Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 7 Hidden Front

When I got back to the courtyard, it was already dawn.

The courtyard, however, was already bustling with activity.

At this point in time, the craze for practicing martial arts is burning ever brighter.

At some point, a "Crane Soaring Posture" morning exercise team was organized in the courtyard. Second Aunt led the way, with more than a dozen elderly men and women following behind. They closed their eyes, raised their arms, and hopped around in the courtyard.

"Take it in—and let it go—"

The second aunt mumbled a mantra.

The older women behind them were even more outrageous. Some were pounding their chests and crying, some were laughing foolishly, and one was hugging the old locust tree and rubbing against it desperately, saying she wanted to absorb the tree's spirit.

Even the paralyzed old man Liu from the front yard was pushed out. He sat in a wheelchair, his mouth crooked, and his hands trembling uncontrollably.

"Did you see that? Grandpa Liu's hand moved! That's the power of external energy! I told you Master Wang's technique was effective!"

The second aunt was shouting excitedly, her face flushed, as if she had discovered a new continent. She even took out an aluminum lunchbox from her pocket, opened it mysteriously, and inside was a box of boiled water.

"This is the 'information water' I queued up at People's Park yesterday, blessed by a master! I even saw colorful light emanating from the cup when I was filling it! One sip will cure all diseases!"

Several middle-aged women nearby immediately became envious and crowded around, wanting to smell the so-called "information scent".

Anyone could tell that Grandpa Liu had caught a chill and was experiencing muscle spasms and cramps. As for the water, it was just ordinary boiled water, and it might even have been dusty.

But in this frenzied atmosphere, no one dared to tell the truth. Anyone who did was seen as disrupting the atmosphere and going against the group.

Chen Zhuo carried a bag of bloody meat as he walked past the group of "believers".

The smell of blood and flesh was completely out of place with the frenzied atmosphere that permeated the courtyard.

"Hey, Xiao Chen, buying meat?" Auntie Er, with her sharp nose, smelled the aroma. "Where did you buy meat so early in the morning?"

"A friend gave it to me," Chen Zhuo replied casually, without stopping.

"Tsk tsk, so much meat. Little Chen, listen to this old lady's advice, eating too much meat isn't good either. It makes you too full of turbid energy and clogs your meridians. Look at us martial arts practitioners, we emphasize tranquility and non-action, living on air and dew..."

Chen Zhu ignored her, went straight into the house, and slammed the door shut.

Drinking the wind and dew?

Those are gods.

He was a human being, or rather, a person driven mad by hunger.

Light the stove.

There were no seasonings, no scallions or ginger. Chen Zhuo picked out the piece of pork belly and half of the scraps from the large bag of meat, cut them into large chunks, threw them into the pot, filled it with water, and sprinkled in a handful of coarse salt.

The remaining meat was wrapped in oil paper and stuffed into the broken earthenware jar filled with ice crystals under the windowsill. It was still cold then, so it would keep for a day or two.

Gumbling.

The water has boiled.

A strong, almost pungent, aroma of meat filled the cramped little room.

The scent wasn't refined; it even had a fishy, ​​musty smell. But to Chen Zhuo, it was the most wonderful perfume in the world.

He stared intently at the bubbling meat in the pot, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Saliva production was extremely high.

He couldn't resist eating it before the meat was even tender.

He picked up the piece of pork belly with his chopsticks, ignoring the heat, and stuffed it directly into his mouth.

"Sizzle—"

The scalding hot oil exploded in my mouth.

In that instant, Chen Zhuo felt as if he had come back to life.

The long-lost sense of satisfaction slid down my esophagus, like a torrent flowing into a dry riverbed.

He chewed it in large mouthfuls.

The tenderness of the fatty meat, the chewiness of the lean meat, and the unique granular texture of the lymphatic meat were all mixed together and he swallowed them all.

One pound of meat.

He cleaned everything, soup and even the marrow from the bones, leaving nothing behind.

After finishing the last bite, Chen Zhuo let out a satisfied burp.

A blush rose to her cheeks.

That's a sign that heat is exploding in the body.

"They're here!"

Chen Zhuo's eyes lit up, and he dared not be negligent.

He kicked the stool aside and, in the small room filled with the aroma of meat, once again set up the Three-Body Stance.

