Chapter Twelve: The Battle Against the Foreign Monks

Over the next few days, Zhou Qian went each night to the burial grounds, learning the secret art of the Floating Cloud Hand from Zhou Xun. The Floating Cloud Hand comprised six forms: Parting the Clouds, Stirring the Clouds, Startling the Clouds, Rolling the Clouds, Gathering the Clouds, and again Rolling the Clouds. Each form contained nine movements, every one of them strange and profound, pushing the human body to its limits—far superior to the likes of Iron Sand Palm.

"The Breaking Clouds form is an offensive move," Zhou Xun explained. "Clouds have no constant shape, and so the move, too, has no constant pattern. This form is the most complex of the six, ethereal and unpredictable. First, you must bewilder yourself, then bewilder your opponent—this is its true essence. I will first teach you the method for circulating your vital blood: begin by stimulating the qi sea acupoint, then with the contraction of the acupoints..."

Only then did Zhou Qian realize that mastery of this art was not achieved in a single leap, but was divided into three layers: the method of circulation, the method of training, and the method of combat. The circulation method was to stimulate acupoints and channel vital blood; the training method was to learn and refine the techniques; and the combat method was to unite both, so that "where the eye goes, the hand follows, and where the hand reaches, strength arrives."

Zhou Qian became ever more engrossed, absorbing everything Zhou Xun imparted with a hunger and thirst. With a master to guide him and a student eager to learn, Zhou Xun was deeply gratified by Zhou Qian's rapid progress, silently congratulating himself for recognizing such a promising pupil and teaching with ever greater care. He demonstrated the techniques of various schools and sects he had encountered, guiding Zhou Qian through them, and in his spare moments, explained the strengths and weaknesses of each style—truly a scene of harmonious master and student.

A month passed in this way. One day, as Zhou Qian was preparing to go out, two men dressed as yamen runners blocked his path.

"May I ask if you are the hero who slew the tiger?"

"I am," Zhou Qian replied with a start.

"The Captain invites you!"

"The Captain?" Zhou Qian wondered inwardly. Changzhou was a small city in the north, which, for the sake of military strength, had no county magistrate or civilian official; the Captain was the lord of Changzhou. Though Zhou Qian had trained for many days with Zhou Xun, becoming quite different in spirit and vigor, he was still but a young beggar, and the thought of meeting a great official as if out of a stage play made him nervous and apprehensive.

He followed the two men to the Changzhou yamen, passing through the lacquered gates flanked by armored guards, and entered the main hall. There, seated at the head, was the Captain himself in full official regalia, with local gentlemen and wealthy men to either side. Zhou Qian recognized only the second man on the right—Li, the master of the Wanghu household. What caught his eye more, though, were several bald foreigners.

"Ah! So you are the tiger-slaying hero? How handsome and refined you are! I had expected you to be a burly, strapping fellow," the Captain said, smiling without a trace of arrogance.

"I have learned some martial arts," Zhou Qian replied truthfully, "and killing the beast was a matter of luck. Ordinarily, I would not have been able to best it."

"Heh! Captain, I don't believe this boy could have killed that tiger. If he could, then that beast must have been too easy to defeat!" one of the bald foreigners said in awkward Chinese.

"There are heroes among the Han people as well, Begudu, do not cause trouble!" another, who seemed the leader, rebuked him.

"This is Baha, the chief of the Tata Tribe," the Captain explained, "He brought a large consignment of furs to sell to the Central Plains, and upon entering the city, heard tales of the tiger-slaying hero. These foreigners admire brave men above all and asked me to invite you out so they could see for themselves. It seems Begudu the warrior is quite disappointed!"

"Our tribe worships the deity of the Human-Faced Flood Dragon, and we prize courage and martial strength above all," Begudu declared. "If you wish to prove your bravery, come and wrestle with me. If you win, I shall give you a scale from our tribe's sacred Human-Faced Flood Dragon. If you are afraid, go back and drink your mother's milk!" With that, he downed a large bowl of wine and laughed heartily.

Baha, the chief, seemed quite displeased with Begudu, scolding him harshly in their tongue. Begudu, however, was defiant and argued back, only stopping when the others hurried to mediate. He seemed to have some backing of his own and showed little fear of his chief, even ignoring him in the end. He turned to Zhou Qian and challenged, "Boy, do you dare?"

"This is a banquet—brandishing weapons seems inappropriate," the Captain frowned.

The gentry murmured in agreement, and one suggested, "Perhaps the brave lad could give us a demonstration instead?" This met with unanimous approval.

"What do you think, young hero?" the Captain asked.

"I did not learn martial arts to put on a show!" Zhou Qian replied angrily. "That would be mere trickery. Martial arts are for killing!"

