Chapter 15: 015: The Art of the Long Spear

In the ship's cabin.

Rubbings and copybooks were crammed everywhere, freshly written calligraphy scattered about in disarray; Fei Yinghuan, stubble-faced, looked somewhat haggard.

By this time, the merchant vessel had already passed the Eastern Depot Prefecture, and all along the journey he had been studying the Qigong style.

"Slap!"

Fei Yinghuan tossed his brush aside and summoned the boat's servants. First he washed his face to clear his head, then faced a mirror and shaved away the excess stubble.

Not long after, Zhao Han knocked and entered: "Young master, you called for me?"

Fei Yinghuan pointed at the copybooks strewn across the floor: "Put away all my calligraphy sheets."

Zhao Han had no choice but to bend down and gather them up.

Fei Yinghuan stood with his hands clasped behind his back and abruptly asked: "Which great clan do you truly come from?"

Zhao Han replied: "Just an ordinary Confucian household. I've heard an ancestor once served as a Prefect."

"Impossible," Fei Yinghuan said with absolute certainty. "The script style your esteemed father created draws upon the strengths of many schools, absorbing the essence of masters across the ages. It could only have been achieved with a vast collection of renowned copybooks for reference. This style appears simple, yet it encompasses everything. A mere ordinary Confucian household simply would not possess the foundation to create it!"

Zhao Han had no deep study of calligraphy and could only bluff: "My father was constantly traveling abroad all year round; no one ever knew his whereabouts."

Fei Yinghuan actually believed him and did not press further, but warned: "Your father's script style forms a school of its own. A beginner must not have too much contact with it, or their calligraphy will surely stray onto a deviant path."

"The young master's instruction is well taken," Zhao Han said, humbly accepting.

"Go now. I wish to be alone for a while," Fei Yinghuan said with a wave of his hand.

Zhao Han finished putting away the various copybooks, bowed, and withdrew from the room, closing the cabin door behind him.

Fei Yinghuan picked up his brush again and wrote a few characters, looking at them this way and that, his mood vexed — already showing signs of obsessive deviation.

Qigong's calligraphy: the brushstrokes are particularly poor, the character shapes particularly upright, the structure particularly stable.

After studying it for several days, Fei Yinghuan had already been somewhat led astray. He had failed to learn the merits of its character structure, while his brushstrokes had only grown worse and worse.

It was like a martial arts master who chances upon a rare and esoteric manual, only to find his meridians thrown into chaos after practicing it.

Can't learn it, can't learn it — it'll ruin a person's skill!

Fei Yinghuan steadied his emotions, took out a copybook by a renowned master, and, like a child just learning to write, began tracing with meticulous care, trying to erase every trace of the Qigong style's influence.

After tracing for a moment, Fei Yinghuan once again picked up the discarded Qigong style.

He compared them back and forth, savored them in detail, lost in thought.

There is no need to imitate its form; one need only grasp its intent. I, too, can forge a school of my own!

……

Zhao Han had no idea that the characters he had written had sent Fei Yinghuan through a calligraphic metamorphosis.

At this moment, he stood on the deck, gazing at the conditions along both banks of the canal.

North and south of Jingzhou, it was as if two different worlds.

All the way by boat, the scenery had grown greener and greener, as though they had returned from hell to the land of the living.

This year's drought was concentrated mainly in two provinces.

One was Northern Zhili, the other Shaanxi; Shandong had only been marginally affected.

What was more terrifying was that at least Northern Zhili had seen some rain. But Shaanxi had been in drought since the year before last, with only a few scattered local showers in between. A man called Gao Yingxiang had already risen in revolt, styling himself the "Dashing King."

Faced with a disaster so severe, faced with peasant armies rising in rebellion, only a handful of local officials struggled to cope. As for the central court, not only did it allocate no funds for disaster relief, it was actually imposing additional Liaodong levy on the people of Shaanxi!

"Is this your weapon?"

Wei Jianxiong's voice came from behind. The fellow still carried his wrought-iron staff on his back, and in his hands he held Zhao Han's long spear.

Zhao Han clasped his fists: "It is."

"Catch," Wei Jianxiong said, tossing the spear over. He grinned. "We've nothing else to do — let's have a little spar."

Zhao Han caught the spear smoothly and assumed a "ready to fight" stance. But a long spear differs greatly from a rifle, and his bayonet technique had to adjust accordingly. He gripped the shaft with one hand at the middle and the other relatively far back, his legs set in a slight half-lunge.

Wei Jianxiong stood empty-handed and said carelessly, "Come on, then."

Zhao Han focused his mind and held his breath. Suddenly he leaned forward and thrust sharply at the other man's waist.

Wei Jianxiong retreated slightly to evade, simultaneously bending down to grab the spear. Zhao Han hastily pulled back his force and withdrew, shifting his move in the same motion to slash the spear upward at an angle.

A very brilliant upward slash — a pity he was up against a trained fighter.

In the midst of dodging, Wei Jianxiong actually seized the front end of the spear and dragged Zhao Han, man and weapon both, right toward him.

"Uncle Wei's martial skill is superb — this junior is utterly in awe," Zhao Han said once he had steadied himself, conceding defeat with perfect frankness.

