Two days passed like water flowing silently beneath ice. On the surface, everything looked calm. But underneath, something was still moving.
Li Wuchen spent those two days of rest in a way most people would not choose.
Yes.
He trained.
Not the intense training he usually did—his left shoulder wouldn't allow it. Instead, he practiced something different. A method Chen Baoli had taught him during their brief meeting.
Foundation strengthening.
Not how hard he could strike. Not how fast his legs could move. But how long he could maintain the quality of his attacks without decline.
The method was so simple it almost felt ridiculous. He had to stand in a low horse stance for one full incense stick's time while keeping consistent muscle tension.
No movement. No striking. Just standing.
On the first day, he lasted half an incense stick before his legs began to tremble. His calves cramped.
On the second day, he lasted three-quarters.
The old man watching him from the inn's veranda commented in an indifferent tone,
"Pathetic! Still not enough!"
Wuchen, sweating heavily in the backyard, did not reply. He simply regulated his breathing and started again.
The old man took a swig from his gourd. Then he smiled quietly to himself.
*****
On the morning of the third day, Wuchen woke up before dawn as usual.
The sky was still dark. The stars had not fully retreated. The cold air bit into the skin. Even so, the laws of nature were fair. Those who moved while others slept would always gain more.
He slowly opened and closed his left shoulder, measuring the remaining pain.
The ache was still there. But its level had dropped from "interfering with every movement" to "only noticeable when forced."
Good enough.
Wuchen went down to the backyard. This time he did not just stand in horse stance. He began to move—slowly, controlled, repeating the combination of attacks he had used against Zhao Linyan. But this time it wasn't for speed or power. He performed them at half tempo, paying attention to every inch of movement.
Where energy was wasted.
Where his wrists were too stiff.
Where his breathing was not synchronized with his movements.
These small things were hardly noticeable in a fast fight. But in a prolonged battle, they would decide everything.
Wuchen repeated the movements. Again and again. Until dawn broke and the sounds of the city began to rise.
*****
That morning, Wuchen and his master were enjoying breakfast at a food stall. It wasn't the same stall as yesterday—the previous one had been leveled to the ground. But the owner seemed like someone who refused to give up. Even though it had been destroyed yesterday, today he and a few others were already repairing it.
Wuchen and the old man sat in a corner of the stall, with two bowls of hot porridge and one plate of side dishes. Their meal was simple, but sufficient.
The old man ate while watching the street outside the window. His eyes moved slowly, as if continuously scanning the surroundings even while eating.
"Today," he said suddenly.
Wuchen scooped his porridge. "Today what?"
"He will come today."
Wuchen didn't stop eating. "Are you sure, Grandpa?"
"I'm quite sure. The Heaven Iron Clan wouldn't wait more than three days for something like this. They are arrogant people." The old man took a sip of water.
"They gave you two days so you could feel the pressure of waiting. So you would start to become anxious. So that when they arrived, you would already be half defeated mentally."
Wuchen pondered that for a moment. "An interesting strategy."
"Effective for most people," the old man sneered.
"But not for us," Wuchen replied.
The old man chuckled. "Ha ha ha! It's rare for you to use the word 'us'."
Wuchen didn't comment. He finished his porridge.
Outside the window, Yellow City that morning looked as usual. Bustling. Noisy. There were no signs that today would be any different from the previous days. But Wuchen had learned that this was exactly where big troubles usually hid.
Behind days that seemed ordinary.
*****
They had just finished breakfast when the atmosphere outside began to change.
It wasn't a sudden change. There were no shouts or explosions. Only a gradual shift—like the sky darkening before rain falls.
People on the street started moving a little faster than usual. Some merchants peeked out of their stalls with expressions they couldn't hide. Children who had been running around were now being pulled inside by their parents.
Pressure.
Wuchen felt it before he saw it.
It wasn't the scattered spiritual pressure like Zhao Linyan's; this was heavier, more restrained. Like a massive boulder placed on his chest.
From the east, someone was walking closer.
The man was neither tall nor short. His body was well-proportioned—not overly muscular, but dense. It showed that every inch of his body had been deliberately trained. He looked to be in his thirties. His face was square, with a strong jaw and a pair of eyes that were slightly darker than normal—almost black.
