Chapter 17: Side-Step, Shoulder-Shift, Heart-Top Elbow

Someone’s causing trouble!

Li Yan was slightly surprised.

In the Jianghu, it’s substance that keeps you alive, but face is what you uphold.

Sometimes, face matters more than life.

Thus, unless there’s a grudge, no one would stir up trouble recklessly—no matter how viciously they might stab you in the back or how coldly they turn on you, at least their words are always sweet.

Those who speak rudely usually don’t live long.

He was just a boy of ten or so, rarely left his village, and everyone here was his senior.

Could he be mentally ill, spouting such cold remarks?

The one who spoke was another young man, around twenty, his face fairly square, but his eyebrows thin, giving off a sinister aura.

Li Yan’s expression didn’t change; his eyes narrowed slightly. “Do we know each other?”

He had phoenix eyes and dragon pupils—no training needed, his gaze naturally radiated cold brilliance, exuding an innate chilling authority he usually kept tightly restrained.

The moment his eyes narrowed, his aura surged involuntarily, making everyone around feel a chill and instinctively stop underestimating him.

“You brute, why speak in such a sneering tone!”

Sha Li Fei immediately stood up and retorted, then smiled at Li Yan. “This isn’t a stranger—Meng Haicheng, disciple of Master Zhou, head of the Xianyang Divine Fist Association.”

Li Yan instantly understood the reason.

The Divine Fist Association wasn’t a gang—it was an organization officially recognized by the court.

During the Daxing era of the previous dynasty, though it stood in northern standoff with the Golden Yurt Khanate, every steppe warrior was a fierce brute—massive in build, bold in nature.

In every war, Daxing lost more than it won.

The fall or rise of a nation rests on every common man’s shoulders.

Several martial masters of Daxing, backed by the court, set aside sectarian rivalries and founded the supreme organization known as the Divine Fist Association, drawing in martial sects large and small.

Jianghu folk couldn’t abide court laws and discipline, but within the Divine Fist Association, they thrived—sneaking into the north time and again to assassinate, set fires, and gather intelligence, earning great merit.

Later, when the founding emperor of Da Xuan seized power, he relied on them heavily, finally unifying Shenzhou and swallowing the entire steppe.

After peace settled, the Divine Fist Association changed its nature.

Though it wasn’t “kill the hares, cook the hounds,” the court wouldn’t let such a powerful force remain unchecked—so it deployed every means to tighten control, and the Association gradually declined.

Now, the Divine Fist Association was a semi-official organization.

Its leader, Master Huo Yin, was even the martial instructor to imperial clan members.

They served as intermediaries between court and Jianghu, the Da Xuan imperial family’s hand reaching into the underworld, often cooperating with yamen forces to quell bandit uprisings, especially against sects like the Maitreya Cult.

Some Jianghu folk despised them, calling them hawks and dogs.

Yet conversely, local heads of the Divine Fist Association gained many benefits—half-legal, half-illegal—with numerous disciples and considerable power.

In the Jianghu, disputes were inevitable.

His father, Li Hu, known as the Sick Tiger, had sought to seize the leadership of the Xianyang Divine Fist Association to secure the family’s future—but he later met his end.

The Master Zhou mentioned by Sha Li Fei, originally named Zhou Pan, specialized in Red Fist and Form-Intent Monkey Fist, and was one of the contenders; it was precisely because Li Hu died that this man rose to power.

He was petty and vengeful; rumors said that over the past two years, not only had his martial skill deepened, but he’d also raised two large male macaques and trained them in Monkey Fist.

Anyone who came to challenge him had to defeat the monkeys first before earning the right to face him.

Those in Guanzhong who disapproved joked: “When there are no tigers in the mountains, monkeys rule as kings”—referring to Zhou Pan and his father’s story.

Given his nature, he wouldn’t bully a junior by picking a fight—but he couldn’t help holding a grudge.

Thinking of this, Li Yan already understood.

The fact that Meng Haicheng led this group of seasonal laborers showed he was low-ranking.

Clearly, he’d learned Li Yan’s identity and intended to crush him hard to win favor with his master, Zhou Pan—hence the taunts.

Li Yan was no one to take a beating silently; he nodded. “I understand. You want to trample me, a junior, to climb up, seeking fame and profit—understandable.”