Wei Jianxiong assessed: "Those moves of yours have a hint of the great spear about them, but you apply force far too rigidly, and your transitions are quite stiff. Did your spear instructor not even teach you the sliding thrust?"

Zhao Han did know the sliding thrust, of course, but the sliding thrust of bayonet technique and the sliding thrust of great spear technique are two entirely different concepts.

The PLA's bayonet technique fuses the strengths of Chinese stabbing (Nationalist Army), Japanese stabbing, and Soviet stabbing, while also incorporating certain methods from traditional great spear technique.

Yet a rifle, in the end, is a firearm, and it differs enormously from a long spear or pike.

If one were to apply the inserting-sliding method of great spear technique directly to a rifle, one would most likely end up hurling the rifle away, utterly unable to control the weapon's center of gravity.

To execute a sliding thrust with a rifle, the entire body must move along with it — a severe disadvantage in combat against traditional cold weapons.

Zhao Han said, "I figured out all these moves on my own through trial and error."

Wei Jianxiong shook his head: "It's not all nonsense. That upward slash of yours just now was quite good. If I had dodged a fraction slower, I'd certainly have been cut and bleeding."

"Just showing off petty skill before a master," Zhao Han said modestly.

Wei Jianxiong then criticized: "That upward slash of yours — though the transition is swift and the spear path cunning, your method of generating force is entirely wrong."

It was not that Zhao Han's method of generating force was wrong, but that the weapon in his hands was the problem. Someone ought to swap it for a rifle with a bayonet fixed…

Zhao Han smoothly dropped to one knee, cupped his hands, and said, "I beg Uncle Wei to favor me with his instruction!"

Wei Jianxiong, probably bored out of his mind after days cooped up in the cabin with nothing to do, stood holding the spear and said: "Watch how I wield it. I'll only demonstrate a few times. If you're too dull to learn, don't blame me."

Zhao Han immediately began observing with intense concentration.

Wei Jianxiong began his instruction: "A spear is not the same as a lance. A spear is rigid, suited mainly for thrusting, and less nimble in transitions. If you get the chance, you might switch to practicing lance technique. First, let's talk about applying force: leg strength is most important, next is waist strength, and then arm strength. Swing the spear a thousand times a day; if your comprehension is adequate, you will naturally figure out its ways. From leg strength to waist strength to arm strength — combine all forces, and you can issue and withdraw at will. I will only teach you the basic methods of gripping the spear and launching moves. The rest, you must slowly grasp on your own."

That's enough — the master leads you through the gate, but cultivation depends on the individual.

Wei Jianxiong straightened his back, then stepped forward into a lunge and slowly thrust the spear out. "See it clearly?"

"Clearly," Zhao Han answered.

Wei Jianxiong said, "One thousand thrusts a day. Figure out the knack of applying force on your own. In two months I'll teach you the next move."

Hell, how is this any different from a bayonet thrust?

Well, on closer appreciation there is a difference — the body doesn't shift as far. That's dictated by the different characteristics of the weapon.

Zhao Han took the long spear and stood on the deck thrusting over and over, thinking carefully with every strike.

At some unnoticed moment, Fei Yinghuan had also come onto the deck and stood silently to one side, watching.

Wei Jianxiong claimed credit, saying, "Young master, this lad has decent perception — he's good material for martial training."

Fei Yinghuan looked thoroughly dejected and said crossly, "I was still counting on him to sit the civil examinations."

Wei Jianxiong chuckled. "Wasn't old Lord Tang Qu accomplished in both letters and arms back in the day? Studying and training don't have to get in each other's way."

"This boy can be mentioned in the same breath as Lord Tang Qu?" Fei Yinghuan shook his head.

Lord Tang Qu — that is, Fei Yaonian — was Fei Yinghuan's grand-uncle, the last famous minister produced by the Yanshan Fei clan.

Wei Jianxiong rubbed his nose and muttered, "Who cares — let him train first, we'll see."

Fei Yinghuan walked to the prow and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, silent for a long while. It was impossible to tell whether he was striking a pose to show off or genuinely turning something over in his mind.

Coming toward them on the canal were countless tribute grain barges — transport troops and grain barges stretching on for several li.

Wang Yongshi sought benevolence and got benevolence — at last the day of his dismissal arrived.

The gentry of Jinghai County rushed about crying out, going to the Regional Inspector Censor to lodge complaints, and the Prefect of Hejian also conveniently submitted a memorial of impeachment.

It happened that this batch of grain barges was passing through Jinghai County and made contact with the Regional Inspector Censor — and by sheer accident two barges capsized. What's more, the blame for the capsizing was shifted onto the Jinghai officials, and the lost tribute grain was demanded to be spread evenly among the common people of Jinghai.

Wang Yongshi refused in the sternest terms, making clear he would not carry this pot.

The Canal-Inspecting Censor, the Regional Inspector Censor, and the Prefect of Hejian jointly submitted a memorial of impeachment, and Wang Yongshi was finally dismissed from office.

On the day he relinquished his post, the common people of Jinghai lay down across the official road to block Magistrate Wang's carriage from moving forward.

Yet when the hearts of the people turn to a man, what can be done about it?

A good official does not last long.

(Recommend a friend's book: Handbook for Conquering Another World — an immortal-hero world, whole-nation isekai, a single busload of people transmigrate over.)

(End of chapter)