Chapter Five: Martial Arts Training

"Here, your strokes should be even lighter. Monk Huai's technique values intent over form; if your brush is too heavy, it loses its charm. Especially at the turning points—never use heavy ink. Your brush tip must be gentle, tracing the structure with only a faint mark."

With his sleeves gathered, Qi Xiu stood nearby, correcting Qian Yuze’s mistakes as he wrote. These days, Qi Xiu had been drilling Qian Yuze relentlessly, day and night. Nearly half of each day was devoted to practicing calligraphy. Watching Qian Yuze, who didn’t mind his knuckles turning red and swollen from gripping the brush for too long, Qi Xiu silently clicked his tongue in wonder.

So this is the struggle within wealthy families.

"Ziyuan, could you take a look at this piece and tell me how it is?" Setting down his brush, Qian Yuze lifted the work he’d just finished, his face showing anticipation. He felt he’d made considerable progress these days—while not yet equal to Qi Xiu, at least he’d begun to resemble a calligrapher.

Qi Xiu glanced over the characters on the paper and nodded slightly. "Your script is now seventy percent similar. The rhythm and power of the brush are still lacking, but the basic form is there. That’s quite good—you’ve managed this much in only ten days. It shows the Third Young Master’s gift for the art."

"Don’t flatter me." Shaking his head, Qian Yuze took a hot towel from a servant and wiped his face, laughing as he scolded, "Talent? Compared to you, my talent is nothing—clumsy as an ox."

He’d had no teacher. Just by studying a single rubbing on his own, Qi Xiu had imitated sixty percent of Monk Huai’s technique. Only after he himself began practicing this style did Qian Yuze truly understand what a terrifying talent Qi Xiu possessed in calligraphy. Inhuman, really.

I have no such gift, only a cheat, Qi Xiu explained to himself inwardly, then continued aloud, "Why don’t we end here for today, Third Young Master? You should rest. The pace has been intense lately. Calligraphy cannot be rushed; if your mind is unsettled, the brush will be unsteady, and you’ll get twice the effort for half the result."

Rubbing his swollen fingers, Qian Yuze nodded in agreement. "You’re right. That’s enough for today. Rest for a while—I’ll have Old Guan see you home in a bit."

Ever since he’d learned about the haunting at the Qian residence and the loss of several lives, Qi Xiu had insisted on not staying overnight at the Qian household. He came during the day to teach and returned home at night. Qian Yuze hadn’t understood at first—after all, compared to the Qian estate, Qi Xiu’s own home was little better than a pigsty. But at Qi Xiu’s persistent request, he eventually agreed. Old Guan ferried him back and forth each day. The Qian household had seven or eight carriages, so sparing one was of no consequence.

After resting for a while in the side courtyard, Qi Xiu made his way to a southeast gate of the Qian estate, where Old Guan was already waiting with the carriage.

"Mr. Qi, you’re finishing early today," Old Guan remarked. The daily journeys had made them quite familiar; they chatted and joked along the way to pass the time.

"Yes," Qi Xiu replied, then remembered, "Oh, Uncle Guan, here are the couplets you asked me to write for you. I forgot to give them to you this morning." He retrieved a rolled-up pair from his cloth bag.

"Ah, I only mentioned it offhand, but you really remembered," Old Guan exclaimed, delighted, as he carefully accepted the calligraphy.

"It’s just a simple couplet—if you like, I can write you another sometime," Qi Xiu said, smiling at Old Guan’s evident treasuring of the gift.

"Mr. Qi, you’re the teacher of the Third Young Master—your writing is anything but ordinary," Old Guan replied with great seriousness, placing the couplets carefully in his satchel.

Qi Xiu paused at that. Indeed, he thought, someone who can imitate Monk Huai’s calligraphy is no longer just an ordinary writing tutor. With my skill level, surpassing a master like Monk Huai is only a matter of time.

Perhaps I shouldn’t focus solely on calligraphy, he mused, eyes shining. Maybe I should branch out into other fields. Such as…martial arts?

The terror of that night remained fresh in his mind.

If I could master some strength, I’d be better prepared for any unexpected dangers.

"Uncle Guan, it’s still early—could you take me to the East Market first?"

"Of course, have a seat and we’ll be off," Old Guan replied, flicking the reins.

A quarter of an hour later, in the East Market of Baoxian County, they arrived at Shangtai Bookstore.

As the largest bookshop in the county, Shangtai didn’t just sell books—it also offered brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. Once, this was a place Qi Xiu could only look at from afar. The cheapest scroll of paper cost thirty copper coins; a pot of ink, fifty. The ancient texts and rubbings they sold were treasures far beyond his means.

He reached into his bag, feeling the twenty taels of silver tucked inside, and steadied himself. Now he too was a man of means. With the allowances and rewards from Qian Yuze, his wealth had reached a hundred and fifty taels—an unimaginable fortune to his former self.