He wore iron-gray clothes. No decorations. No embroidery. Just plain iron-gray fabric that somehow felt more threatening than any sect robe Wuchen had ever seen.
Behind him, following at a distance, were five people. They didn't speak. They didn't exchange glances. They simply followed with steady steps, like shadows without their own will.
The man stopped right in front of the food stall.
His eyes immediately found Wuchen. No need to scan. No need to search. As if he had known from the start exactly where to look.
"Li Wuchen."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it was clearly heard even inside the noisy stall.
The old man beside Wuchen leaned back in his chair and casually closed his gourd.
"Right on time," he muttered softly.
*****
Wuchen stood up.
He walked out of the stall at an unhurried pace. He stopped at the doorway, right between the iron-gray man and the crowded street that was now giving way.
He looked at the man.
"Are you Wei The Iron Hand?" Wuchen asked.
The man didn't answer immediately. He observed Wuchen carefully. His current attitude was like a stonemason examining a wall before striking it—assessing its thickness, angles, and weaknesses.
"You're younger than I expected," he said at last.
"And you're shorter," Wuchen replied.
One of the five people behind Wei The Iron Hand, immediately tensed. But Wei himself showed no reaction. His eyes remained unchanged.
"You already know my name," he said flatly.
"Only last night." Wuchen answered shortly.
"From whom?"
Wuchen shook his head. "You don't need to know. What's clear is that person cared enough to warn me."
Wei The Iron Hand, nodded slowly. It wasn't a sign of agreement—more like confirmation that he had already guessed it.
"You must know why I'm here."
Wuchen didn't answer. It wasn't really a question.
Wei The Iron Hand, continued, "This city has a balance. That is the law that has existed for a long time. Where you may step, or what you may do—everything is already regulated. Not because we are cruel. But because without it, this city would fall into chaos."
"In my opinion, what you call balance is just nonsense. Because those things only benefit the people who set the rules. There is no balance that truly benefits everyone," Wuchen said flatly.
For the first time, something moved across Wei The Iron Hand's face. Not anger. Closer to an appreciation he didn't want to show.
"You speak as if you know the most about this. How old are you? And have you seen so much of the world?"
"You misunderstand," Wuchen replied. "I speak this way not because I am very knowledgeable, but because I have once been at the point where I was most disadvantaged."
The answer once again silenced Wei.
*****
Wei The Iron Hand, took one step forward.
His pressure increased. Not explosively, not dramatically. But it was real—like the temperature of the air suddenly dropping.
"I didn't come here to debate philosophy," he said. His tone was still calm, but there was something behind it harder than steel. "I came to give you a choice."
"What choice?"
"One: you leave Yellow City. Now. No one needs to get hurt."
Wuchen waited.
"Two: you stay here. But you will have to face us."
"And the third?" Wuchen asked.
Wei The Iron Hand, frowned slightly. "There is no third."
"There is always a third," Wuchen said. "If there is no third, it means the one giving the choice isn't creative enough."
Someone in the crowd watching from afar almost laughed. But as soon as they remembered the cruelty of the Iron Hand's group, they immediately shrank back and quietly retreated.
Wei stared at Wuchen for a few moments. His dark eyes were unreadable.
"You dare challenge us?" he said finally.
"Not challenging," Wuchen replied. "I simply have no other choice."
Wei snorted. "Everyone has the chance to choose."
"In my case, I don't. Because I'm still looking for something that belongs to me here. Until I find it, I won't leave. And no one can force me to leave."
Wei The Iron Hand, closed his eyes for a moment. One breath. Then he opened them again.
"Fine," he said. "In that case, we'll settle this another way."
*****
The people still remaining on the street immediately retreated.
They had learned from the past three days. When martial artists stood facing each other like this, the safe distance was as far as one's legs could carry them.
Wuchen regulated his breathing. He didn't change his expression. But inside his mind, he was doing something that had become a habit in every fight.
Observing.
Wei The Iron Hand, stood differently from Zhao Linyan. Zhao Linyan was always slightly upright—the posture of a martial artist proud of his inner energy strength.
Wei, on the other hand, leaned slightly forward. His weight was evenly distributed. His hands were not in a clear combat-ready position. They simply hung relaxed at his sides. But Wuchen would not be fooled. He knew this was the posture of someone who didn't need to prepare. Because he was always ready.
