Chapter 49: Practicing with Wholehearted Devotion

At the moment the basketball exploded, even Su Jie was taken aback. Luckily, his recovery was fast—if his hand had stayed on the ball any longer, it would surely have been injured by the blast.

‘Exactly like that—the instant you retract your hand, it should be as if you’re scooping something out of boiling oil, withdrawing immediately upon contact. In all martial arts, especially boxing, a quick retraction is key.’

Having effortlessly shattered another basketball, he felt he’d gained a whole new level of understanding of his “Hoe Strike” technique.

In recent days, he’d watched videos and browsed websites to learn about various martial arts and techniques, but in the end, he always returned to that fundamental move—the “Hoe Strike.” Its variations seemed endless.

Every little improvement made Su Jie marvel at the ancient masters’ wisdom. No wonder they enshrined the “Hoe Strike” as the core fist technique—a move one could devote a lifetime to.

‘The force needed to shatter a basketball was once tested by foreigners—I can’t recall the numbers, only that it was extremely difficult. And mind you, my strike was a chopping strike, not a straight punch; if it had been a straight punch, it would have required even more power.’

Su Jie paused to savor the sensation of the move he’d just executed. The “Hoe Strike” had come out almost unintentionally, perfectly embodying the martial arts idea that “true intent lies in what appears unintentional.”

If someone were to throw another basketball at him now, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to shatter it.

‘If I could make this state of ‘true intent in unintentionality’ my norm, my martial arts would surely reach a new level. I might still never match Feng Hengyi, but at least I wouldn’t be defeated so quickly.’

Su Jie put away his insulated box but didn’t leave the area. He noticed a few people running over from afar—the military training instructors and several college students coming to retrieve the basketball. Shattering their ball meant he’d have to make amends somehow.

“Hey, young man, this basketball…” A military training instructor was the first to arrive, looking at the splintered ball with a puzzled expression.

“I’m really sorry—I’ll make it right. I don’t know how it just exploded,” Su Jie quickly apologized. “I’ll go buy a new one right away.”

“No,” the instructor waved him off. “You all go grab another basketball and continue your game. I’d like to have a word with you.”

The college students who’d hurried over soon dispersed.

“Young man, that punch was really impressive. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a chopping strike from Form Intent Boxing, isn’t it? To be able to shatter a basketball with it—the force in that chop is nothing short of transcendent. Could you show it to me again?”

The instructor clearly knew something about martial arts. He’d seen the whole thing—how the basketball flew toward Su Jie’s head, and how Su Jie suddenly turned and delivered a chop that exploded the ball. There was no way this was mere coincidence.

“I’ve practiced martial arts, but that move isn’t a chopping punch—it’s called the ‘Hoe Strike’,” Su Jie explained openly. Since the instructor was also a martial artist, it was a great chance to exchange ideas.

Martial arts are all about sharing techniques. Practicing alone in the wilderness for ten years isn’t as effective as several people getting together to study kicks, strikes, throws, and grappling for a few months.

“‘Hoe Strike?’” the instructor blinked in surprise before saying, “You learned the Shaolin Boxing, right? I mean, those movements are ancient and unadorned—their great subtlety lies in appearing clumsy. This move may seem simple, but mastering it isn’t easy. How old are you?”

“Sixteen—I’m in my second year of high school. Actually, with school starting tomorrow, I’ll be a senior,” Su Jie replied with a smile. He had great respect for military men; just a moment ago, he’d even picked up on the spirit of the stances from a soldier guarding the national flag.

“How long have you been practicing martial arts?” the instructor asked again, still in disbelief.

“At Minglun Martial Arts Academy—two months. My coach is Gu Yang,” Su Jie answered, carefully omitting any mention of Odell.

“Impossible,” the instructor said irritably, suspecting Su Jie was lying. He extended a hand. “Let’s test your strength.”

The stance he assumed wasn’t a fighting stance at all—it was similar to the push-hands movement of Tai Chi. Su Jie had never quite understood it before; on TV it always seemed impractical—after all, who in a real fight would simply push each other around? Later, after delving into various martial arts histories and old manuals, he learned that this was a form of “wen-bi”—a refined spar where two people test their skills without injuring each other. It was very popular during the Republican era, when martial arts needed to be embraced by high society. Brute force and deadly fighting were unacceptable; dignitaries of any era considered such behavior crude and common.

On the contrary, this kind of back-and-forth pushing—graceful yet skillful, interwoven with Zen-like wisdom—was favored by the upper echelons and helped promote martial arts.

Su Jie extended his hand to join the instructor’s. At the moment their hands touched, as their skin made contact, the instructor suddenly pushed forward, trying to off-balance him. The force was so swift it almost lifted Su Jie off his feet.

But Su Jie rooted himself firmly, as if a thousand pounds were pressing him down, making it impossible to be lifted. He employed his “Shoulder Load” technique.

At that moment, the instructor’s arm smoothly shifted its pull sideways, aiming to redirect Su Jie—a maneuver executed with such subtlety and ease, it was like effortlessly herding a sheep.

Without a second thought, regardless of how his opponent’s force might change, Su Jie hoisted his arm and body upward and then delivered a forceful downward chop. It was, once again, the “Hoe Strike.”

