Chapter 33: Today I

Hearing Zhao Jin's question, Zhao Zhenxing couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head and said, "I always thought you were a little adult. Never expected you're still a child. In a sparring match, who can claim a perfect winning streak?"

At this, Zhao Zhenxing's expression turned very serious. In a lecturing tone, he said, "Win if you can, lose when you must, and run if you can't beat them. Winning or losing is a small matter; your life is the big matter. As long as you're alive, you can always make up for anything."

Zhao Jin nodded repeatedly. Once Zhao Zhenxing finished, he scratched his head and asked, "I've never fought to the end. If I lose, won't people think all my past actions were just cowardice?"

Zhao Zhenxing burst out laughing. He knew his nephew's little calculations, but hearing them spoken so plainly made them sound honest and simple. Zhao Zhenxing thought for a moment, then turned and walked to the wall, picked up a five-foot wooden pole, and handed it to Zhao Jin. He took one of roughly the same length for himself and said, "Attack me with everything you've got. Uncle wants to gauge your skill."

Taking the wooden pole, Zhao Jin leveled it and looked at his uncle, who coughed. Somewhat worried, he asked, "Second Uncle, is your body up to this?"

Zhao Zhenxing couldn't hold back another laugh, which brought on a fit of coughing. He steadied his breathing with some effort and said, smiling, "You child, even if Uncle coughs up his heart and lungs, you won't be able to injure me. Come on!"

Zhao Jin took a deep breath, sank his waist, pushed off with his legs, and charged forward, thrusting with both arms swinging. Zhao Zhenxing stood still. With a flick and a probe of the short staff in his hand, he directly parried Zhao Jin's short staff and stabbed Zhao Jin's wrist. A sharp pain shot through his wrist, and he immediately lost his grip; the staff fell to the ground.

"Again." Zhao Jin froze for a moment, thinking that he himself had shouted those same words during today's sparring matches.

Six times in a row, Zhao Zhenxing's short staff, using very little force each time, struck Zhao Jin's wrist, shoulder, and even chest. He stopped at the point of contact, but that single touch was enough to stop Zhao Jin from continuing.

Zhao Zhenxing looked at the dejected Zhao Jin, a smile appearing on his face. Gently, he said, "You've only trained for less than two months, yet your strength and stance are already quite good. It's remarkable for a ten-year-old child to be able to settle down and study so diligently."

Zhao Jin was about to speak, but Zhao Zhenxing, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking, smiled and continued, "What you practice is spear arts. Your comprehension is high, and you've put in the hard work. You can't quite be said to have real mastery yet, but against Chen Sheng's blade arts, your odds of victory should be about fifty-fifty."

Chen Sheng and Wang Zhaojing were roughly equal in strength. According to his uncle, he was about the same as these two strongest ones. He must be coaxing me; Zhao Jin knew very well how much his second uncle doted on him.

"Second Uncle, he's been training for many years, while I've only trained for this short time. And besides… besides, we mainly compete in fist and foot techniques." Zhao Jin's speech and mannerisms were becoming more and more like those of his peers.

Zhao Zhenxing put down the wooden pole in his hand, nodded, and continued, "If we only talk about training duration, or even strength, or fighting experience, there are those better than you. But you have one thing they can't match: you can adapt to circumstances. You don't just rigidly use whatever you've learned. But that's not the most crucial thing. The most crucial thing is that you have a certain spirit, a dauntless courage. For a martial artist, this is the foundation."

Getting worked up, an unhealthy flush appeared on Zhao Zhenxing's face. "On the battlefield, what martial arts can you even fully deploy? You might train for ten or twenty years, but if you're so scared your hands and feet tremble, you'll be done for in an instant. Only with the will to kill, the heart for battle, and a dauntless charge can you survive."

Zhao Zhenxing bent down, stared at Zhao Jin, and said, "As long as you bring out that ferocity and courage, you will not lose in the sparring arena!"

Zhao Jin took a deep breath. His uncle's words filled him with confidence.

But to his surprise, talk was just talk. During the afternoon training, his uncle didn't teach him any ultimate techniques or killer moves. It was still the same old routine, still tolerating not the slightest bit of carelessness.

At dinner, Zhao Zhentang, who had been in a bad mood for several days, finally had a bit of a smile. He said that the capital official, Master Wang, was a good man. Because the magistrate's office had been bustling non-stop these days, Master Wang spoke to Magistrate Tong today, saying it was too much trouble for the local area and that continuing like this was too ostentatious.

