."

Xie Bingxiang scrutinized his son for a long time before finally nodding. "Don't let Master Zhou's unruly behavior fool you; he's actually quite proud. He doesn't even teach his own son properly..."

Go to my room and dig out that jar of Tianjin liquor that's been hidden there for twenty years. Deliver it to Master Zhou first thing tomorrow morning. Whether you can persuade him to teach you martial arts is up to you.

……

The following morning, in the southern suburbs of Yongning County.

As dawn broke, a layer of nighttime dampness still lingered on the streets. Shops along the street gradually removed their doors, and shop assistants, yawning, swept the dust and overnight garbage from their doorways with long-handled brooms.

Xie An, dressed in a stand-up collar jacket and with his hair parted in the middle, sat in a small shop called "Liu's Congee Shop" eating breakfast.

The breakfast wasn't lavish, but it was a genuine Tianjin specialty. A large bowl of cornmeal porridge and two freshly fried dough sticks, crispy and golden brown, making a "crunch" sound when you bite into them, yet fluffy and soft on the inside.

He ate his pickled vegetable shreds, a mouthful of porridge, and a bite of fried dough stick, glancing around from time to time.

The shop wasn't crowded; most of the customers were porters and rickshaw pullers heading to the early market, wearing worn-out short jackets, squatting on benches, slurping down their porridge. Occasionally, young people in school uniforms, carrying books, would hurry by, leaving behind a series of crisp leather shoe sounds.

On the street, an old man carrying a load of tofu pudding was shouting, "Hot tofu pudding—salty and spicy oil—!"

The place is filled with the atmosphere of everyday life in the Republican era.

Just then, two fishermen came in, smelling strongly of fish. They chose a spot away from the crowd, sat down, ate hot buns, and muttered to themselves.

"Old Ma, have you heard? The 'offering money' at the fish market over at the dock has gone up again."

"How could I not have heard? That scarred Liu Fang from Yong Sheng Tang said that this is a new society now, and their 'security fees' also have to 'keep up with the times.' He came again yesterday, more diligent than a death knell."

"The new society... newspapers shout it every day, posters are plastered all over the streets, saying that everyone will have food to eat and clothes to wear. But look at this, taxes are increasing, and the incense money... is getting more and more 'new'. I think this situation... is not as good as the previous dynasty. At least back then, we knew who to kowtow to and where to stuff money. Now? Hey, the name is new, but the hands that skin and rip off people... haven't decreased at all."

After saying that, the two fell silent, only lowering their heads to eat their hot buns. The noisy voices in the porridge shop and the faint sound of car horns in the distance could not drown out the helplessness in their silence.

Listening to their chatter, Xie An felt a growing sense of urgency about practicing martial arts. After quickly finishing his breakfast, he paid a few copper coins and left the porridge shop. He weighed the heavy, rough pottery jar in his hand.

The jar was sealed with a red cloth, and a yellowed diamond-shaped red paper was pasted on the body of the jar, on which were faded brushstrokes that read "Jinmen Laobaigan".

Even through the jar, one could almost smell the clear, slightly burnt aroma of the liquor.

This is a vintage wine that my father has kept for twenty years.

In Tianjin, the strong liquor is too harsh, and the sorghum liquor is too cloudy. Only this Lao Baigan is brewed with local sorghum and water from the Grand Canal. It is smooth on the palate, has a strong aftertaste, and is not too pungent. It is one of the favorite flavors of old-school martial artists.

He carried the wine jar and walked along the wet streets toward a low-rise residential area.

The southern suburbs belong to the outskirts of Yongnian County. Because it is close to the dock, many ordinary people live here to make a living, and it is quite lively.

Before long, we arrived at the front of a dilapidated house with an old locust tree growing in front of it. Next to it was a newly opened barber's stall, and the old barber was applying a hot towel to a customer's face, the white steam mingling with the smell of soap.

Xie An took a deep breath and went forward to knock on the door.

Soon, a creaking sound came from inside, and a boy of about thirteen or fourteen years old in a short jacket opened the door. Upon seeing Xie An, he immediately showed a happy expression. "Brother Shoucheng, what brings you here? Come in quickly. My mother made some hot hand-pulled noodles with soybean paste."

