Becoming an immortal from a canal worker

The midday sun made the floor tiles scorching hot.

Old Liu lay on a recliner in the yard, a straw hat covering his face, his chest rising and falling slowly with his breath, it was hard to tell whether he was asleep or awake.

Chen Ping was practicing stretching exercises at the other end of the courtyard.

There was a knock on the courtyard gate.

Old Liu hummed lazily from under his straw hat, "Knocking on the door."

Chen Ping composed himself, calmed his heavy breathing, and walked over to unlock the door.

A person stood outside the door, half a head shorter than Chen Ping, with sunken cheeks and prominent cheekbones. His right arm was wrapped with a strip of cloth, and he carried a cloth bag in his left hand. He still stood upright.

Chen Ping glanced at him but didn't say anything.

The man glanced around the courtyard, saw Liu Laoguo on the recliner, first bowed to Liu Laoguo, then turned to Chen Ping and said, "Are you Chen Ping? My name is Changshan, the Red Flower Stick of the gang."

His eyes dimmed slightly. "Now, I'm practically a cripple."

Old Liu reached out and lifted the brim of his straw hat, his cloudy eyes darting around before he pulled the hat back up, his voice languid: "Looks like you have guests. I'm going back inside to take a nap."

After saying that, he slowly got up, slipped on his cloth shoes, and went into the house.

Changshan turned to Chen Ping and got straight to the point: "I'd like to spar with you a few times, just a simple exchange of blows, without affecting your internal energy or blood, is that alright?"

Chen Ping was silent for a moment, then nodded: "Okay."

Changshan stood up, stretched his left arm while his right arm remained motionless, and said, "I used the Spirit Kite Claw, at the Proficiency Realm. Without regulating my Qi and Blood, this is all the skill I have left."

He walked to the center of the courtyard, his shoulders relaxed and elbows drooping, his ten fingers slightly spread, like a kite.

Chen Ping slightly shifted his feet, initiated the Two Elements Palm stance, lowered his center of gravity, and waited quietly.

Changshan has made a move.

Not pleasant, but strange.

Her fingertips traced a strange arc, bypassing his block and probing towards the gap in his right elbow joint, like water finding a crack in a stone.

Chen Ping moved his feet lightly, his foot slipped like an eel, and his center of gravity suddenly shifted to the left.

Taking advantage of the moment of dodging the claws, the Yin palm darted out like a venomous snake, its palm imprinting on Changshan's right Jianjing acupoint.

Changshan turned sideways to remove it and took half a step back.

Immediately afterwards, the left claw shot out again, this time with an even lower arc, aiming straight for the large tendon on the inside of Chen Ping's left knee.

Chen Ping decisively retreated.

In the blink of an eye, the Two Elements Palm technique changed its moves.

The right palm is tilted, and the fingers are like knives, pointing directly at the vital point of Changshan.

Changshan's pupils contracted sharply, and his neck instinctively shrank back.

But it was still a fraction of a breath too late.

Chen Ping's fingertips stopped in mid-air less than an inch from Changshan's throat.

The two stood frozen in place, exchanging a glance.

Changshan's claws can easily tear tendons and bones, but once Chen Ping's palm strikes, it's a deadly trap.

Changshan took a half step back, then started again, this time more cautiously, lowering his steps and making his claws move in longer and more winding arcs.

Chen Ping followed suit, and the two circled around the courtyard a few times, exchanging blows and taking two hits each. Chen Ping's right wrist was sore and numb, and his left knee was weak. Changshan was struck on the shoulder and received another palm strike to the chest.

The two stopped tacitly.

Changshan walked back to the stone bench, sat down, remained silent for a moment, looked down at his hands, and slowly curled his ten fingers, then slowly unfolded them.

He sighed.

"I've practiced this nimble kite claw technique for seven whole years." Changshan raised his head, his tone forlorn. "I always thought that, in terms of this skill alone, I should be second to none."

"But I heard you've only practiced your palm technique for a short while."

He paused, his gaze fixed intently on Chen Ping: "I've heard your boxing skills have reached a high level. I'd like to see them."

Chen Ping stood in the center of the courtyard, shrugged, and took a deep breath.

The force of the collapsing rocks is immense.

The force rose from the ground, flowing through each joint, and exploded on the fist. Bang, bang, bang! The airflow in the courtyard was disrupted for a moment. Each punch was powerful, fast, and skillful, with a heavy, muffled sound carried by the force of the punch.

