Chapter 8: They Don

Fang Xinghe sealed the three essays in envelopes and mailed them, listing Bao Fu's address and phone number.

Then he slung his canvas bag, tucked in his pager, and set off with extras.

Yu Xiaoduo's accompanying him was unexpected, yet upon reflection, perfectly natural.

Because he was truly superfluous at home.

"I want to go with you and broaden my horizons. If I can become a disciple at Wudang Mountain, I'll focus on martial training—I'm definitely not getting into a key high school anyway. Once I master my skills, I'll be your bodyguard, take the blades for you!"

Looking at Yu Xiaoduo's determined face, Fang Xinghe felt dazed.

In his memory, he had never seen such an expression before.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Fang Xinghe broke into a bright smile: "Alright, brother. Let's go together. Go pack your things, then come find me at my place."

That night, Yu Xiaoduo moved over with his snake-skin sack.

The next afternoon, the two small boys boarded the long-distance train to Hubei.

Since the original budget was for one person, now covering two, Fang Xinghe chose hard seats.

After boarding, Yu Xiaoduo found everything new and fascinating, while Fang Xinghe, though he held it in, was inwardly curious too.

But this novelty and curiosity vanished quickly after the green train rattled along for half a day, leaving only boredom and exhaustion.

Forty full hours! So grueling…

And there was another point: the 1999 green train was hardly safe.

A middle-aged man with a sharp nose and monkey-like face, sensing their youth, approached to chat about this and that, clearly up to no good.

Yu Xiaoduo was at a loss, but after observing him for a while with a smile, Fang Xinghe suddenly spoke: "Xiaoduo, if he dares to deliberately touch you, carve two holes in him and see what kind of demon he really is."

Yu Xiaoduo immediately shoved his hand into his chest, gripping the dagger's hilt, his eyes flashing with menace.

The middle-aged man instantly raised both hands and shrank back, laughing nervously, and soon quietly squeezed away to another seat.

After the train passed Shenyang, it was 11 p. m., the carriage gradually quieted, but some began moving around.

Fang Xinghe noticed that certain people, as they passed by him, cast glances filled with wariness.

No thieves in the world?

Better not come near me.

The earlier unthinking boldness had indeed worked—Fang Xinghe and Yu Xiaoduo took turns dozing off, undisturbed.

From then on, the journey went smoothly.

After a long 38 hours, the train stopped at Shiyan East Station; the boys stepped off, stretching their limbs.

Only then, revived with excitement, did Yu Xiaoduo remember to ask: "Brother, why did we have to come to Wudang Mountain?"

"Because real kung fu is here."

Fang Xinghe replied simply, but his mind was swirling with thoughts.

In his past life, to survive, he had tried every possible method.

Wudang Mountain's Sanfeng Sect gained worldwide fame because of Master Chen Shixing, so he climbed the mountain himself to study.

In a sense, Wudang's health class did buy him a little more time.

Clearing the mind, right intention, standing post meditation, qi circulation practice, balanced diet…

Though it couldn't save Fang Xinghe from death, through firsthand experience, he confirmed they truly had something—real, tangible things.

Unfortunately, back then he had only learned the health exercises, knowing nothing of Wudang fist or sword.

Now that he had a chance to start over, he naturally had to make up for it.

The 【Personal Abilities】 field was empty—not just unpleasant to look at, but a waste of the System Dad's power.

Since he could add points, the more skills he learned, the better; who knew when one might prove vital? Once he entered the door, he could forcibly pull up the level—he had more than enough energy to spare.

Yu Xiaoduo followed closely behind, asking question after question: "Brother, how do you know all this?"

Fang Xinghe brushed him off casually: "Read more books, read more newspapers."

Yu Xiaoduo's eyes sparkled with admiration, and he asked again: "So, if we learn Wudang's true kung fu, can we just beat up whoever we want later?"

"What are you thinking?"

Fang Xinghe chuckled.

"Beating ordinary people? Sure. But if you run into professional fighters, grab your weapon and run."

"Huh?!" Yu Xiaoduo was utterly disappointed, muttering: "I thought Wudang kung fu was super awesome…"

Fang Xinghe, fearing he'd lose heart, patiently explained: "Daoist methods are foundational training aimed at health—balancing body and mind, loosening tendons and meridians, replenishing blood and regulating qi, nourishing the five organs. Only a tiny fraction of weapon techniques carry combat principles."

