Chapter 2: Five Animal Fist!

The sky grew dark.

The time for closing the academy was finally approaching.

Those who usually came out first were the outer academy apprentices.

Though the martial academy was small, it was strictly hierarchical: new disciples trained in the outer academy; only those who mastered fist techniques within two months could be taken as formal disciples by Liu Qingshi and enter the inner academy to train.

If one failed to master fist techniques within two months, it meant they had no talent at all—this lifetime would likely never touch the martial path.

Thus, the faces of these outer academy disciples who emerged carried varying degrees of anxiety.

Soon, the inner academy disciples began filing out, the foremost among them a youth dressed elegantly, his expression haughty.

His name was Zhang Xu; like Su Yan, he was from a wealthy family, yet utterly unlike Su Yan’s easygoing nature.

He walked swiftly, chin slightly raised, his gaze sweeping over Jiang Ye at the gate with only a passing glance—as if he were not looking at a person, but a familiar piece of furniture.

The few disciples following him subtly deferred to him, their words laced with caution and flattery.

“Senior Brother Zhang truly is a natural martial genius; he’ll likely break through to Hidden Strength soon.”

“Master Liu said Senior Brother Zhang’s martial talent ranks among the top five since the academy’s founding.”

“Once Senior Brother Zhang breaks through to Hidden Strength, he’ll be hailed alongside Sister Liu as the Twin Stars of the martial academy.”

“......”

Compared to the anxious outer academy apprentices, this group around Zhang Xu radiated an entirely different aura.

It was the calm of having gained preliminary recognition, possessing a certain confidence, and feeling inherently superior—even bordering on detachment.

Jiang Ye observed it all silently.

Twenty years of guarding the gate had made him see every subtle interpersonal dynamic within the academy with perfect clarity.

Disciples like Zhang Xu, born into privilege and possessing no small talent, were the academy’s focal points and a vital source of its reputation and income for Liu Qingshi.

They had their own circle; ordinary disciples found it hard to join, and someone like Jiang Ye, the old gatekeeper, had never been truly regarded by them at all.

Jiang Ye stood quietly beneath the eaves of the gatehouse, watching until all the inner academy disciples had left, then mentally counted them.

“Two more haven’t come out.”

Jiang Ye frowned slightly.

The academy had a rule: at closing time, no disciple was allowed to remain inside unless granted special permission by the academy master—this was for easier management and to prevent unnecessary trouble.

After waiting a moment longer, Jiang Ye turned and walked into the courtyard.

“Little Sister Lin, the essence of Collapse Mountain Fist lies in this ‘heavy’ force and ‘whole’ force.”

“As a beginner, don’t chase speed or worry about how pretty your postures look—just practice the feeling of ‘pushing against a wall.’ Train until each breath moves your body slightly, so the force flows continuously—only then will the first form have any real shape.”

Just outside the outer academy, Jiang Ye saw a dark-skinned, sturdy boy instructing a girl with twin buns and still-plump baby cheeks as she practiced fist techniques.

The boy was Shi Lei; Jiang Ye had heard Liu Qingshi mention him—though his innate constitution was average, he compensated with diligent training and was on the verge of mastering fist techniques, one of the better prospects among this batch of outer academy disciples.

The girl he was coaching, Jiang Ye also knew—she was Lin Xiaohé, a new recruit from two days prior.

Seeing Jiang Ye enter, Shi Lei immediately halted his stance, his face filled with apology.

“Old Jiang, I’m sorry—we lost track of time and delayed your closing. We’re leaving right away.”

Nearby, Lin Xiaohé, upon seeing it was Jiang Ye the gatekeeper, muttered dismissively: “What’s the harm in practicing a little longer?”

“Shh... If Master Liu sees we haven’t left after closing, we’ll be punished.”

Shi Lei quickly gave Lin Xiaohé a warning glance, signaling her to stay quiet.

“Ah...”

Hearing this, Lin Xiaohé instantly dropped her stance and hurried toward the courtyard exit like a startled rabbit, afraid even a moment’s delay might get her caught.

Watching the girl abandon Shi Lei and run off, Jiang Ye shook his head slightly, a faint, hidden mockery glinting in his cloudy eyes.

He said nothing, instead began gathering the scattered, simple training tools on the ground.

“Old Jiang, let me help you clean up.”

Shi Lei smiled warmly and stepped forward to assist.

“Little Sister Lin comes from hardship—I figured if I can help, I should.”

While putting away the equipment, Shi Lei chatted with Jiang Ye about why he’d waste his own time helping Lin Xiaohé train.

Jiang Ye gave Shi Lei a long look, saying nothing.

