Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Difference Between Myth and Martial Arts

Chen Long turned to Ye Weixing, elaborating on his earlier question:

“What you said just now—that the swordsmanship is far less frightening than Shanzi’s fist technique—do you know why? That set of sword skills is actually derived from the Thirty-Six Hands of the Flowery Fist. Right now, it’s only a crude imitation, relying on the sword’s cold, steely edge to conjure an atmosphere of menace. In truth, that’s just the beginning. The truly terrifying moment will be when you can no longer sense the fierce intent typical of the Flowery Fist in his swordplay—when all that killing aura is contained and invisible.”

“My goodness, are you saying Qingshan’s swordsmanship is far deadlier in quality than the Flowery Fist?”

“To a layman, swordsmanship may appear more frightening. But insiders see the underlying principles and can instantly tell the enormous difference between the two.”

“But swordplay seems more suitable for filming, doesn’t it?”

“That’s why Shanzi only demonstrated his sword technique to you. In my view, as long as he holds a sword—even without striking—a single pose is enough to make you feel his murderous intent. No one could play an assassin better than he. Now you understand why I raised his price the other day? Mark my words: within a year, he’ll be worth five million. You got him for a mere one hundred thousand—it’s a bargain!”

Ye Weixing nodded repeatedly, though a peculiar look flickered across his face as if a new thought had struck him.

Chen Long, ever skilled at reading expressions, burst into laughter. “You’re worried, aren’t you? Afraid his performance might outshine the film’s protagonist? What a happy dilemma!”

“Isn’t it just?” Ye Weixing spread his hands with a helpless smile. “I’m already planning to revise the script, just to give the assassin’s character more depth.”

“There’s no need to change too much just because of him. We professional actors, haven’t most of us played minor roles for friends? Let the main structure stand as it is—don’t ruin the film’s integrity!”

“My main fear is being criticized in the future!”

“Then give him a spectacular death, or at least make a deep impression. Cast him as the lead in the next film, and you’ll make it up to him!”

“That’s all I can do. Thankfully, Qingshan hasn’t used his talent to demand more.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t. Just two months ago, he nearly drowned playing a corpse—his professionalism is unquestionable!”

Listening to their praise of Liu Qingshan, Jin Xishan, with her instant translation, couldn’t help but smile both outwardly and inwardly.

But before she could savor her happiness, Chen Long came to fetch her.

It was time for her scene, and Chen Long had personally come to call her precisely because Ye Weixing and his companion were esteemed guests.

Choi Myungsoo was also summoned, but fortunately Liang Jiahui appeared in time to keep Ye Weixing company.

Night fell swiftly, and the crew held a special bonfire barbecue feast in the courtyard for the two guests.

Chen Long even lifted his usual restrictions on alcohol, ordering in hundreds of cases of beer and baijiu, along with a truckload of beef and lamb.

Professional grill masters from nearby hotels, assisted by local staff, worked the fires as over two hundred people filled the courtyard.

Most sat directly on the ground. Now that May had arrived, under a sky full of stars, the mood was high and jubilant.

This was the first large-scale gathering since the crew’s formation, so newcomers like Jin Xishan were especially excited.

With many martial artists among them, by mid-evening, the drink was flowing and someone suggested a martial arts display by the bonfire.

No one called for Liu Qingshan to perform, knowing he was still recovering from injury, however quickly he might heal.

Zhen Zijian’s team included the Zhen Family Troupe. In Hong Kong, the connection between martial artists and martial arts films ran deep, forming a unique subculture with their own history, work style, and traditions.

Such groups included traditional fight choreographers and technical experts, as well as all kinds of combat specialists. Whenever the opportunity arose, they would spar lightly, much like the lion dances performed during holidays—a widespread practice in the industry.

Spurred on by enthusiasm, Zhen Zijian himself even joined in. As the night went on, the event naturally evolved into a demonstration of the Flowery Fist.

“I’ve always wondered,” Lin Fengqiao, seated beside Jin Xishan, leaned over to ask Liu Qingshan, “why aren’t you more protective? Aren’t you worried that if too many martial artists learn the Thirty-Six Hands, your own people will be out of work?”

“My brother asked me the same thing. My answer is simple—I don’t want it to be lost again! In the age of cold weapons, Chinese martial arts could defeat a thousand men and crown kings, but since the advent of modern weaponry, it’s lost its glory. Even the tale of the Eighteen Warrior Monks aiding Emperor Taizong has become legend.”

“The real issue,” Chen Long added, “is that Shanzi can’t bear to see martial arts reduced to mere performance. It disappoints him greatly.”