This time, it's different.

The food in the stomach is being rapidly converted into energy, which is being continuously transported to the limbs and bones.

The thighs stopped trembling, and the spine seemed to awaken as well, faintly emitting a soft "crackling" sound.

Sink your Qi to your Dantian.

The force penetrates to the heel.

Chen Zhuo closed his eyes, feeling the surge of heat within his body.

……

The training of traditional Chinese martial arts is divided into three stages and three methods.

The first step is to refine essence into qi and transform the bones. This is called Ming Jin (manifested strength).

The key is to be "firm but not rigid," integrating the scattered strength of the whole body into a single rope. When fighting, the sound is crisp like a whip, and the punch is like a cannon. The original owner of this body practiced for more than ten years and only just touched the threshold, able to produce a few crisp sounds, but that was "brute force" obtained by overdrawing the body, not true "integrated strength."

The second step is to cultivate Qi and transform it into spirit, and to change the tendons and muscles. This is called hidden strength.

That's the process of training from sound to silence, with internalized power penetrating the body. Striking someone is like hanging a painting; it wounds the lungs but not the flesh. My master and grandmaster in my previous life were at this level. It's said that my senior brother, Zhao Jinrong, almost reached this level back then; I wonder if he's broken through now.

As for the third step, refining the spirit to return to emptiness and changing the marrow, that is called transforming strength.

Before the autumn wind blows, the cicadas sense it; springs spring from head to toe. That is the realm of a master, a legend.

As for things like flying, teleporting, palm lightning, and sword energy, those are all fantasy.

Something that doesn't belong to this world.

Even if one has mastered the art of internal energy transformation, one cannot withstand a single bullet.

True martial arts are the ultimate application of human biomechanics, pushing the body—this intricate instrument—to its limits. They are killing techniques, not myths.

Chen Zhuo was very clear-headed. Even with the help of that strange perspective that could analyze everything, he still had to practice step by step.

"Right now, I can't even be considered to have a stable early stage of Ming Jin (a type of internal energy cultivation)."

Chen Zhuo introspected on himself.

He could almost see his once-shriveled muscle fibers greedily absorbing nutrients, gradually becoming fuller and stronger.

This stop lasted for half an hour.

When Chen Zhuo finished his movements, he was completely soaked.

That was thick sweat, carrying the cold and impurities expelled from the body.

He clenched his fist.

The knuckles made a crisp popping sound.

Although he is still far from achieving true mastery of Ming Jin, at least he is no longer an empty shell that can be easily pushed over.

"Gurgle..."

Just then, my stomach let out another disgraceful protest.

The energy from the meat I had just eaten was almost entirely used up during this half-hour of standing meditation.

My body is like a bottomless pit that can never be filled. Just when things started to look up, I fell back into the abyss of hunger.

The hunger was even more intense than before, like a fire burning in my stomach.

"It's still not enough..."

Chen Zhuo touched his stomach, which was starting to shrink again, and gave a wry smile.

Practicing martial arts is a money pit; the ancients were right. This isn't practicing martial arts; it's practically burning your life.

He turned to look at the broken earthenware pot under the windowsill.

"Forget it, I'll just leave a fart."

Chen Zhuo lifted the lid of the earthenware pot and took out the remaining half of the scraps that he had originally planned to save for tomorrow.

Relight the fire and boil the water.

Half an hour later, the half pound of meat, along with the broth, was gone from his stomach again.

Then I practiced for another half hour, and seeing that I had digested most of it, I didn't dare to practice anymore.

If I train any more, all that extra muscle will be wasted.

He needs to conserve this energy so he can use it for work and to make money.

……

During his break, Chen Zhuo took out the book "Xingyi Pu" and studied it carefully.

Based on the memories of the predecessor.

In this era, the martial arts profession is no longer what it used to be.

Officially, there was a sports commission that managed routine competitions, emphasizing graceful, high-flying, and stylish movements. That was a "new martial art" performed for foreigners.

There are semi-official martial arts associations, which are half genuine and half fake, and include some who are just trying to make money.

As for the true folk martial arts world...

The four major schools of Xingyi, Bagua, Taiji, and Tongbei in Tianjin have long been broken up. The older generation of martial arts masters either passed away, or became disheartened and went to work as gatekeepers in factories, or went into hiding like the butcher selling meat, mingling in the streets.

