Chapter 12: The Power Of True Force
“Want to know how much of my kung fu I’m holding back? You’ll know right away.”
Yang Erhu twisted his neck, emitting ‘crack crack’ crisp sounds, then loosened up his hands and feet, his voice flat.
Though his face was full of weathering, etched with gullies, and he was already over fifty years old, just standing there he was like an iron pagoda, rooted to the ground, his broad and solid back muscles stretching the coarse cloth short jacket taut and bulging, the surging strength seeming ready to burst through the clothing.
“On the contrary, Junior Brother, you’ve been in the army all these years, so your kung fu must have improved greatly, right?”
Yang Erhu cupped his fists with both hands, his calm eyes turning sharp as blades, staring straight at Wu Duxiong.
“There are indeed many masters in the White Scale Guard, but the army’s techniques are different from the ways of jianghu people in combat after all. Junior Brother is just waiting for Senior Brother to test him.”
Wu Duxiong chuckled, meeting Yang Erhu’s gaze without fear, while cupping his fists in salute.
At the edge of the martial practice field, Yang Lie had no mood left to ‘lie flat’ at this point; he leaped up, his eyes fixed brightly on the two men in the field.
Hong Yuan also held his breath, watching intently, just waiting for the contest between these two senior and junior brothers to burst forth.
In the field, Yang Erhu and Wu Duxiong drew near, their four fists colliding in mid-air.
The next moment.
Yang Erhu suddenly exhaled and roared, letting out a great bellow from his throat, like a fierce tiger emerging from the mountains, shaking the wilds.
Even Yang Lie standing outside the field was shaken by the roar, grimacing and patting his ears; if it had been an ordinary person facing it directly, they would likely be scared into trembling heart and liver, turning into a little white rabbit ready for slaughter.
Before the roar faded, Yang Erhu thrust forward his clasped double fists in one smooth motion, crashing toward Wu Duxiong’s face like toppling mountains and pillars.
“Good Old Yang, no martial virtue!”
Wu Duxiong cursed inwardly, but reacted quickly, tilting his head to dodge; instead of avoiding the edge entirely, he shrugged his shoulder, smashing toward Yang Erhu’s chest like a collapsing wall.
Yang Erhu grunted, pulling his fists back, his body tilting slightly; his right arm suddenly extended like a steel whip, whipping fiercely toward Wu Duxiong’s temple.
Whoosh!
Even though the ‘steel whip’ hadn’t arrived, the fierce wind it carried already forced Wu Duxiong’s hair to flare up, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Wu Duxiong sank his waist and horse stance, exhaling sharply; his left arm quickly barred horizontally.
Bang!
The two men’s arms collided without flourish, striking with great force; intense throbbing pain surged, both men’s faces twitching before settling back to composure.
The two blocked with their arms without separating, like two old kids refusing to yield, locked in a mutual test of strength standoff.
In the blink of an eye, both arms had veins bulging, muscles coiling like little snakes.
“Junior Brother, does it hurt? If it hurts, just cry out. Senior Brother watched you grow up, even changed your open-crotch pants, so I won’t laugh at you.” Yang Erhu said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Heh heh! Junior Brother here has strong tendons and sturdy body, dragon essence and tiger ferocity; this bit of strength isn’t even enough to warm me up. On the contrary, Old Yang, with your old bones, you probably pee seven or eight times at night, right? If you can’t hold on, just admit defeat—don’t shake your bone frame apart…”
Wu Duxiong also smiled slyly.
“Bullshit, what seven or eight times, at most I…”
“At most how many times?”
Bang bang bang!
Yang Erhu and Wu Duxiong instantly separated; both men’s faces flushed red, as if a heat surged up, their four fists turning into afterimages, in an instant seeming like eight fists, sixteen fists weaving together, the sounds of collision continuous.
The two men’s figures flashed, their footwork steady and powerful, stomping the ground’s green bricks trembling, dust and gravel flying.
Yang Lie and Hong Yuan both watched dazzled.
‘Whether speed or reaction, both very fast, and strength enormous too…’
Hong Yuan’s expression was grave, estimating that even if he entered the field, he definitely wouldn’t get any advantage.
Moreover, judging by Yang Erhu and Wu Duxiong’s stances, they both clearly had strength to spare and weren’t going all out.
After all, it was just sparring between brothers; how could they really go for the kill?
If it were real killing moves, Wu Duxiong forged in the army, his most powerful kung fu should be blade technique, not competing fist and foot kung fu with Yang Erhu.
This round of fast attacks from both sides lasted only a few breaths, completely without the style of fighting dozens or hundreds of rounds in romance novels.
