Chapter Eight: Zhu Yanping's Proposal

“I never had a proper master or school. My teacher was just a street performer who lived near my home for a while. He taught me what he knew and then left, not even leaving his real name behind!”

This casual fabrication from Liu Qingshan only added to the aura of legend surrounding him; the more unverifiable the story, the more enigmatic it seemed.

As a result, Qian Yangqiu’s curiosity was piqued even further, and he sighed deeply, saying, “They always say there are hidden masters among the common folk—clearly, the ancients didn’t lie! All right, I’ll stop trying to sound clever. Are you ready? Shall we start now, or would you like to give it a try first?”

“To be safe, and to let Director Qian assess the effect, it’s best to try it out. That way we can see if anything needs to be adjusted.”

As he spoke, Liu Qingshan stepped back, did a brief warm-up, and secured his mask.

With a short, light-footed run, he leapt onto the wall in just two steps, moving as effortlessly as if he were walking on flat ground.

Then, turning atop the wall, he suddenly sprang up, spun rapidly in the air, whirled several times, and, with a deft twist, landed lightly several yards away on the other side.

Strictly speaking, real-life rooftop runners wouldn’t bother with such flamboyant moves.

But for a film shoot, it was essential. Liu Qingshan had seen enough martial arts scenes to know that the more spectacular the movements, the more directors approved.

Sure enough, his performance drew a round of applause from everyone present.

Those with martial training, in particular, recognized the solid fundamentals in his moves.

Liu Qingshan had never formally studied lightness skills; these maneuvers were simply the footwork that accompanied the 36 Hands of Flowery Fist.

But the rarity of that style made his agility just as unique—unlike anything commonly seen.

For example, where most would execute a standard somersault in midair, Liu Qingshan instead performed a parkour-like tumble to cushion his descent.

The way he used his body’s momentum to glide and spin as he fell made it seem as if a whirlwind circled around him.

From a distance, it appeared he was gliding on the wind—far more visually striking than typical martial arts moves. Unusual, yet stunningly effective.

Zhu Yanping’s booming voice rang out, “Wow! Hips like an axle, breath like a spinning wheel, your changes flow like drifting clouds—this is real skill!”

Unlike him, most others were simply enjoying the spectacle. Qian Yangqiu was one of them. “What’s the matter, Brother Yanping? Is this kid’s kung fu really that good?”

“Good? He’s the most skilled martial artist I’ve ever seen! I won’t claim to know how terrifying his fighting ability is, but just from his movement, his foundation surpasses some of the best martial artists I’ve met. Of course, I haven’t met that many myself—just my own opinion.”

Wu San nodded vigorously. “I’ve probably seen more than you, but I agree with you. And you haven’t even seen his fist routines—those are truly astonishing!”

This statement caught Qian Yangqiu’s attention, and Qiu Xingguang, standing beside Wu San, added, “It’d be best to have a real expert spar with him—a purely choreographed performance doesn’t prove much.”

Qian Yangqiu chuckled. “That’s great. Of all of you, Old Wu is the strongest. How about letting him spar with this young man?”

He then turned to Liu Qingshan. “We’re not testing you—just curious, that’s all!”

Liu Qingshan shook his head with a smile. “I’m fine with it. It’s up to Third Brother.”

Knowing full well he’d be outmatched, Wu San was happy to give Liu Qingshan a chance to show off. “Come on, I’ve only seen your routines. I’d really like to see your skills in a real fight!”

As they passed each other, Wu San whispered in Liu Qingshan’s ear, “Don’t hold back. Knock me down as quickly as you can—no need to pull your punches!”

This was a testament to Wu San’s generosity.

With an expert’s eye, he was well aware of Liu Qingshan’s profound abilities.

Luckily, being a stuntman meant constantly dealing with danger and taking hits—a few blows were just another day’s work.

And Liu Qingshan’s mastery, even at just a fraction of a true grandmaster’s level, already placed him among the top practitioners. His strength wasn’t merely in striking power; he also possessed extraordinary control—something Wu San hadn’t anticipated.

Liu Qingshan was confident he could make it look brutal without causing any real harm.

So, instead of responding, he simply assumed his starting stance.

As expected, the difference in their abilities was immense; Wu San couldn’t last more than a few exchanges.

For the sake of spectacle, Liu Qingshan drew out the match, engaging Wu San for several rounds and demonstrating a few of the invisible, ingenious chain strikes that formed the essence of the 36 Hands of Flowery Fist, before finally knocking Wu San to the ground with a single punch.

The dazzling, intricate routines were a feast for the eyes. Liu Qingshan even suspected that the moves chosen for him by the system were tailor-made for film.

His rapid, continuous strikes were several times faster than even the swiftest Wing Chun techniques.

The onlookers cheered in unison, but those who understood the intricacies watched in stunned silence.

They recognized the sheer strangeness of this unorthodox style—nothing like it had ever appeared in any martial arts tournament.

More importantly, the strength Liu Qingshan displayed was, as Zhu Yanping and Wu San had said, truly formidable—almost frightening.

The real filming was about to begin. The character Hu Jinghui’s wall-leaping scene ended with him landing inside the courtyard, so the director and crew all headed to the other side of the city wall.

On the way, Zhu Yanping made a suggestion to Qian Yangqiu. “This Liu Qingshan is a remarkable man. Isn’t it a waste for him to just be a stunt double in our crew? Is there a suitable role for him?”

Qian Yangqiu sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that too. But our series doesn’t focus on martial arts—the strength is in the detective details. The few fight scenes we have are scattered, and the main roles are already filled.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t want to rush to give him a major appearance, but wait for the right moment as filming progresses?”

“Exactly. I’m just not sure about his acting ability—that’s my main concern.”

“Honestly, he’d be perfect for the role of Hu Jinghui. If his acting is as impressive as his kung fu, I’d be willing to give up the part for him.”

“That’s absolutely out of the question, Brother Yanping. That character might not be the leading role, but he’s vividly written—no ordinary actor could handle it.”

“Don’t be so quick to refuse. Here’s what I’m thinking: Di Chun is the steward at Judge Dee’s residence—shrewd, able, always loyal, and skilled in martial arts. He’s currently played by your junior, Zhao Gang, but he’s also serving as assistant director and doesn’t have time to learn the necessary skills. Why don’t I take on Di Chun, and let Zhao Gang play Prince Li Xian? That’s a more substantial role anyway.”