Liu Qingshan nodded. “I believe martial arts must shed their purely ornamental role and focus on real combat. Not that we can match modern weapons, but anyone truly dedicated to reviving Chinese martial arts should seek out the old secrets, train hard, and at the very least, effortlessly defeat Western boxing, Japanese judo, Muay Thai, taekwondo, and the like in the ring.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so principled,” Lin Fengqiao said with an admiring smile.

“I’m not particularly noble. I just don’t want foreigners to laugh at our martial arts!”

“So, did your mysterious master ever mention any other lost techniques besides the Flowery Fist?”

Unlike his wife, Chen Long was more interested in the old martial world and the legendary skills that had once existed.

Eager to lay groundwork for his future “Divine Seizing Hand” abilities, Liu Qingshan decided to spin a tale from stories he’d heard:

“He did, in fact! My master told me himself—there really is a technique called ‘Bone Displacement and Tendon Separation,’ but it’s only one aspect of what’s known as Divine Seizing Hand. When he was a child, he visited a distant relative who was said to know this art. A group of adults clamored to see it, and the relative used my master as a model. He grabbed his hand, gave a slight twist, and my master said the pain was excruciating—his hand couldn’t move, and a lump appeared on the back. According to my master’s description, his fourth metacarpal had been displaced.”

He pointed out the spot on his own hand:

“Of course, the man then gently pressed it back into place, though the pain lasted all night before it subsided. My master said the man claimed he could dislocate any bone in his body at will. After that, for some reason—perhaps distance—they lost touch, and my master never heard from him again.”

“My goodness, such a miraculous technique exists? If I hadn’t seen your Flowery Fist with my own eyes, I’d never believe it!”

“That’s exactly why I want to pass on the Flowery Fist to more people! As you can see, even the simplest technique within Divine Seizing Hand has been mythologized by later generations—imagine how far real martial arts have declined!”

“So what exactly is the Divine Seizing Hand?”

“It’s a catch-all term—Iron Sand Palm, Dim Mak, Bone Displacement, all fall under its scope. For example, ‘Dragon Seizing Hand’ is its most direct expression. It’s an ancient, profound martial art said to allow one to snatch objects out of the air at a certain distance—like weapons and such—with roots in Buddhist martial traditions.”

“Shaolin’s Dragon Seizing Hand? I’ve heard of it—it’s supposed to be legendary. They say, as the name suggests, with deep internal power one can control true qi, seize dragons and restrain cranes, dominating all. At its peak, you can manipulate energy, reach through space, and seize objects at a distance—the ultimate skill!”

“Oh, come on, brother,” Liu Qingshan laughed, “seizing dragons and restraining cranes, reaching through space to grab things? Why not say you can ignore the object’s weight and casually summon a mountain to crush your enemy? Those are just myths. If such magical techniques ever existed, it’s best they remain lost—imagine the chaos they’d wreak!”

Everyone burst out laughing. Liu Qingshan stifled his own laughter.

“Moving objects through thin air is a power reserved for immortals. How could that be called Chinese martial arts? But the destructive power was certainly immense. Take, for instance, the Wudang technique ‘Striking the Ox Across the Mountain.’ Can you really take the name literally? That would be nonsense.”

“Still, the name ‘Striking the Ox Across the Mountain’ is quite famous!”

“There is such a skill, and at best it allows you to knock someone down with a punch or palm strike from a short distance—maybe just a few centimeters away. Especially in Wudang’s internal arts, there’s ‘penetrating force’ and ‘explosive force’—derivatives of this idea.”

“What exactly is ‘Striking the Ox Across the Mountain’?” Jin Xishan asked curiously.

“Simply put, it refers to penetrating and explosive force. Explosive force means I punch you, and the impact is confined to the point of contact, so you’re knocked back and fall, but your internal organs aren’t harmed. Penetrating force is the opposite—the punch lands on your abdomen, but the force reaches your organs or even your back. That kind of strike doesn’t throw you, but causes internal injuries.”

“How amazing!” Jin Xishan exclaimed.

“Amazing or not, it’s all rumor now. At least this is a plausible legend. As for reaching through space to seize objects—those are just fairy tales!”

“You never thought of searching for your master’s distant relative? Maybe you could learn more!”

Liu Qingshan was secretly delighted—he’d spun all this nonsense just to provoke that very question.

In the future, if he picked up other skills and needed an excuse, he could always use Chen Long as a shield—far more effective than any explanation.

His expression grew solemn.

“I have considered it. I vaguely remember my master mentioning the location. One day, I must make the journey. Whether I learn anything is secondary—what really puzzles me is why the old man left without a word, a mystery I’ve carried all my life.”