Hong Yuan, who had experienced combat, knew well that real fights could decide life and death in an instant.
Another arm collision exploded; Yang and Wu’s figures flashed, each switching positions.
The two steadied their forms, rooting to the ground, unmoving; hands clasped behind their backs, full of master demeanor.
Unfortunately, Hong Yuan watching from outside saw clearly; the palms they had behind their backs were open, flushed purple, even trembling slightly.
Hong Yuan’s mouth twitched; he thought the fight was about to end, but unexpectedly Wu Duxiong inhaled, his chest and abdomen bulging; he suddenly lunged, fast as an arrow off the string, reaching Yang Erhu in one step, hands clawing open, “whoosh whoosh” whipping wind in the air, already turned into two sharp claws.
Ten fingers like hooks, claws chaining, fiercely grabbing toward Yang Erhu’s face, throat, and chest-abdomen, the momentum fierce, every move aimed at vitals.
Even Yang Erhu was startled; Wu Duxiong’s offensive was too ferocious and came too fast; he could only withdraw backward, feet ‘stomp stomp stomp’ retreating continuously!
Wu Duxiong’s feet stepped forward, claws pressing step by step, like a ferocious hunting eagle locked on prey, biting tight without giving up; however much Yang Erhu retreated, he advanced.
In the blink of an eye, Yang Erhu had retreated several zhang violently, his back suddenly stopping—he had bumped against a jujube wood stake.
But he was originally the martial arts school master; he knew every blade of grass and tree in this martial practice field like the back of his hand, so even without eyes in the back of his head, he knew the stake’s position early.
Bumping against this wood stake was within his expectations; when Wu Duxiong’s double claws grabbed, his feet suddenly stomped and bounced, arms flaring open; like a great bird, he soared up.
Wu Duxiong’s double claws passed under his feet, the finger claws scraping the wood stake, leaving several cracked scratches.
Meanwhile, Yang Erhu landed steadily on one foot atop the five-to-six-chi-high wood stake without pause, flipping like a hawk and leaping down, instead landing behind Wu Duxiong; with a low shout, his right hand struck out with a palm.
The palm whistled through wind, faintly seeming to tear the air; Wu Duxiong’s back hunched, scalp numbing; his feet spun urgently, turning like a top behind the wood stake.
“Crack!” a shocking sound; Yang Erhu’s fierce palm solidly struck the wood stake, the entire stake trembling violently, wood chips and fragments splashing like rain.
The wood stake ultimately didn’t uproot.
After striking this palm, Yang Erhu was like a deflated ball, his face alternating red and white, sweat rolling down his forehead; he stood stunned in front of the wood stake, unmoving.
Wu Duxiong emerged from behind the wood stake, watching Yang Erhu’s expression change; after two or three breaths, Yang Erhu finally exhaled a long breath, seeming to recover from exhaustion, sighing: “I’m old after all, strength failing; if it were my younger days… no, even ten years ago, kid, it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to dodge this palm.”
Wu Duxiong didn’t refute, instead smiling: “If I didn’t dodge, Old Yang, were you trying to kill me?”
“Hmph! After all these years of yours honing, if you couldn’t even dodge this palm, you wouldn’t last long roaming the jianghu; better to die by my hand than lose the school’s face.”
Yang Lie had fetched the medicine box at some point, rushing into the field in big steps, taking blood-activating and bruise-dissolving medicine from the box to apply to Yang Erhu’s palm.
Wu Duxiong wasn’t idle either, taking medicine to apply himself.
Hong Yuan also walked forward, his gaze fixed on the jujube wood stake embedded in the ground, his expression grave.
This thigh-thick jujube wood stake, at the spot struck by Yang Erhu’s palm, now had several split gashes exploded open, the broken edges with splintered wood protruding, fragments still falling.
Though far from being broken, this was already extremely shocking.
Note that this jujube wood stake was inherently tough and hard; even a strong man with an axe would need effort to chop such a thick one, yet Yang Erhu partially shattered it with one palm—this strength truly astonished Hong Yuan.
In movies and TV, superheroes smash heaven and earth, cities destroyed and buildings toppled; in novels, great emperors battle, grinding away the universe’s myriad paths—Hong Yuan wasn’t shocked, because that was fake.
But now Yang Erhu had shattered the jujube wood stake with one palm, and Hong Yuan couldn’t help his heart surging.
This was something he had seen with his own eyes.
His palm brushing the splintered wood stubs at the break, feeling their hard texture, Hong Yuan couldn’t help asking: “Senior Yang, is this true force?”
……
Sent wrong earlier, one more chapter…