Good intentions don’t always bring good results—only those who’ve lived it truly understand.

Soon, all the equipment was gathered. Shi Lei bid Jiang Ye farewell and left the courtyard.

“Phew... Finally, everyone’s gone.”

Jiang Ye closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Inner academy.

A man around fifty stood in the courtyard.

He wasn’t exceptionally tall, but his posture was unbending—broad shoulders and back filled out his slightly worn dark-blue robe with sharp, rigid lines, not a single loose fold.

That was the skeleton and muscle forged by years of harsh martial training; even standing still, he radiated a heavy, grounded weight.

Standing there, he resembled a green pine that had endured frost and snow without bending.

This man was none other than Liu Qingshi, founder of the Qing Shi Martial Academy.

Jiang Ye slowly swept the fallen leaves with his broom, lingering near.

Liu Qingshi noticed him, turned, and offered a gentle smile. “Old Jiang, busy?”

He always treated this man—his savior and old friend—with respect.

“Master.” Jiang Ye paused his sweeping, bowed slightly, his face showing the modest, hesitant shyness of an old man as he rubbed his hands. “There’s something... I’m not sure whether I should say it.”

“Just speak plainly—what’s the need for formality between us?”

Liu Qingshi waved his hand.

Jiang Ye sighed, pointing to himself. “I’m old now—this useless body of mine aches all over every winter, joints stiff as iron.”

“I was wondering... could I learn some fist techniques from you? Not for combat—just to loosen up, sleep better at night.”

Hearing this, Liu Qingshi paused, then understood, his eyes flickering with insight and quiet sorrow.

He grasped Jiang Ye’s wish—a lonely old man, at this age, sought only health and less pain.

“Old Jiang, wanting to stretch your limbs is a good thing.”

Liu Qingshi fell silent for a moment, his gaze lingering briefly on Jiang Ye’s hunched but still-straight neck, then spoke steadily as ever:

“But my Collapse Mountain Fist is forceful and brutal, demanding explosive blood and qi, bones and sinews resonating together.

Even the most basic method exerts strong pressure on meridians and bones.

At your age... your body can’t withstand such strain. Forcing it won’t help—it might damage your foundation.”

His words were blunt, yet carried undeniable concern and truth.

Jiang Ye opened his mouth, his face showing the appropriate shadow of disappointment at being understood too well, about to speak further.

“But...” Liu Qingshi changed tone, as if recalling something, and said gravely, “Your mention reminds me of an old matter.”

He turned and reentered the house, returning moments later with a thin, yellowed, stitched booklet in hand.

The edges were worn, the cover once damp, leaving uneven water stains, yet it was kept remarkably flat.

“This was acquired years ago during my travels, from an old hermit physician.”

Liu Qingshi extended the booklet to Jiang Ye, his voice calm: “It’s not profound martial art. According to the physician, he devised it after studying ancient texts, observing the forms and spirits of birds and beasts, blending them with health-preserving breathing techniques—called...”

Jiang Ye’s gaze fell on the dim cover, where three simple ink characters were written:

Five Animal Fist!

The booklet felt slightly heavy in his hands, the paper coarse; the three characters on the cover lacked finesse, yet carried a raw, natural vitality—as if truly embodying the wild spirit of birds flying and beasts moving through forest and mountain.

“Though this is a health-oriented fist form, lacking combat power, it may have remarkable effects on longevity, loosening sinews and bones.

If you’re interested, follow the illustrations and mantras in this booklet, study them slowly.

If anything’s unclear, come ask me anytime.”

Liu Qingshi paused, then added: “By the way, Old Jiang, starting tomorrow, go to the kitchen and take a bowl of Blood-Boosting Decoction. Since you’re beginning to stretch your limbs, pairing it with this medicine follows the principle of training and nourishing together.”

He spoke casually, yet Jiang Ye’s heart stirred.

The Blood-Boosting Decoction was a medicinal broth for formal disciples to toughen sinews and replenish qi—common enough, but costly, and always reserved for inner academy disciples alone.

“Master...” Jiang Ye lifted his head, his dim eyes reflecting the lantern light—and the yellowed booklet in his hands—his gratitude deeper than ever before. “This kindness... Old Jiang doesn’t know how to thank you.”

“Between us, no thanks are needed.” Liu Qingshi waved his hand, a faint smile on his face. “If you find something to do, if your body grows stronger, I’m glad to see it. It’s late—rest now.”

Jiang Ye bowed deeply, carefully tucking the Five Animal Fist booklet close to his chest.

He knew: after tonight, everything would change.

This seemingly ordinary Five Animal Fist was his first step upon the Divine Ascension Path!