The Boeing 787 cut through the twelve-hour time difference, landing at the Capital International Airport in late spring. Lín Xiǎoyǔ removed his sunglasses and gazed at the familiar catkins dancing outside the cabin window. The scales beneath his skin shivered slightly—an instinctive reaction of Pangu's essence blood to the homeland's magnetic field. The customs officer glanced twice at the "martial arts instructor" listed as his profession on his passport, likely finding the young man before him, carrying a worn-out martial arts bag with sleeves stained by what looked like glowing algae, a far cry from the Star Soldier image in Hollywood blockbusters.
"Xiǎoyǔ!"
His mother's voice, with its characteristic Jiaodong accent, cut through the din of the welcoming crowd. Lín Xiǎoyǔ turned and saw his mother standing on tiptoe, waving. Her blue apron was still dusted with flour, and his father held a huge thermos, from which the fragrant aroma of mackerel dumplings wafted through the gaps in the lid. He suddenly felt a sting in his nose, recalling that seventeen years ago, the day he left home for Shaolin Temple, his mother had chased the bus just like this, holding dumplings, spilling soup all the way.
"You've lost weight again," his mother reached out and pinched his arm. Her fingertips paused slightly when they touched the scales, but she casually adjusted his collar as if nothing had happened. "Hollywood bread can't nourish you like our noodles. Your dad specifically went to the pier to buy fresh mackerel; he got up at four this morning to make the filling."
His father grunted, shoving the thermos into his arms. "Don't talk back to your mom, eat something first. That kung fu you do in the movies, can it feed you?" Even as he spoke, the old man's eyes reflected the trailer for "Star Soldier" saved on his phone. The clip of Lín Xiǎoyǔ performing Swallow Piercing the Curtain was played on repeat, the screen almost worn smooth.
As the taxi sped through Chang'an Avenue, Lín Xiǎoyǔ looked at the red walls and green tiles flashing past the window and suddenly grasped his father's hand. The old man's palm was covered in calluses, and there was a crescent-shaped scar on his tiger's mouth—inflicted years ago when he was teaching Baji Quan at his martial arts school, a student's spear tip grazed him. Now, those hands fumbled with a smartphone, the album filled with photos of him learning to stand in a horse stance from videos.
"Dad," Lín Xiǎoyǔ's voice was muffled. "When we get home, let's spar a bit?"
His father's ears instantly turned red to the roots, but he pretended to look at the street scenery, turning his head away. "Old bones like me, what sparring? ... That's all Hollywood showmanship. If you want a real fight, you still have to learn Baji Quan's close-body leaning and striking."
As ethereal cooking smoke wafted from the kitchen of the old residential building, Lín Xiǎoyǔ had already changed into his father's old practice clothes. The coarse pure cotton felt comfortable against his skin, the scales hidden beneath the muscle like a layer of warm soft armor. His mother was chopping dumpling filling at the stove, the sound of the knife on the board unconsciously echoing the rhythm of Baji Quan's close-body leaning and striking—he suddenly remembered his mother saying that it was the wrist strength she displayed while chopping filling in the market that made his father decide to pursue her.
"Be careful you don't hurt your dad," his mother said without looking back, her cleaver flashing in the sunset. "He was bragging to Old Man Wang downstairs yesterday that his son could tear apart a robotic arm with his bare hands."
His father unfurled the red cloth-wrapped Six Harmonies Great Spear on the balcony. The spear shaft was made of aged wax wood, polished to a jade-like luster by time. When Lín Xiǎoyǔ took the spear, he could feel the sweat stains seeping into the wood grain, each one a mark of his father's morning drills in his youth. The diamond-shaped copper butt of the spear tip struck the tiles with a clear, resonant sound, unexpectedly creating a harmonic resonance with the vibration frequency of his scales.
"Let's spar with spears," his father assumed a solid horse stance, the spear tip pointed directly at Lín Xiǎoyǔ's throat, but stopping three inches short—a test of skill.