The rest are mostly charlatans or thugs who only know how to fight.

"It will be difficult to re-establish the rules of Xingyi School."

Chen Zhuo shook his head.

His lineage follows the old tradition of Master Li Laoneng from Shenzhou, Hebei, emphasizing "hard-hitting and unrestrained attack." Back then, his master was a disciple of Master Li Cunyi, and although he wasn't well-known, his skills were the most authentic.

Unfortunately, by the time it was passed down to the master's generation, all that was left was the book "Xingyi Pu" and a few of his fellow disciples.

Now, he is the only one left.

Of course, there was also his senior brother, but he was expelled and doesn't count as a head...

……

I took a nap, and it was nine o'clock in the morning.

Chen Zhuo pushed his tricycle out the door.

As soon as you step out of the alleyway of the courtyard, a rich aroma of sesame paste and cilantro wafts over you.

That was a breakfast stall at the street corner, selling authentic Tianjin "Guoba Cai" (crispy rice crust with vegetables). The mung bean noodle stall cut the thin pancakes into willow leaf strips, poured with braised sauce, then drizzled with fermented bean curd sauce, sesame paste, and chili oil, and sprinkled with a handful of cilantro.

Chen Zhuo's Adam's apple bobbed.

Really fragrant.

But he touched the little over a dollar he had left in his pocket and resisted. That was his life-saving money; he couldn't waste it. He tightened his belt, forcefully suppressing the craving.

My physical strength has barely recovered by 20-30%, so I can't stay cooped up indoors all the time. I still need to earn the money I need to earn, and I also need to avoid the limelight.

Ergaizi's side certainly won't let this go easily, but hiding isn't a solution. Rather than passively taking a beating, it's better to take the initiative and see just how capable the other side really is.

He walked south along the Jingang Bridge.

On the banks of the Haihe River, a group of shirtless old men are winter swimming.

"One, two, three! Jump!"

With a shout, several old men jumped into the icy river, splashing up a spray of water. A crowd of onlookers gathered on the bank, cheering loudly.

Chen Zhuo glanced at it and thought.

Among these elderly men who winter swim, there might be a few retired martial arts experts hidden among them.

Along the way, he did indeed find quite a few "nails".

There were people selling fake shoes at intersections, and others squatting against walls smoking; their eyes all looked suspicious. Even at several major thoroughfares, you could see a few young men riding old-fashioned bicycles and wearing military overcoats loitering around.

However, with such a large crowd, they discovered that things weren't easy for them either.

However, after finishing his first job, Chen Zhuo sensed something was wrong.

The feeling was very mysterious, like a cold wind blowing on the back of my neck.

This is the "sixth sense" developed from years of martial arts training in my previous life, and also the instinct that this body has honed on the edge of life and death.

Someone is watching him.

Moreover, he wasn't just any ordinary thug.

Chen Zhuo pretended to wipe his sweat, and glanced at the crowd behind him without making a sound.

Fifty meters away from him, under a large willow tree, stood a fat man in a blue cadre uniform. The man had a round belly, and the buttons were pulled tight. He didn't look at him, but looked down at his toes, casually playing with two walnuts in his hands, like a proper person.

But Chen Zhuo could sense that the person's aura, although it had not yet locked onto him, was like a net covering this area.

Especially the man's posture, although it looked loose, his feet were firmly gripping the ground, and his fat seemed to contain explosive power, like a brown bear that was dozing off.

"A martial arts expert..."

Chen Zhuo's pupils contracted slightly.

Ergaizi and his gang of good-for-nothings couldn't find someone like this. It seems that it's Hua Mao's tough guys who have been deployed.

However, the other party didn't seem to recognize him yet. After all, he was covered in coal soot, hunched over, and looked no different from the hundreds of rickshaw pullers.

Chen Zhuo's lips curled into a cold smile.

With a push of the foot, the tricycle shot off like an arrow, instantly merging into the bustling traffic.

He walked south along the Jingang Bridge, specifically choosing areas with many people.

We can't go to the train station area; it's too dangerous.

However, the squares along the Haihe River have a large flow of people and a mixed crowd, making it a perfect place to fish in troubled waters.