Chapter 19: Sparring (Revised)

Cao Huba looked at his son, whose heroic spirit was in full bloom, and felt deeply gratified. Although the boy was usually rather unruly, at crucial moments he could transform into a true warrior—a worthy son of the Cao family.

"Seven Stars Martial Hall’s Ling Chi, I request your guidance!"

This was Ling Chi’s first time sparring in the name of his martial hall—and perhaps his last. He set aside his horse-chopping saber, took off his shirt, twisted his waist and hips to loosen his bones, while his youthful opponent pressed his hands against the ground to stretch and raise his legs.

At the sound of the gong, the contest began.

The youth charged in with lightning speed, turning his body, twisting his waist, and raising his knee. His movements were forceful, his legs like steel whips.

His right leg, trailing a blur, swung straight for Ling Chi’s head. Ling Chi neither dodged nor evaded. Using his left foot as an axis, he twisted his waist and back, channeling power from the ground up.

Their right legs crashed together in a resounding clash, both boys about the same age, both choosing to test their mettle first—to see whose body was tougher, whose strength more formidable.

A thunderous crack rang out as their legs met.

Ling Chi stood tall and unmoving, like a green pine, while Cao Bianjiao staggered back two steps—a clear verdict.

Cao Bianjiao’s face changed; his leg had gone numb.

At that moment, Ling Chi’s fist chopped forward.

He swung his fist as if striking a target, the chopping motion as heavy as pounding on a wooden dummy.

Cao Bianjiao set his fists defensively. Now he understood—today’s match would be a hard fight indeed. The youth before him was nothing like his past opponents—he was more like a human-shaped beast.

Cao Bianjiao wielded his family’s ancestral military boxing style, known for its broad, bold, and iron-blooded techniques.

Ling Chi, however, used Bajiquan learned in a previous life—a style that prized explosive power, close-range strikes, forceful attacks, rooting from the heels, and power that surged through the waist and joints.

“Hoo!” Ling Chi exhaled softly, his elbow tip sharp as a spearhead, and with a powerful swing of his right arm, smashed forward.

Bajiquan, with its “Armor-Draping” technique—so fierce it could terrify gods and spirits.

Cao Huba’s heart tightened, worried his son would not withstand the blow.

But Cao Bianjiao had no intention of meeting force with force. Knowing his opponent was harder, to insist on clashing head-on would be foolish.

Ling Chi’s punch missed, but the air itself cracked with a sonic boom, making Cao Bianjiao’s eyelids twitch.

Ling Chi pressed the advantage, his legs exerting force, his body arched like a drawn bow, his fists like arrows.

Clenching his four fingers tight, he swung a fist straight for Cao Bianjiao’s face.

Bajiquan’s “Fierce Tiger Ascends the Mountain.”

Cao Bianjiao’s hands moved like a pagoda, blocking Ling Chi’s lethal strike, his feet constantly shifting.

King of Killing Fists, Pagoda Defense.

With a muffled thud, the two figures bounced apart, only to immediately re-engage.

Ling Chi’s fists whistled through the air with bone-breaking force, but were caught by Cao Bianjiao at the wrist.

In the next instant, Ling Chi seized Cao Bianjiao’s jaw, both pouring their strength into the struggle.

“Ah!”

A sharp hiss escaped Cao Bianjiao’s lips. If Ling Chi hadn’t held back, his jaw would have been shattered.

But he was not about to concede. Drawing a deep breath, a green aura rose around him—he was about to use his cultivation.

Seven Layers of Channel Opening—his advantage in raw power. There was no reason not to use it.

“The real fight is only just beginning, you bastard.”

Cao Bianjiao had been beaten hard; without his cultivation, he feared he wouldn’t last long.

The more Ling Chi fought, the more exhilarated he became. A real man fought with every punch landing true; this kind of brawl made his blood sing.

Seeing Cao Bianjiao turn into a little green man, Ling Chi’s eyes began to gather thunder, crackling lightning snaking around his body, as if the God of Thunder had descended.