This is Zhou Fu's son, Zhou Ji, who is studying at school. He especially admires "modern" people like Xie An and often follows Xie An to participate in demonstrations, spouting slogans like "Beat this one, beat that one." He gets spanked by Zhou Fu quite a few times.

Of course, these were all things the original owner did.

As Xie An followed him inside, he asked, "Where's your father?"

Hmm.

Zhou Ji sighed, "My father was out drinking heavily last night and came home late. He's still sleeping in his room right now."

As he spoke, Zhou Ji shouted towards the kitchen, "Mother, Brother Shoucheng is here. Prepare an extra bowl of noodles with soybean paste!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a head popped out of the kitchen. It was a young woman in her thirties, wearing a moon-white satin cheongsam, beautiful and charming. She smiled when she saw Xie An.

"Oh, it's Shoucheng. Come and sit in the hall. There's plenty of jajangmyeon (noodles with soybean paste)."

"Thank you, Aunt Lan, I've already eaten. No need to trouble yourself." Xie An thanked her and then followed Zhou Ji to the living room. Zhou Ji busied himself, bringing out snacks to serve them.

After breakfast, Zhou Ji went to school with his schoolbag on his back. Aunt Lan wanted to go to the room to wake Zhou Fu, but Xie An stopped her. Seeing Xie An's resolute expression, Aunt Lan didn't say anything more, gave a few instructions, and then left with her vegetable basket.

In the vast hall, only Xie An remained. Occasionally, the rough snoring of Zhou Fu could be heard from inside the room.

It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky that Zhou Fu's murmurs could be heard coming from inside the room.

"Wine, wine..."

Xie An hurriedly opened the seal on the wine jar, pushed open the unlocked door, and handed the wine jar to Zhou Fu.

Zhou Fuming was still lying on the bed, snoring in a daze, when he was able to reach out and grab the wine jar and take two big gulps.

"Excellent wine!!"

Seemingly stimulated by the rich aroma of the wine, Zhou Fu drank with increasing gusto, gulping down more than half a jar before sitting up abruptly and glancing at Xie An standing by the bedside.

"I knew it was some fine wine; it turns out it's your father's 20-year-old aged baijiu."

As he spoke, he got dressed and went to the kitchen to eat the fried noodles with soybean paste that Aunt Lan had heated up. He enjoyed a sip of rice wine and a bite of noodles.

Xie An stood beside him, greeting them.

After they had eaten and drunk their fill, and the jar of wine was empty, Zhou Fu finally spoke, "You want to learn martial arts?"

Xie An immediately stood up straight and cupped his hands in a respectful gesture: "Yes."

Zhou Fu didn't say anything polite, only saying, "Martial arts training depends on one's physical constitution, and yours is too poor. Besides, you're way past the age for practicing martial arts..."

Xie An's heart sank, just as he thought it was hopeless, when Zhou Fu suddenly changed the subject, "But nothing is absolute. I'm beholden to him because I've eaten his food. There's an old saying in Tianjin's martial arts world: 'To enter the sect, you must first practice stances for three years.' So, I'll give you a set of stance training. If you grit your teeth and master it, then come back to me. But even if you don't, you still have to send me a jar of this fine wine."

Xie An nodded in agreement and then followed Zhou Fu into the room.

Zhou Fu pulled out a crumpled booklet from under the bed. The cover had three words written on it: Hunyuan Zhuang.

Without explaining anything, Zhou Fu handed the booklet to Xie An, saying, "The practice methods and illustrations are all marked on it. Just follow them."

Xie An accepted the booklet, expressed his gratitude, and then hurriedly left.

Zhou Fu watched Xie An leave, wiping the wine stains from the corner of his mouth. "At fifteen, his muscles and bones are fully developed, long past the age for martial arts training. Let alone three years, even five years wouldn't be enough to master the Hunyuan stance. He's just giving up because he knows it's too difficult, and he's just wasted two jars of twenty-year-old baijiu..."

As Xie An stepped out of the courtyard, he felt a mental connection with Luo Bosi.

Luo Bosi said she found a treasure in the back mountain of the mortuary...