Clever Chinese never had a tradition of fighting barehanded, nor ever promoted it.

The real fighting arts of ancient times were archery, horsemanship, swords, shields, spears, and halberds.

Fist techniques are merely foundational training for stretching tendons, aligning bones, coordinating hands and eyes, and harmonizing body and steps.

Once the foundation is solid, you'll certainly be stronger than ordinary people—but that's not a reason to challenge professional athletes.

It's those qigong frauds who mythologized fists and exercises to make money.

How exaggerated can it get?

Believe in science—science says flesh can't clash with iron.

Train well: stay agile and strong, hear clearly, see sharply, stay healthy and live long—that's better than anything."

The death-phobic Fang Xinghe was obsessed with health; at thirteen, he was already thinking about being 103.

But everything he said was true—the Wudang Daoists themselves had explained it clearly to the class.

They were perfectly candid, explicitly stating: "The essence of martial arts lies in weapons, but they're all outdated. Our Wudang Taiji is both fist and practice, but never a combat technique. We strongly discourage pushing potential through intense training. You must cultivate clarity and right intention, training with the mindset of nourishing essence, qi, and spirit."

It was crystal clear: fists don't fight, weapons aren't taught, health cultivation is the true path.

So Fang Xinghe never believed those grandiose martial arts hype men—his reason for coming to Wudang Mountain was mainly for another benefit of martial training—

In the coming years, actors skilled in martial arts would always be more popular than those who weren't.

First, there's the "voice, diction, posture, expression" — the "posture" part; having real martial arts skill is simply far too great a help for physical training.

Second, there are more and better opportunities in Wu Xia film and television dramas.

Real martial artists perform in person; the wide shots are both dashing and beautiful, whereas those clumsy newbies later on fool the audience entirely with close-up close-ups, slow-motion action, and chaotic editing.

You fool the audience, and the audience naturally votes with their feet, sending you packing with negative scores.

In '23, Fang Xinghe took on a marketing job from Huanrui Century, hyping Cheng Yi's fight scenes — that was the easiest job he ever did.

Just hype away; none of the rival fans dared mock him, they could only pinch their noses and stay silent.

Because in those years, that guy really was the number one new-generation male actor — even the only one.

Third, Fang Xinghe had an ambition in his heart—

To become an actor who was truly all-round and outstanding in every way.

Later on, some domestic productions had great themes and cores, but — either because the actors' skills couldn't carry it, or because the fight scenes had serious flaws, or because the producers were overly stingy with the budget…

In short, they took something quite good and ruined it, a real pity to sigh over.

Fang Xinghe never planned to be a流量 who relied entirely on hype.

He wanted to see — top-tier looks + Best Actor-level acting + Emperor-level martial arts + National Preceptor-level aesthetics + Yu Hua-level talent + N… just what kind ofshockcould it bring to the world.

A person's life really needs one glorious, brilliant moment.

And what Fang Xinghe wanted was not once, not twice, not three times…

Was to stay brilliant forever.

……

Half a day later, on January 15th, Fang Xinghe took Yu Xiaoduo up Wudang Mountain, and beside the Purple Cloud Palace, found the Sanfeng Sect martial arts academy, which at the time was still called "Wudang Mountain Taoist Martial Arts Hall."

The reception master, seeing the two were too young, asked very carefully.

After the routine questions were answered, the other party asked again: "Why travel all this way to Wudang Mountain?"

Fang Xinghe glanced at the shadowy inner hall, raised his voice, and replied passionately: "I want to become a martial arts superstar like Jet Li, to spread the divine might of Chinese martial arts! But I don't want to go to Shaolin Temple to learn fist arts — this foreign religion called Buddhism is all hype; I believe our Taoist school definitely has real martial arts too, and even stronger!"

In the inner hall, the lean Taoist priest who was receiving guests couldn't help but have the corner of his mouth curl upward.

Realizing this wasn't quite the ethereal, Daoist-bone bearing, Priest Zhong quickly straightened his face, but… it was really hard to suppress.

And the two great Monks who were guests, one gave a bitter smile, the other shook his head.

When their eyes met, they muttered inwardly: Where did this little brat come from? To take a master, he's thrown all shame away!