Lín Xiǎoyǔ executed a sliding step and twirled the spear, the shaft spinning rapidly in his palm. The wax wood and scales created a soft rustling sound. He deliberately restrained the power of Pangu's essence blood, using only a normal martial artist's strength, but when he shifted maneuvers, he accidentally crushed a balcony tile. The moment the scales secreted on the sole of his shoe touched the ground, they corroded the cement, leaving spiderweb-like patterns.
His father's pupils contracted sharply. "What... did you put on the soles of your shoes?"
"Nothing," Lín Xiǎoyǔ quickly changed into cloth shoes. The scales at his ankles curled into flesh-colored folds, perhaps from new footwork practiced in Hollywood. "Dad, is this straight thrust correct?"
The afterglow of the sunset filtered through the gauze window, weaving a golden net of light between the two men. Lín Xiǎoyǔ's spear tip, like a snake's flicking tongue, drew an arc three inches from his father's chest, the essence of the spear technique associated with Baji Quan, Six Harmonies Great Spear: "Spear Thrust: One Line." His father had to perform a "draw body, change shadow" move, retreating half a step, but midway through his retreat, he suddenly changed tactics, sweeping the spear like a staff—a spear technique adaptation of Baji Quan's close-body leaning and striking.
"Impressive," Lín Xiǎoyǔ exclaimed. His wrist twisted, and the wax wood spear shaft enmeshed with his father's like a living thing. Using his father's momentum, he spun forward, his entire body sticking to the spear like a shadow. This move, a fusion of Tai Chi and Baji, caused the scales on his spine to form serrated protrusions, absorbing seven-tenths of his father's spear force.
His mother, holding a plate of dumplings, stood at the kitchen doorway, shaking her head helplessly as she looked at the cracked floor tiles of the balcony and the two men with sweat beading on their foreheads. She suddenly remembered a late spring evening thirty years ago, when her young father taught her to wield a flower spear in the alley, the red tassel on the tip scattering peach blossoms from the neighbor's wall.
During dinner, his father opened a bottle of his prized Erguotou. The liquor shimmered like tiny pieces of light in the glass. Lín Xiǎoyǔ's phone suddenly vibrated, and Mike's video call request popped up. The image showed a Hollywood-style hillside villa, with sounds of barking dogs and exploding special effects in the background.
"My friend!" Mike raised his champagne flute, a smudge of cream on his mustache. "Congratulations on wrapping up the shoot! But I just got some news—guess who's after you?"
The camera suddenly panned to an Asian man standing beside Mike, wearing a Tang suit and fiddling with a pair of Baji Quan meteor hammers. Lín Xiǎoyǔ recognized him as the international martial arts superstar Zhāng Hào, a former world champion of Baji Quan.
"Mr. Lín," Zhāng Hào clasped his hands together in front of the camera. "On behalf of Dragon Shadow Pictures, I would like to invite you to star in 'Baji Shocks the Nine Provinces.' We've researched this – your underwater moves in 'Star Soldier' were a variation of Baji Quan's 'Mountain Pressing Close Strike.'"
Lín Xiǎoyǔ raised an eyebrow. "How did Director Zhāng recognize that?"
"Because of your waist-and-horse unity," Zhāng Hào put down the meteor hammers and demonstrated a standard Baji Quan starting stance. "Baji Quan emphasizes close-range combat: evade, assist, push, lean. The way you kicked that robot arm in the movie, the rotation angle of your hip was exactly like my master taught me back then. To be blunt... have you studied the secret Inner Elixir Cultivation of Baji?"
His father suddenly coughed violently, and his mother quickly handed him tea. Lín Xiǎoyǔ looked at the old man's flushed ears and suddenly remembered secretly flipping through the yellowed boxing manuals under his father's pillow when he was young. They did indeed mention qi cultivation through Inner Elixir, but he had dismissed it as fantasy back then.