Since the key figure had spoken up, and everyone in the office was full of complaints about the matter, Magistrate Tong decided to quit while he was ahead.

"…According to Head Clerk Zheng, this Master Wang is only in his forties, right in his prime. I thought he was old and that's why he returned to Xuzhou… Just like our family, he has only one son, and the age is about the same…"

This also struck Zhao Jin as very strange. One's forties were the prime of an official career; why retire? Just as he was pondering this, Zhao Zhentang shifted the topic back to Zhao Jin: "Master Wang's son will definitely pass the scholar exam, pass the provincial exam, and become an official. Not like you, only knowing how to brawl on the streets, wasting food every day for nothing."

Hearing this, Zhao Jin couldn't help but lower his head and smile, thinking, You definitely don't know that this Young Master Wang had a great time fighting with us at the goods yard today.

After finishing his strength training, Zhao Jin washed up briefly and got into bed to sleep. Decades of memories were too many and too jumbled. What had settled and was useful wasn't much. The closer the memories were in time, the clearer they were. For example, he could remember a lot of the books his friends read to him by his sickbed.

What truly made Zhao Jin helpless and wryly amused was that he remembered very little about history. He'd learned it in school, but it was basically useless in society, so he'd forgotten almost all of it.

He closed his eyes to recall. The heat from the heated brick bed rose up, and recollection turned into random thoughts. Zhao Jin found that he was very much looking forward to tomorrow's sparring. Tomorrow, he could finally fight a full match. With these thoughts, Zhao Jin fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, while eating after his run, He Cuihua nagged him a bit: "This child, I don't know what's happened, but he's actually this happy."

In the morning, while Zhao Jin practiced martial arts, Zhao Zhenxing took a five-foot-long pole, sanded it smooth, and used a small knife to carve a few shallow grooves where one would grip it.

After lunch, the Chen Sheng brothers came to find Zhao Jin. Just before he left the house, Zhao Zhenxing stroked Zhao Jin's forehead and said, "Don't care too much about winning or losing. If you had never lost, they wouldn't be friends with you."

On the walk from home to the goods yard, Zhao Jin pondered this saying the entire way. His uncle's words indeed made sense, but the urgent matter at hand was to win first.

Today, Zhao Jin left the house carrying the short wooden pole. Chen Sheng asked curiously, but Zhao Jin didn't say what the short wooden pole was for. He only replied, "Today I will fight to the end!"

Chen Sheng didn't ask further, but he was grinning the whole way there.

Wang Zhaojing arrived very early today. Beside him was a three-tiered food steamer, wrapped in a cotton insulating cover, with steam still visibly rising. Sun Dalei was holding a blue cloth bundle.

In the current goods yard sparring matches, four parties contributed prizes. The items were increasing in number, but the rules remained unchanged. This meant the first-place winner was taking home more and more things.

Everything proceeded as usual. In the round of sixteen, Zhao Jin ran into Sun Dalei. Sun Dalei was now one of the trickiest opponents—great strength combined with skill. Even Chen Sheng would suffer losses against him.

"Today I'm going to fight to the end. I won't leave midway." Before the fight started, Zhao Jin smiled and gave a heads-up. Because everyone knew Zhao Jin would leave midway, losing to him didn't matter much. Some of the more calculating ones would often deliberately concede or hold back their strength when sparring with Zhao Jin.

Hearing Zhao Jin say this, Sun Dalei pursed his lips and took a deep breath, clearly getting serious.

Once the starting shout was called, Zhao Jin bent over and charged. Everyone now knew that you couldn't fight this fatty Sun Dalei in close quarters; you had to hit and run. At the start, everyone would circle around to evade.

Zhao Jin, however, paid no heed to this and charged straight up to him. Sun Dalei spread his arms wide, exposing an opening at his chest and belly. Zhao Jin knew full well this was a trap: if you got closer, he'd wrap his arms around you, grapple, and throw you out. But Zhao Jin still advanced, throwing punches aimed at Sun Dalei's belly. One punch, two punches… Sun Dalei's hands had already grabbed Zhao Jin's shoulders.

But then, Sun Dalei's mouth twisted. He let go, retreated a few steps, and clutched his stomach with both hands. Zhao Jin had unleashed over a dozen punches in one breath. Even with a thick belly, he couldn't withstand the pain. Seeing Zhao Jin about to chase and continue the beating, Sun Dalei hurriedly conceded.

"Well fought, well fought!" A girl's delighted cheer came from the side. Turning to look, Mu Shulan had already arrived.