Wuchen lowered his horse stance deeper than usual. More solid.
Foundation.
Wei The Iron Hand, noticed the change. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then he moved.
His first step looked like normal walking.
But his second step was already different.
*Wuut!*
Wei's speed exploded without warning. In an instant, he had closed half the distance between them. His right hand rose in a very simple motion. No beautiful technique, no seals, no visible spiritual energy projection.
Just one straight punch.
But from that hand, Wuchen felt something that immediately made him move without thinking.
Heavy.
Not just physical weight. This was a different kind of heaviness. It was like what he had felt from the wooden pillar Chen Baoli had destroyed. Like concentrated gravity.
Wuchen stepped sideways to the left. Letting the attack pass half an inch from his shoulder.
*Buk!*
Wei's punch hit empty air. But its effect didn't stop there. The air in front of his fist trembled. And the ground half a step in front of Wuchen cracked in a small circle.
From the air wave alone.
Wuchen felt his hair swept backward.
Behind him, the old man who had already stepped out in front of the stall commented in a tone that almost sounded proud,
"There. Now this is what you call a real opponent."
*****
Wei The Iron Hand, pulled back his hand. He looked at Wuchen with a slightly surprised expression.
"Not bad. You managed to dodge that attack."
"Of course." Wuchen answered flatly.
"Most people wouldn't have time," said Wei The Iron Hand.
"I'm not most people."
Wei didn't waste time responding to those words. He moved again.
This time faster. And this time, he didn't attack with just one hand.
A combination of three attacks—right fist, left elbow, right knee—came in extremely tight intervals. There was almost no gap between them.
Wuchen moved.
One step back—avoid the fist. Shift right—avoid the elbow. His leg slid outward—avoid the knee.
All clean.
Seeing his three consecutive attacks dodged, Wei didn't stop. It was clear he was someone with very rich combat experience.
The fourth attack came from an unexpected angle—a palm strike from below, aimed at Wuchen's chin.
Wuchen couldn't dodge it completely.
*Slap!*
The edge of Wei's palm grazed Wuchen's chin. Enough to make him stagger half a step backward. A flash of heat exploded from the point of contact.
Wuchen stomped his foot to maintain balance. He shook his head once, dispelling the brief dizziness.
Wei The Iron Hand, stood still. Observing.
"You can still stand?"
"Why? Are you surprised?" Wuchen answered with a grin.
Wei narrowed his eyes. "Yes. This is indeed a bit surprising."
*****
Wuchen touched his chin briefly. There was a thin trace of blood at the corner of his lip. He glanced at it, then looked back at Wei The Iron Hand.
"Can I ask you something?"
Wei waited.
"Your fourth attack just now—it had spiritual energy in it. But the way you used it was different from Zhao Linyan. You didn't project it outward. You kept it inside your body."
Wei The Iron Hand, didn't answer. But his eyebrows lifted slightly.
Wuchen continued, "Like Chen Baoli. But not the same technique. You combine spiritual energy with physical reinforcement, but the composition is different."
"You're analyzing in the middle of a fight?" Wei asked in a tone that was hard to read.
Wuchen nodded and prepared himself. "Like I said earlier. I have once been at the lowest point. In the end, I understood one thing. If I want to survive in this cruel world, I must keep learning. No matter the situation."
Wei The Iron Hand, was silent for a moment. Then he said,
"You're right about my technique. And because you've already seen part of it… I can't let you leave easily."
He took a deep breath.
"Prepare yourself for my true strength."
The old man in front of the stall stopped drinking from his gourd.
"Boy," he said softly but audibly. "Don't forget what Chen Baoli said."
Wuchen nodded. He still remembered. Chen Baoli had repeatedly emphasized it. *If you want to endure, then strengthen your foundation.*
Foundation. Not the peak.
Li Wuchen lowered his horse stance even deeper. He regulated his breathing. And for the first time in this fight, he did not wait for Wei to move. He attacked first.
*****
Wuchen's step exploded forward.
One step. Two steps. And on the third step, his body was already within close range of Wei The Iron Hand.
*Buk!*
His right fist aimed at the ribs. Simple. And very direct.
Wei blocked with his left elbow. A hard collision occurred.
*Crack!*
The sound of bones clashing made anyone who heard it feel a chill.