"I accept," Lín Xiǎoyǔ wiped a drop of dumpling soup from the corner of his mouth. The scales shimmered with a pearlescent luster under the light. "But I have one condition: I want to bring a real spear on set, this Six Harmonies Great Spear of my father's."
Zhāng Hào's eyes lit up. "Exactly what we need! We've prepared twenty custom wax wood shafts, but we could never find an actor who could produce the effect of the spear tassel whipping like a bull-whipper. Did you know? The Baji Quan master Lǐ Shūwén of the Republic of China era, known as Divine Spear Li, was said to be able to stab a fly at the tip of his spear while it was balanced on an egg—an accomplishment that modern special effects simply cannot replicate."
After ending the video call, his father remained silent for a long time, then suddenly rummaged through the depths of the wardrobe and pulled out a red silk bundle. Opening it, he revealed a miniature iron spear model. The shaft was engraved with the characters "Six Harmonies, True Heart," and the copper butt was inlaid with half a piece of yellowed scale.
"This was your great-grandfather's relic," his father said in a low voice. "He used a Six Harmonies Great Spear when he was a bodyguard in Tianjin. Later, during the war, he melted the real spear and made this model. Your great-grandmother said that his blood was poured into the spear shaft, along with... scales like yours."
Lín Xiǎoyǔ's fingers brushed over the cold iron spear. He suddenly felt the scales on his body grow hot. The Pangu Axe birthmark on his palm glowed faintly, resonating with the scale fragment on the iron spear, projecting overlapping spear shadows in the light. His mother gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The rust on her cleaver had somehow turned a pale gold, and the characters carved on the handle subtly matched the pattern of his birthmark.
The groundbreaking ceremony for "Baji Shocks the Nine Provinces" was held in Cangzhou, the hometown of martial arts. As Lín Xiǎoyǔ strode onto the red carpet, carrying his father's Six Harmonies Great Spear, earth-shattering drum music erupted. He wore a coarse linen short suit, a red sash his mother had made overnight cinched at his waist. The scales were hidden beneath his collar, revealing only the bronze inscription-like patterns on his neck.
Zhāng Hào handed him a storyboard.The male protagonist was set as a bodyguard escorting valuables from the Republic of China era, skilled in Baji Quan and the Six Harmonies Great Spear, protecting the true essence of martial arts in a time of chaos.
"First scene: Ambush!" Zhāng Hào said, pointing at the monitor. "Your opponents are twelve bandits armed with sabers. You need to finish the fight within thirty seconds, focusing on showcasing the six major techniques of Baji Quan—Push, Hold, Single, Lift, Cross, Coil."
Lín Xiǎoyǔ flexed his wrists. The scales on his forearms formed rhombus-shaped protrusions, mimicking the traditional Iron Arm Technique. For the actual filming, he deliberately refrained from using his imposing aura, relying solely on explosive power to leap over a two-meter-high horse cart. As the bandits' sabers swung down, he met them with a block. The scales clashed against the blades, sparks flying, and surprisingly, a dent appeared on the back of the hardened steel saber.
"Close-body leaning and striking!" The veteran martial artists present stood up, observing his footwork. Each step landed precisely when the opponent's momentum was exhausted—this was the essence of Baji Quan's Half-Step Collapsing Fist!
When it came to the spear duel, Lín Xiǎoyǔ unwound the red sash and wrapped it around his hands. The wax wood staff spun in his hand, creating a spear flower the size of a bowl. According to the script, he needed to flick off the bandit leader's hat with the spear tip. However, the moment he thrust the spear, he felt the restless stirrings of his essence blood. The scales on the spear shaft automatically formed biomechanical patterns, increasing the elasticity of the wax wood by 30%. The spear tip, like a living thing, bypassed the opponent's saber strike and accurately tapped the hat's brim. The force was controlled just enough to break the hatband, causing the hat to land steadily on the ground.