Feeling confident, Qi Xiu strode into the bookstore he’d passed by hundreds of times but never entered.

"You look unfamiliar, sir—is this your first visit?" A clerk greeted him with a smile.

"Yes." Qi Xiu scanned the spacious shop, nearly five or six hundred square meters, then asked, "Do you have any books on martial arts training?"

"Martial arts books?" The clerk’s smile faltered.

"Do you mean…storybooks, perhaps?"

"No, I mean actual martial arts manuals—ones you can use to learn real skills."

"I’m sorry, sir, this is a bookstore. If you want martial arts, please turn left out the door and try one of the martial halls," the clerk replied, eyeing Qi Xiu oddly.

Qi Xiu left the shop, rubbing his head in embarrassment. He’d assumed, since this was an ancient setting, martial arts manuals would be everywhere. But real manuals wouldn’t be sold openly in a bookstore.

Following the clerk’s directions, he found himself on Martial Hall Street. Peering in, he saw seven or eight martial halls side by side, each with several muscular men in training clothes at the entrance. Despite the biting cold, these apprentices seemed unfazed, exercising with stone locks and striking wooden stakes, steam rising from their heads.

"This is just another form of advertisement," Qi Xiu muttered, watching the display of muscle. With so many martial halls, how could he tell which one was reliable?

As he hesitated, a pair of large hands suddenly clapped his shoulders from behind, squeezing hard enough to make him wince.

"Mr. Qi, what brings you here?" Qian Yuchuan appeared, grinning, with a man and a woman in tow.

"Second Young Master, what a coincidence," Qi Xiu replied, massaging his shoulders. The young master was a good sort, but his grip was monstrous.

Noticing the line of martial halls, Qian Yuchuan’s interest was piqued. "Are you thinking of learning martial arts?"

"Not exactly," Qi Xiu answered, waving a hand. "I’ve been studying too hard lately and thought to pick up some exercises for my health, to strengthen my body." He offered this as a casual excuse, not about to reveal his real intentions.

"Hahaha, is that all? For something so simple, you should have come to me! Those martial halls only teach fancy moves, nothing really useful. Tell you what—tomorrow at noon, I’ll come to Yuze’s courtyard and show you a technique or two myself! Wait for me!" With a hearty laugh, Qian Yuchuan strode off with his companions, not waiting for Qi Xiu’s reply.

Qi Xiu opened his mouth to refuse, but knowing Qian Yuchuan’s character, he just smiled and shook his head. How could he refuse such enthusiastic kindness?

With Qian Yuchuan now involved, Qi Xiu gave up on the martial halls, turned around, and bought a meal—three dishes and a soup—from Chunlai Restaurant in the East Market, then headed home.

The snow had finally stopped after several days, but as it melted, the evening temperatures dropped, leaving thick, slippery ice on the roads. Picking his way carefully back to his small courtyard, Qi Xiu wiped the sweat from his brow, relieved he hadn’t dropped his three-tael meal. The two-mile walk had taken him nearly half an hour.

"I really do need to get started on martial arts training—my health is just too poor," Qi Xiu muttered, sitting and catching his breath as he set the food on the table.

His gaze fell on the white paper talisman pasted to the door. The writing on it hadn’t changed. Seeing the "Suppress" character was still intact, he relaxed a little. The memory of the two corpses he’d seen at the Qian residence ten days before was seared into his mind. Ever since returning home, he’d sealed his doors and windows each night with these "Suppress" characters.

He’d also discovered that writing these talismans wasn’t without cost—they subtly drained his energy. Five was his current limit; beyond that, he’d feel dizzy, weak, and anxious—like a severe case of low blood sugar. He’d need at least two hours to recover. And the talismans only lasted a day—after that, the golden light faded and the paper became ordinary again.

Satisfied that nothing unclean had entered his house, Qi Xiu washed up and eagerly devoured his meal—boiled sliced pork, stone-ground tofu, sweet and sour pork, and hot and sour soup. They were not expensive dishes, but after two years of hardship, to Qi Xiu they were a rare treat.

After clearing the table, Qi Xiu loosened his belt, patted his stomach, and burped contentedly. This was what life should be.

He put away the dishes and had just reached his door when the "Suppress" talisman suddenly glimmered with golden light, as if reacting to something.

Qi Xiu’s face changed. He crouched down and peered cautiously through the door’s lattice. It had been ten days—had they found him already? In broad daylight?

The courtyard gate was open, sunlight glinting sharply off the icy ground. A stiff, wooden figure passed right in front of Qi Xiu’s door, heading deeper into the alley.

Not looking for me… Leaning weakly against the door, Qi Xiu wiped the sweat from his brow. But soon his expression grew grave. Had the thing from the Qian residence escaped?