But Wuchen didn't stop there. His hand moved again—left fist, right elbow, palm push. Each attack came before the previous one could be fully processed.
Wei The Iron Hand, retreated half a step. Blocking. Defending.
But this time it was different from Zhao Linyan. Wei didn't just defend. Instead, every time he blocked, he slipped in a sharp counterattack. An elbow that blocked while also pushing back. A palm that defended while also pressing.
In an instant, an exchange of blows occurred. This close-range fight happened at a speed that made the distant spectators almost unable to follow.
*Buk! Slap! Crack!*
Collision after collision. Attacks and blocks filling each other.
But slowly, something changed.
Wei The Iron Hand, began to press his opponent. And every push carried something different: a weight that kept increasing. Like a wall growing thicker every time it was struck.
Wuchen felt it in every collision. His arms began to feel heavier. Not because of fatigue, but because every contact with Wei left accumulating vibrations.
Internal reinforcement technique.
Wei didn't just have strong skin and muscles. He channeled spiritual energy into his bones and joints. Making every inch of his body literally feel like it was coated in iron. Not to attack outward, but to make every collision feel like hitting a wall.
Wuchen leaped backward, creating distance.
He shook his hands. Feeling the numbness spreading from his knuckles to his elbows.
"Your body really is like iron," he commented.
Wei The Iron Hand, said flatly, "My title is Iron Hand. Even though I didn't give it to myself, that title isn't just for scaring people."
*****
Wuchen used the short pause to think. Wei was fundamentally different from Zhao Linyan. Zhao Linyan was a spiritual energy martial artist. His power came from projecting energy outward. Facing him meant enduring or dodging that energy explosion.
But Wei was something else.
Spiritual energy used internally. A body reinforced from within. This wasn't just about withstanding ordinary physical attacks. This was about fighting someone who had literally turned his body into both a weapon and a shield.
And direct collisions… would not remain effective forever.
Wuchen rotated his shoulder. His left shoulder—which was still slightly painful from Zhao Linyan's injury—began to protest harder than it should after those collisions.
He needed to change his approach.
Not hitting harder. Not moving faster.
But hitting more precisely.
He remembered how Chen Baoli had destroyed the wooden pillar. Not by hammering the surface, but by transmitting the impact wave into the interior. Finding the point where the structure was weakest.
The human body was not a wooden pillar. But the principle might not be that different. There were still weaknesses. Even more than in a wooden pillar.
Wuchen stared at Wei The Iron Hand. This time, his eyes did not just see the surface.
He searched.
*****
Wei The Iron Hand, saw the change in his opponent's eyes. He didn't know what had changed, but he felt something was different. The way Wuchen looked at him felt like someone who had just found the key to a lock.
"You found something," Wei said, not as a question.
"Maybe," Wuchen replied. "I need to test it first."
Wei raised his hand slightly—a sign he was ready.
Wuchen moved.
But this time it was different. His steps were not aimed at direct contact. He moved to the side—searching for an angle. Then moved to the other side again.
Wei turned to follow. His eyes alert.
Then, Wuchen attacked.
Not with a full fist. Not with all the power he could muster.
A light palm strike—almost like a pat—landed precisely on the left side of Wei's shoulder blade.
Wei almost laughed. An attack like this?
But half a second later, his expression changed.
Something vibrated inside his shoulder. Not a sharp pain. Rather, a vibration that penetrated inward, passing through the layer of spiritual energy coating his muscles, then striking the bone beneath from the inside.
"What…?"
Wei unconsciously stepped back. It was pure human reflex when sensing danger. His shoulder felt strange. Not paralyzed, not broken, but as if the tissues inside had been shaken for a moment.
He looked at Wuchen.
"You just used a penetrating technique," he said quietly.
Wuchen didn't answer. But there was something new in his eyes—not satisfaction, but understanding.
"Passing through the outer layer and attacking from within," Wei continued. "You managed to do it without spiritual energy."
"Yes. You already know I have no spiritual energy at all," Wuchen confirmed.
A brief silence.
Wei The Iron Hand, frowned. And for the first time since he arrived, his eyes showed something other than determination. That is, astonishment.
*****
The fight entered a different phase.