"Su Qin Carrying Sword variation!" the weapons instructor exclaimed. "But how did the spear tip produce no wind? It's like... the spearhead has a silencer."
Lín Xiǎoyǔ knew it was Pangu's essence blood automatically adjusting the aerodynamic parameters. He thought of his great-grandfather's iron spear model and suddenly understood that true mastery wasn't brute strength, but like his mother chopping filling—condensing all one's power into a single point, like the tip of a needle piercing tofu, seemingly gentle yet penetrating to the bone.
During the night shoot of practicing the spear under the moonlight, the crew set up twenty retro gas lamps. Lín Xiǎoyǔ took off his shirt. The scales on his body shimmered with a greenish-gold hue in the moonlight. The scales on his spine formed blade-like protrusions, like a living suit of armor. He performed the Night Battle in All Directions spear technique with the Six Harmonies Great Spear. With each thrust, the thirty-six red tassels on the spear's tassel drew perfect arcs, resonating in sync with the vibration frequency of his scales, creating visible wave ripples.
"Zhāng Hào, come to the monitor!" the director shouted. "Check the playback!"
In slow motion, every latissimus dorsi muscle in Lín Xiǎoyǔ's back contracted in a specific trajectory. The coordination of his muscle groups corresponded exactly to the twelve defensive stances of the Six Harmonies Great Spear. Even more astonishing, his pupils transformed into vertical slits in the dim light, with golden-red patterns flowing with his spear movements, resembling the God of War descended to the mortal realm as described in ancient texts.
"This isn't acting," the martial arts consultant wiped his glasses. "His body is instinctively replicating ancient spear techniques, as if the movements are etched into his DNA."
As filming progressed smoothly, Lín Xiǎoyǔ began to notice anomalies on set. The rigging ropes from the props department would inexplicably break, and the aerial camera drones crashed multiple times, narrowly missing his head on one occasion. Sū Wǎn sent an analysis report remotely: "All these devices show faint bio-electrical interference, consistent with Candle Dragon's mechanical scales' frequency."
One stormy night, Lín Xiǎoyǔ was practicing alone on the martial arts studio set. Water pooled on the bluestone slabs as he practiced the 'dripping water spear' barefoot, holding his spear. The spear tip lightly touched the water's surface, causing the splashing water to form bead-like trajectories. A faint scuffing sound of shoe soles on the ground came from the darkness. He suddenly spun around, the spear tip at the intruder's throat—it was a young girl in a black hoodie, holding a damaged drone.
"Don't kill me!" the girl raised her hands. Her hood slipped back, revealing half a mechanical eye. "I'm... Candle Dragon's discarded piece. They said you could save me."
Lín Xiǎoyǔ's pupils contracted. He saw scales exposed at the back of the girl's neck—they were the same greenish-gold as his own, but interspersed with silver mechanical patterns. Her artificial eye suddenly projected a holographic image, showing the interior of a Candle Dragon laboratory: rows of cultivation pods, filled with genetically modified clones that had failed, each with scales similar to his.
"They call this project 'Pangu Replication,'" the girl's voice trembled. "But all the clones died within three months, except me... and someone else."
The image suddenly switched. A man wearing a bronze mask appeared on screen. His scales were dark red, and he was tearing apart an alloy cage with his bare hands. Lín Xiǎoyǔ felt his heart pound wildly, his scales almost bursting from his body—the man's fighting style was identical to his own moves in "Star Soldier," but even more brutal, each punch carrying world-destroying momentum.
"Candle Dragon Number One," the girl said, turning off the projection. Her artificial eye flashed red. "He escaped three days ago and is looking for you now."
Zhāng Hào's voice echoed from a distance, carrying a thick Hebei accent. Lín Xiǎoyǔ retracted his spear, the scales gradually receding, leaving a faint golden hue on his fingertips. He pulled out the protective charm his mother had tucked into his pocket—a small embroidered cloth bag containing dried mugwort and half a piece of dumpling skin.