The words fell, and the entire hall fell silent. Zhou Qian himself was startled by what he'd said. This was not something his master had taught him, but a conviction that had taken root in his heart through Zhou Xun's example and guidance. He remembered how Zhou Xun had battled the Twin Elders of Yin and Yang with such passion and valor, and how the martial path was as vast and boundless as the sea. Immersed in this, and through the daily sparring and lessons in lethal techniques, Zhou Qian's blood and courage had been stirred to the point of bursting forth at this moment.

After speaking, Zhou Qian felt an invigorating clarity, as if a window had been thrown open in his heart, his blood surging within him, making him want to let out a long howl.

"You big bald oaf! Weren't you asking for a match? Come on!" Zhou Qian laughed.

"Heh! You've got guts!" Begudu rose to his feet.

Begudu was powerfully built—eight feet tall, muscles knotted and bulging, his bare torso marked by sword and blade scars, and the wounds of wild beasts. His fierce gaze fixed on Zhou Qian, making him feel as if he were being watched by a wild predator.

Begudu's opening stance was strange: hands loosely curled into claws before his chest, unlike any orthodox martial school, more akin to the posture of a tiger or bear hunting, his expression solemn and focused, nothing like the arrogance he had shown moments before. Even a lion, when hunting a rabbit, uses its full strength—Begudu understood this deeply.

Zhou Qian sank into a horse stance, his right hand extended in a gesture of invitation—the opening move of the Floating Cloud Hand, a technique well suited for both attack and defense.

Begudu charged suddenly, his twin claws slashing with a savage momentum, leaving a blur of claw-shadows in their wake. Zhou Qian tensed. The bald foreigner was not clumsy or slow as his build suggested, but swift as a wolf or leopard. Zhou Qian brought his hands together in a lotus shape—the opening of the Stirring the Clouds form.

Among the six forms of the Floating Cloud Hand, only the Stirring the Clouds was truly defensive. Zhou Xun had once seen dark clouds blot out the sun, no matter how fiercely it shone, and was inspired to create this move. Its essence lay in the word "stir": regardless of the opponent's attack, it would thwart their intent, causing their moves to fail, victory achieved without direct conflict.

Begudu soon felt extremely frustrated; his attacks landed as if on cotton, their force diminished by ninety percent, and a single misstep sent his own footing awry, his balance lost. Of the four principles—deflect, break, reverse, and shatter—breaking the opponent's move before it even fully develops is the highest realm, requiring both knowledge and talent. Zhou Qian had only mastered the deflecting aspect, but that was enough to give Begudu a hard time.

Zhou Qian’s hands danced, guarding his whole body. Begudu’s repeated assaults wore him down. Zhou Qian spotted an opening and shifted from Stirring the Clouds to Parting the Clouds. At once, Begudu felt a barrage of palm shadows closing in. Unable to tell which was the real killing stroke, he was, paradoxically, delighted—thinking the boy lacked combat experience.

Begudu, noticing the intricacy and strength of Zhou Qian’s defense, had deliberately feigned weakness to lure Zhou Qian into attacking. After all, how much strength could a boy of fifteen have? If they clashed directly, the boy would be overpowered, revealing an opening for Begudu to seize victory. Unexpectedly, the strike came so swiftly that although Begudu barely managed to protect his vital spots, he suddenly felt a tremendous force crash into his abdomen. His vaunted, imposing physique could not resist—it was like wave after wave of tide surging ashore. A mouthful of blood welled up, and he crashed backwards with a crash that shattered tables and chairs behind him.

The foreign spectators, stunned that their tribe’s warrior Begudu had been defeated, rushed forward to support him. A few hot-tempered ones even drew their curved blades, shouting angrily in their own tongue.

"How dare you!" the Captain thundered, his voice echoing through the hall. "What do you intend, drawing weapons in the government hall?" Instantly, a dozen armed guards stormed in, drawing swords and halberds, sending the gentry into a panic, white-faced and trembling.

Chief Baha quickly stepped between them, scolding the blade-drawing tribesmen sharply in their language. Under the weight of their chief’s authority, the men reluctantly sheathed their blades and retreated.

"Captain, sir!" Baha bowed deeply and said earnestly, "Begudu is a Goshin warrior of my tribe, grandson of the chief elder—always unruly and hard to discipline. I am willing to present ten fine horses to appease your anger. May the Eternal Sky bless you!"

"Hmm..." The Captain pondered a moment, then said, "Let this be the only time—there must be no repetition. Bear in mind that I represent the Imperial Court!"

Then, breaking into a smile, he continued, "So, our young hero possesses such martial prowess! Truly, heroes are born of the young. Someone, bring a seat for our guest!"