Wei The Iron Hand, no longer attacked in the same way. He changed his pattern—more cautious, more controlled. As if now he was the one who had to think about how to deal with an opponent who didn't play by the rules he knew.
Wuchen, on the other hand, kept moving.
He no longer tried direct collisions. Every time the distance closed, he searched for angles. Searched for sides. Searched for points where Wei's spiritual energy layer was imperfect—because no defense was truly perfect at every point of the body at once.
And every time he found that point, he released a strike that wasn't hard but precise.
*Slap.*
Side of the neck.
*Slap.*
Back of the left knee.
*Slap.*
Point below the right rib.
Each small strike didn't look lethal. But their effects accumulated. Wei began to feel vibrations penetrating inward, disrupting the smooth flow of spiritual energy inside his body.
"Stop moving like a rat," Wei snorted. For the first time, his voice sounded slightly less controlled.
"Strategy," Wuchen replied while shifting to the left.
"That's cowardly!" Wei cursed while chasing. But a moment later, he had to dodge again.
"Chen Baoli said this isn't cowardly, it's efficient," Wuchen said while aiming again.
Wei The Iron Hand, was surprised to hear that name. He paused for a moment. "You know Chen Baoli?"
"Not for long." Wuchen admitted.
"He taught you this?"
Wuchen nodded. "He taught me the concept. The rest I figured out myself."
Wei looked at him with an expression that changed for the second time. This time more complex—a mixture of worry and something resembling reluctant respect.
*****
However, Wei The Iron Hand, had not become the leader of the Heaven Iron Clan's field operations by chance.
He processed quickly. He adapted.
"Fine," he said softly. "If you want to play inside…"
He closed his eyes for a moment. And this time, what happened felt different from before.
Wei's spiritual energy no longer merely coated his body. He pulled it deeper—compressing it into the core, into the bones, into the marrow. The pressure around him dropped drastically, as if all the energy that usually radiated outward suddenly disappeared inward.
Wuchen felt it.
The opponent in front of him literally became heavier in existence—not an oppressive aura, but an increase in the density of his inner energy. Like a star collapsing into itself.
This was different.
This was dangerous.
"If you want to penetrate from within," Wei said, opening his eyes, "then you need to penetrate this."
He stepped forward. And that step felt like the ground trembling.
*****
Wuchen did not retreat.
He knew that retreating from Wei in this state would only give him momentum. The gravity already accumulated inside Wei's body would become even harder to penetrate if left stable.
So he did the opposite of what most people's instincts would dictate.
He stepped forward.
Both moved at the same time. The distance closed in just two steps.
Wei released a full palm strike. The spiritual energy compressed inside his body exploded outward at the moment of impact.
Wuchen did not dodge immediately. He twisted his body at the last moment, not to avoid completely, but to change the angle of contact. From a frontal collision to a glancing one.
*Boom!*
The explosion occurred.
Wuchen's body was pushed backward farther than before. This time, almost three steps. His left foot left a long groove in the ground.
But at the same moment, his right hand managed to release one strike.
Not to the chest. Not to the stomach.
Precisely to the left side of Wei's neck—the point where the spiritual energy flow from the head went to the lower body.
*Slap!*
Wei The Iron Hand, stood still.
One second.
Two seconds.
Then, for the first time, his knee trembled slightly.
He supported himself with one leg. His hand reflexively rose to his neck—where Wuchen had just struck.
"That…" his voice changed slightly. "…my spiritual energy flow is disrupted."
Wuchen stood. His breathing was heavy. His left shoulder protested hard again. The entire right side of his body felt like it had been hit by a horse.
But he stood.
*****
Silence fell over the street.
The five people behind Wei The Iron Hand, did not move. They stared at their leader's back with expressions mixing disbelief and confusion.
Wei The Iron Hand, stood with his left hand still on his neck. The spiritual energy flow inside his body was in chaos—not destroyed, but disrupted like a river that suddenly found a large boulder in the middle of its current. It would take time to stabilize.
He looked at Wuchen.
For a long time.
On the other side, Wuchen looked back. His breathing gradually became steady again.
"You shouldn't have been able to do that," Wei said at last.
"There are many things that shouldn't happen," Wuchen replied. "But they still do."
Wei moved his shoulder. Testing the spiritual energy flow that was slowly returning to normal. He let out a soft sigh.