The two clashed in a blur, every move a killing blow, their speed ever increasing—trading dozens of blows in an instant, each punch landing with a wet thud, the fight intense and unrestrained.

Suddenly, a lightning-wreathed fist expanded rapidly in Cao Bianjiao’s eyes.

A sense of peril flashed through him. The green light around him flared, and he dodged the fist, countering with a punch to Ling Chi’s abdomen.

Ling Chi took the punch head-on, confident in the resilience of his lightning-tempered body.

The green-lit fist slammed into his abdomen, ripples clearly visible across the muscles.

Ling Chi gritted through the pain, a savage grin on his face.

“It’s time to end this, you melodramatic kid!”

His body blazed with brilliant lightning.

Bajiquan’s “Heaven-Piercing Elbow.”

Boom!

Cao Bianjiao was sent flying several yards by the elbow, crashing to the ground in the training yard, raising a cloud of dust. For a long while, he could not get up.

Seven Stars Martial Hall.

Ling Chi—victorious!

The training ground was silent as the grave; two young cultivators at the Channel Opening stage had fought with the deadly intensity of battle-hardened soldiers.

Cao Huba’s attendants carried Cao Bianjiao away. Before leaving, they nodded to Ling Chi, making him somewhat uneasy.

“Are they planning to jump me later?” he wondered.

Cao Huba spoke up, “Bianjiao grew up with me in the army and picked up a soldier’s habits. Don’t take it personally. He’ll honor his promise to you. If he can’t find what you need, I’ll help him. Whenever you have time, spar with him more—sharpen his edge. Don’t hold back; he’s been knocked out plenty in the army.”

Ling Chi’s heart stirred, and he hastened to protest that he dared not.

Later, Zhao Qing hosted several tables at Tongfu Restaurant, inviting local notables and having Cao Huba lend his presence. It was also an occasion to announce the establishment of He County’s Peacekeeping Office and to discuss the division of interests.

Inside the restaurant, Zhao Qing and Cao Huba, along with other key figures, retreated to private rooms. Outside, six or seven tables bustled with martial hall members and county constables, all toasting each other and making merry.

Ling Chi found a quiet corner outside. At some point, Cao Bianjiao sat down beside him, staring intently.

“What are you looking at me for?” Ling Chi asked, exasperated.

“Teach me that boxing style of yours—name your price,” Cao Bianjiao said, a note of excitement in his voice.

“That’s a family heirloom. I don’t teach it lightly. But since you’re willing to trade, I suppose I could make an exception.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

“That depends on what you have.”

“No, you have to tell me what you want so I can figure out how to get it,” Cao Bianjiao said, growing frustrated. “You can’t expect me to guess.”

“Then we’ll call it a debt—you owe me one art, and one more thing to be determined. You’ll learn the boxing, I’ll get a technique—mutually beneficial.”

“So ‘mutual benefit’ just means you win twice?” Cao Bianjiao gritted his teeth but relented.

They clinked glasses, sealing the agreement.

Cao Huba and Prefect Cui had already decided: a courtyard in the north of town, with minor renovations, would become the Peacekeeping Office’s headquarters.

A group of clerks would be sent from the provincial capital to handle legal documents and cases. Elite forces would be selected from county constables and local militias to form banners and squads.

All members of the Seven Stars Martial Hall, including registered disciples, would be reorganized into He County’s Peacekeeping Office.

Zhao Qing would serve as Commandant, with a bronze badge.

He County had only five townships; one—Willow Town—had been devastated by corpse fiends, with the authorities still clearing the aftermath.

After the division of interests, five towns would each have a commandant: the Martial Hall received three, while the other two went to the Prefect and the prominent He family.

Of the six direct disciples of the Martial Hall, three became town commandants. The second and fourth had nearly bled out and were bedridden, perhaps permanently crippled.

The eldest took over the Martial Hall’s banner, continuing to recruit students. The third went to serve at Qianshan Town, the fifth to Panshan Town.

Ling Chi, less fortunate, was assigned to Willow Town.