At these words, everyone’s expressions turned strange.

They were all old Jianghu hands; the moment Meng Haicheng lifted his ass, they knew exactly what he was trying to shit—and all felt contempt.

But clearly, Li Hu’s son wasn’t a soft target.

Meng Haicheng had provoked, yet still needed an excuse—this boy had cut straight to the truth.

Sometimes, the truth hurts more than lies.

Indeed, Meng Haicheng’s face flushed crimson, yet he had no rebuttal, only snarled: “You’re just a child—how dare you be so disrespectful? If you speak another word, I’ll teach you proper manners today!”

But Li Yan, upon hearing this, didn’t anger—he merely shook his head slightly. “You have no shame, no dignity. I suspect your martial skill is mediocre. I don’t want to fight you.”

This was a direct blow.

“Sharp-tongued brat—take this!”

Meng Haicheng could no longer hold back—he shot forward with a sudden leap.

This leap was called Monkey Dash.

Monkey Fist demands five essentials: form must resemble, intent must be true, steps must be light, technique must be dense, body must be agile—without monkey spirit, it’s useless.

When a monkey sits on a tree and is startled, it leaps instantly—sometimes even fierce beasts in the mountains are caught off guard and left bleeding from their faces.

It’s all about surprise, speed, precision, and brutality.

Meng Haicheng’s move now carried the right flavor—like a large male macaque startled, he crossed five or six meters in an instant and lunged at Li Yan.

Everyone frowned slightly, showing disdain.

This Meng Haicheng, even fighting a junior, resorts to ambush—truly shameless.

He’d shouted “Take this!” beforehand, yet used Monkey Dash—what difference did the warning make?

Fortunately, he knew his limits; his hands curled into claws, not aiming for Li Yan’s throat, but for his right shoulder—indicating he hadn’t intended to kill.

Even so, it was still underhanded.

If he guessed right, the next move would be Silk-Winding Lock, a joint-dislocating technique to snap Li Hu’s son’s arm out of socket, then humiliate him further.

Youths are often proud and arrogant, but too much rigidity breaks easily; a harsh blow early in their Jianghu journey can shatter them completely.

Sometimes, breaking a man’s spirit is crueler than killing him.

Of course, they saw through it but wouldn’t say a word.

After all, Zhou Pan was narrow-minded—they didn’t want to provoke him, at most whispering about it later so others knew what kind of master and disciple they were.

But Li Yan had already prepared. In the instant Meng Haicheng lunged, Li Yan’s whole body tensed, every hair stood on end, his right toe tapped the ground, and he shot backward two meters, then sidestepped and shifted his shoulder, left hand slightly raised, right hand crossing behind.

This move instantly created distance.

“Huh…”

The old knife-wielder in sheepskin coat from Longyou stared, eyes sharp with surprise.

He was the eldest and highest-ranked among them.

Though he’d never risen to any prominence in his life, his decades of wandering south and north had given him keen eyesight.

Li Yan’s move had grasped the essence of Red Fist.

The sixteen-character mantra of Red Fist: support and replenish as mother, hook and hang as ability, transformation as wonder, deceptive strike as method.

Especially this body movement: the body is a line, not a plane; when sidestepping, the shoulder must be agile, and agility begins with the step—that’s transformation.

Left isn’t left, right isn’t right; retreat is advance, advance is retreat—it reveals the “wonder” of transformation: “transformation as wonder.”

!.

As the saying goes: if you master side-step and shoulder-shift, even immortals can’t stop you.

Li Yan’s side-step and shoulder-shift not only dodged Meng Haicheng’s ambush but also controlled distance with exquisite precision; combined with the hand-switching, support for defense, replenish for offense—he was fluid in both attack and defense.

Bad—this kid has real skill!

Meng Haicheng, caught in the midst of it, felt a jolt inside.

A true expert reveals his ability with one move.

Too bad—it was already too late.

He was still airborne, no new force generated, old force spent—if he pushed further, he’d reach nothing, and expose himself to a counter.

Meng Haicheng had roamed the Jianghu for years—he immediately retracted his claws to guard his head and chest, twisted his body, and prepared a side-kick.

Not to injure, just to create distance and avoid follow-up attacks.

But Li Yan had already set his stance—and changed tactics faster.