"This fight…" he paused for a moment. "…is not over yet."
"I know."
"But for today…" Wei lowered his hand. His expression returned to the cold flatness from the beginning. "…I have seen what I needed to see."
He turned around.
"Wait," Wuchen said.
Wei stopped. He did not turn back.
"The choice you gave earlier," Wuchen said. "Leave or face you all." He paused for a moment. "I choose the second. I'm staying here. Not because I have nowhere else to go. And not because I want to challenge you."
Wei waited.
"Because the balance you protect, the one you say is necessary to avoid chaos, is a balance built on top of people who have no choice but to accept it." Wuchen spoke without anger, without emotion. Just clearly. "I have once been one of them."
Silence.
Wei The Iron Hand, did not answer. He continued walking.
The five people behind him followed.
However, just before they completely disappeared around the corner of the street, Wei The Iron Hand, stopped one last time. Without turning around, he said loudly enough to be heard,
"Li Wuchen. The next time we meet… I will not stop halfway."
Then they left.
And the street that had been tense slowly began to breathe again.
At this moment, the old man walked out from in front of the stall. He approached Wuchen with very relaxed steps, as if he had just watched a puppet show and not a fight that could have killed someone.
"How's your shoulder?" he asked.
"It can still be used."
"Liar." The old man retorted casually.
"It can be used for limited purposes."
The old man snorted. He stood beside Wuchen, also looking at the corner where Wei and his men had disappeared.
"You did something I never taught you earlier," he said.
"I know." Wuchen replied.
"Where did you get the idea?"
"From the way Chen Baoli destroyed the wooden pillar."
The old man was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly and commented, "You saw the principle behind his technique. Then applied it in a different way."
Wuchen sighed, "I didn't know if it would work or not before trying."
"No one knows." The old man grinned. "That's the difference between someone who fights and someone who only trains."
Wuchen looked at his hands. His knuckles were bleeding again. Just like the days in the mountains. He didn't know when the last time these hands had truly been smooth.
"That Wei guy will definitely come back," Wuchen said.
"Yes." The old man answered shortly.
Wuchen stared in the direction Wei had gone. "And next time he won't stop halfway."
"Then?" the old man asked.
"That means I need to become stronger than I am now before that happens," Wuchen said while clenching his fist.
The old man glanced at him. The smile he was hiding wasn't hidden very well.
"Now you're finally starting to think correctly."
On the roof of a building at the end of the street, far from the commotion that had just occurred, someone stood alone.
It wasn't Lin Xue'er.
Nor was it Yun Fenghe.
It was someone else.
He stood with his hands behind his back. His hair was white, though his face wasn't that old—perhaps in his fifties, perhaps older, perhaps younger. It was hard to tell. He wore plain black clothes without any ornaments. No sect emblem. No identifying marks at all.
His eyes were fixed downward, at the spot where Wuchen and the old man stood.
He didn't move for several moments.
Then, slowly, the corner of his lips moved.
Not an ordinary smile. More like the expression of someone who had just received confirmation of something he had long suspected. But wasn't sure until today.
"So it's true…" he muttered softly. His voice sounded like wind slipping through a narrow gap.
He looked toward the old man.
For a long time.
"It's been so long, Old Man… you've finally taken a disciple too."
Then he turned away. His steps were light—too light for someone standing on a four-story roof. And in an instant, his figure was gone.
No sound of landing.
No trace.
As if he had never been there from the beginning.
*****
Below, somehow Wuchen felt something.
He looked up. Staring at the roof of the building at the end of the street.
Empty.
He frowned for a moment. Then looked at the old man.
"Grandpa."
"Hmm?"
"There was someone on that roof earlier."
The old man didn't answer immediately. He also looked at the same roof. For a long time.
"Yes," he said finally. Softly. And this time his tone was different from usual—not joking, not indifferent.
But heavy.
Wuchen looked at him. "Do you know who it was?"
The old man didn't answer. He shifted his gaze. Took a sip from his now-empty gourd. Then walked back toward the inn while saying,
"Come. You need to eat."
Wuchen looked at his master's back. Then once more at the now-empty roof.
Something had changed today. Something more than just one fight and one new name learned. Something bigger was moving behind all of this. Wuchen didn't know what yet. But he would find out.
To be continued.