Smack!

The instructor looked as if he were a rabbit caught by an eagle or an antelope pounced upon by a tiger—instantly pinned to the ground and utterly immobile.

Immediately, Su Jie let go and helped him up. “Sorry, sorry—I didn’t execute it properly. I didn’t know when to stop.”

“If that’s what you call poor practice, then no one in the world could ever perfect it,” the instructor replied as he dusted himself off. “An eagle’s catch in a few moves stains the yellow sand; with your catch, you nearly had me bloodstained on the sand. Do you know any other techniques?”

“I’ve picked up a few moves from other schools, but I mainly focus on this one move—the ‘Hoe Strike.’ I believe it’s worth dedicating a lifetime to.”

Su Jie spoke earnestly, exuding a sense of reliability.

“Practicing one move with all your heart—truly remarkable,” the instructor marveled. “You really managed to develop such skill in just two months? I can tell you, even after ten years, one might not perfect this technique. I know Minglun Martial Arts Academy is the top martial arts school in the country, teeming with experts. Many of our military grappling coaches have been recruited from there, yet even they wouldn’t possess such extraordinary prowess.”

“Practicing one move with all one’s heart…” Su Jie mumbled, as if the phrase had sparked another thought. 

The sentence, Practicing one move with all your heart (一心一意) resonated deeply with him.

“Alright, my name is Yu Jiang. I’ve been studying martial arts since I was a kid—my family’s tradition is the Tai Chi Praying Mantis style. Let’s keep in touch and exchange ideas when we have time.”

“Sure—can I have your contact info?” the instructor asked.

“Absolutely,” Su Jie replied quickly, exchanging names and contact details before pointing at the basketball. “I’ll go get you a new one.”

“Actually, forget it. Really—the fact that the basketball hit you is partly our fault. I’ve got to go lead my students now, but let’s chat again sometime,” said Instructor Yu Jiang as he patted Su Jie on the shoulder and briskly headed toward the basketball court.

Su Jie also quickly left the college campus. Watching his departing figure, Yu Jiang stopped and gazed into the distance, murmuring, “Incredible, simply incredible—two months, at sixteen years old, how could one possess such skill? Today it was merely a push-hands match, not real combat; I wonder what would happen in an actual fight?”

“Push-hands is quite interesting. Such matches are very safe, and they truly reveal who has the deeper skill. Even though it was just those few moves, I learned a great deal,” Su Jie thought as he walked home by subway.

By the time he got home, his older sister, Su Mucheng, had already woken up and left for work, and his dad, Su Shilin, hadn’t returned—leaving Su Jie alone. He reheated the meal his father had left behind and ate every bite; the food was really quite good. While his dad’s cooking might not match the secret recipes of the Nie family, it was at least on par with what you’d expect from a five-star hotel chef.

Su Jie’s mom, Xu Ying, was notoriously picky—she only ate dishes that were meticulously prepared. The ordinary fare at most restaurants would never tempt her. Because of this, Su Jie remembered from a young age how his dad had diligently practiced his cooking. Over the years, while not transcendent, his dishes were always pleasing in color, aroma, and taste.

“It’s still early. Since today’s training didn’t leave me feeling off, I might as well get some extra exercise. How about the nearby park?”

Su Jie now felt an itch for training if he went a day without it. Not far behind his residential complex was a large park that in the mornings buzzed with activity—elderly folks practicing Tai Chi and young men and women jogging or working out. But now it was afternoon, and with the scorching heat and heavy humidity, hardly anyone was out.

In such weather, aside from those military-training college students, most people were indoors enjoying the air conditioning. But Su Jie didn’t care about the heat at all; his time working in the fields—hoeing, digging, and carrying loads—had already built his endurance.

When he arrived at the park, completely empty, he began his routine workout, still following Odell’s training regimen without any changes. After all, Odell’s training method represented the most scientific system of the Typhon Training Camp. With his current level of wisdom and insight, he couldn’t stray from that system—any rash modifications might backfire.

Today, his training state felt different. He had infused the upright, flag-guarding spirit of military men into his “Hoe Strike” technique and found that every move became remarkably erect and imposing, almost exuding an aura of conquering mountains and rivers—immovable as a mountain, vast as the sea.

Gradually, he became completely absorbed, practicing repeatedly until that very spirit became second nature.

“Martial arts are, first and foremost, about form—the posture must be correct and follow the principles of mechanics. Only then can the spirit shine through.”

Su Jie had long known that when he once watched a flock of chickens fighting over food in the wild, he’d absorbed a certain spirit from them. Although the posture remained the same, incorporating that spirit into his technique made his strikes far sharper.

“Chickens have a unique independence, the courage to fight, the skill to peck at insects, the majesty in shaking their feathers, and a buoyant momentum—each quality exuding impressive spirit and intent. When blended into martial arts, they give your moves a certain sharpness. And perhaps one could also incorporate the spirit of soldiers guarding the national flag into the art. By the way, isn’t our motherland’s territory just like an Eastern rooster?”

As Su Jie practiced, that thought suddenly came to him. The map of China is like a rooster in the East.

At that very moment, a line of poetry surged into his mind:

“When the rooster crows, the world turns bright!”

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