As he retreated and sidestepped, he generated momentum with support and replenish, lowered his center of gravity, shifted weight to his right leg, muscles taut, spine slightly curved like a compressed spring.

At the very moment Meng Haicheng changed his move, Li Yan exploded forward—a Heart-Top Elbow.

Thud!

A dull crash—Meng Haicheng flew backward, rolled twice on the ground, clutching his chest, face pale, gasping for breath.

Li Yan’s elbow had shattered his center gate, striking him squarely.

“Excellent!”

Everyone stared in shock—but Sha Li Fei shouted praise first.

Others exchanged glances, utterly incredulous.

In that instant when Li Yan struck, his sinews and bones cracked loudly—he was at the peak of Mingjin.

The technique’s refinement was understandable—Li Hu was a famed figure, the Li family had lineage; perhaps they’d hired experts to train him.

In this world, Mingjin was the beginning of martial cultivation—warriors trained their bodies, strengthened sinews and bones, making their power clear and each move forceful.

The hallmark of success was trembling sinews and resonating bones.

The body’s major sinews attached to bones, interconnected—when sinews trembled, they drove the entire skeleton and muscles, concentrating force into a single point.

For such a young boy to reach Mingjin’s peak—truly rare.

On the other side, Meng Haicheng was in excruciating pain.

He had taken a solid elbow strike to the crown of his head; his qi gates were blocked, leaving him gasping for breath as he rubbed his chest to ease the ache.

Fortunately, Li Yan had only used Ming Jin; had he cultivated An Jin and intended to harm him, Meng Haicheng’s Lung Meridian would have been damaged, and he would have spewed blood nonstop.

Even after years of recuperation, he would be ruined.

Moreover, Meng Haicheng had earlier eaten a great deal of sheep offal and steamed buns; now his stomach churned violently, and he could no longer hold it—he vomited with a loud “wah!”

Instantly, the sour, foul stench carried ten li against the wind, causing the surrounding wheat harvesters to snicker and step back.

Though humiliating, the oppressive air in his chest had finally cleared.

Seeing the others’ expressions, Meng Haicheng’s face flushed red then pale; he dared not utter another threat, staggered to his feet, and fled outward.

He could tell: this Li Yan was young, but cruel and ruthless.

He had already been humiliated today; if he didn’t leave quickly, he might not even get a chance to save face.

Li Yan cast him a casual glance and ignored him.

After all, this was not a time of chaos; sparring and killing were entirely different matters, especially under the bright daylight, and the Great Xuan Dynasty’s laws showed no mercy to martial artists.

Moreover, after this fight, he had gained clarity.

He was stuck at the peak of Ming Jin; what he lacked was experience—he would need to fight others to break through.

With the Substitute Divine Statue, ordinary injuries meant nothing.

As long as he didn’t die, he would face any number of opponents.

“A tiger doesn’t sire a dog…”

Several knife-wielding martial artists nearby murmured their praise.

They were seasoned veterans who never missed a chance to flatter.

Besides, this young cub had just left the mountains and already showed his might—his future would surely be extraordinary.

“Your esteemed elders are too kind.”

Li Yan exchanged polite words, then pulled Sha Lifei aside to a quiet spot, his eyes turning cold and sharp: “Uncle Sha, you set me up—what are you playing at?!”

In his past life, he had dealt with countless schemers; in this life, his father had taught him every trick of the martial world—he could see clearly that Sha Lifei had dug a pit for him.

He knew Xianyang was Zhou Pan’s territory, with his disciples present, yet Sha Lifei deliberately revealed his identity—clearly intending to trap him.

“What nonsense are you spouting…”

Sha Lifei grinned, about to retort, when his face suddenly froze.

In Li Yan’s hand, a short dagger had appeared—seemingly still speaking to him, yet already slipped from his sleeve and pressed against Sha Lifei’s heart.

Sha Lifei swallowed hard. “Let’s talk, let’s talk.”

Gazing into Li Yan’s eyes, gleaming with lethal intent, he felt a sudden panic—he had an inexplicable feeling this boy had no fear at all, and would truly kill.

With no time to hesitate, he whispered one sentence that left Li Yan stunned.

“Don’t you want to know… how your father died?”

(End of Chapter)