Changshan sat on the stone bench, motionless, just watching.

Looked for a long time.

Chen Ping withdrew his fist and stood still.

Changshan was silent for a moment before speaking, "How long have you been practicing this style of boxing?"

"soon."

Changshan nodded and remained silent for a while.

"So this is the ultimate skill..." he murmured to himself. "It's not about the strength or speed; the fist moves with the mind, the fist arrives when the thought is uttered."

He lowered his head and looked at the strip of cloth on his right arm: "I practiced for seven years and mastered the Spirit Kite Claw. I thought I was on the verge of achieving great success, but it turns out I didn't have enough comprehension. This is how it will be for me in this life. I will never reach that point."

The courtyard was quiet for a moment.

Chen Ping looked at him for a moment, then asked, "What are you planning to do in the future?"

Changshan scratched his head and lowered his voice: "Manager Rouge Tiger doesn't mind and said that after I recover, I can continue to work under her as a 'red flower stick' (a term of respect for a woman who is in charge of men's affairs)."

Chen Ping nodded without saying anything.

Changshan stood up, patted his clothes, paused, and said, "I think the Yin-Yang approach is like water, gradually infiltrating the enemy, dislocating their tendons and bones. If you encounter a strong enemy, you can also deal with them slowly."

Chen Ping nodded.

Changshan waved his hand: "This is just my personal opinion. Just listen to it, but remember not to follow it."

He walked towards the door, and without turning back, waved his hand and said, "Practice hard."

The footsteps faded into the distance.

The courtyard fell silent again.

Chen Ping stood still, mentally reviewing Changshan's moves from earlier that day, noting down the angles of his attacks, his footwork, and the routes of his outstretched hands.

He didn't think there was anything wrong with his approach to Yin Palm.

The essence of martial arts is to defeat the opponent in a more efficient way.

If you can crush it, then crush it.

If you can't crush your opponent, it's because you're not strong enough. It has nothing to do with your methods; it's only related to whether you've put in enough effort.

Changshan's Spirit Kite Claw is a good thing. He will remember the angle of attack, the timing of the strike, and the arc of the movement, but that path is not his.

You have to walk your own path.

He turned and went back into the house, retrieved his money bag, and brought Jingye out.

Old Liu was pacing towards the door when he saw Chen Ping and stopped. "Where are you going?"

"Shanyang City".

Old Liu gave an "oh," took two puffs of his pipe, seemed to remember something, and turned to go back to his room.

A moment later he came out, holding a slightly rough rattle drum, and shoved it directly into Chen Ping's arms: "Take this."

Chen Ping looked down at the rattle drum.

"It's for Ah San." Old Liu waved his hand, turned around, and said, "Take it on your way."

Chen Ping paused for a moment, then tucked the rattle drum into his pocket and went out.

Shanyang City.

Chen Ping entered the West Market of Shanyang City.

They turned into that secluded alley with practiced ease.

From the dilapidated mud-brick house, Li Wenxiu's voice could be heard from afar, steady and unhurried.

Chen Ping didn't disturb them and waited quietly at the door for a while.

When the reading stopped, a dozen or so children filed out and dispersed, chattering away.

Chen Ping then pushed open the door and went in.

Li Wenxiu looked up and saw him, but only nodded slightly before continuing to tidy up the old and worn books on the table.

Gouwa came out from behind the house, his arm looking healed, and grinned at Chen Ping.

Chen Ping took out a rattle drum from his pocket, Gouwa took it, turned around and stuffed it into the hands of Ah San, who was hiding behind him.

Chen Ping glanced into the depths of the room.

In the shadows of the corner, a man dressed in a moon-white silk robe sat quietly on the bench in the last row.

There was an enlightenment book in front of him, but he didn't open it at all.

He simply sat there quietly, looking at Chen Ping at the door with a half-smile.

Bai Ming.

Bai Ming slowly closed the book and stood up from the bench.

He smoothed the wrinkles on his long robe, clasped his hands together, and politely bowed.

The professional smile on his face was exactly the same as when he greeted everyone at the entrance of the Bai family's birthday banquet, without the slightest difference.

"Brother Chen." Bai Ming's voice was so gentle that it was impossible to find fault with it. "My father instructed me to be here, and I have been waiting for you for a long time."