"Come with me." He hid the girl among the props. The wax wood staff twirled in his hand, forming a spear flower. Rainwater dripped down the spear tip, creating small pits on the bluestone slabs. "Want some dumplings? My mom made mackerel filling; it cures all sleepless nights."
That day's highlight was the spear toss of the iron pulley cart. According to traditional Republic of China martial arts films, Lín Xiǎoyǔ needed to use the Six Harmonies Great Spear to flip a three-hundred-pound iron pulley cart, showcasing the fierce power of Baji Quan. The specially made iron pulley cart was cast from solid iron, its wheels creaking as they turned, like an echo from a bygone era.
"Xiāo Hán, prepare!" Zhāng Hào gave the order.
Lín Xiǎoyǔ tightened his red sash. The scales on his back formed a carapace-like structure, and the scales on his spine stood up like blades. He took a deep breath, adopting a dantian-qi-sinking breathing technique, increasing his heart rate to 180 beats per minute. His mitochondria released a large amount of ATP—this was the overdrive mode of Pangu's essence blood.
The moment the iron pulley cart rushed down the track, he stepped forward like a tiger entering the forest, the tip of the wax wood staff pressing against the cart's crossbeam. Traditional martial arts at this moment transformed into bio-mechanical force. The microscopic protrusions on the scales' surface made contact with the metal, forming temporary molecular-level adhesion. His waist exerted a sudden force, and the power of close-body leaning and striking erupted along the spear shaft, actually lifting the iron pulley cart half a meter.
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, but at that moment, the cart's steel cable snapped. Lín Xiǎoyǔ changed tactics at the critical juncture, executing Embracing Moon in Arms to hold the cart against his chest. The scales compressed like springs, absorbing 90% of the impact force. He knelt on one knee, the wax wood staff bent into a bow shape, but just as it was about to break, bio-adhesive secreted by the scales permeated the wood fibers, restoring the spear shaft's elasticity.
"My god..." Zhāng Hào stared at the pressure sensor. The readings showed Lín Xiǎoyǔ had instantly endured 2.8 tons of weight. "This isn't human, it's a living crane!"
Lín Xiǎoyǔ stood up. The paint from the iron pulley cart smudged onto his scales, turning them a warm ancient bronze color. He looked towards the monitor in the distance and saw his reflection on the screen: the patterns on his scales interwoven with the rust stains on the iron pulley cart, forming a blurred landscape, like the scale fragments on his great-grandfather's iron spear, and like the golden rust marks on his mother's cleaver.
After work, he sat among the props, bandaging the girl's wounds. The scales on her neck automatically repaired the mechanical damage upon contact with his essence blood. The girl touched her smooth skin in surprise, tears welling up in her eyes. "So, it really is possible without machines... Can I learn Baji Quan too?"
Lín Xiǎoyǔ handed her a warm bun. The rain outside had stopped at some point, and the moon had climbed above the martial arts hall's eaves. He remembered his father's words when he taught him to stand in a horse stance: "Why is Baji Quan called Baji? Because it can push a person's strength to the extreme, like stars shining to the ends of the earth."
His phone vibrated. Sū Wǎn sent a message: "Globally, over 500 million people are practicing basic Baji Quan stances. The hashtag #SpearTossIronCart# has surpassed ten billion views." Lín Xiǎoyǔ gazed at the birthmark on his palm. The pattern of a spear tip had appeared there at some point, echoing the scales on the back of the girl's neck.
His mother's video request came from a distance. The screen showed a steaming hot kitchen, where his father was teaching Zhāng Hào how to pick up dumplings with chopsticks. The old man's Baji Quan starting stance had sloshed dumpling soup out of the bowl, but it sent everyone at the table into laughter. Lín Xiǎoyǔ suddenly understood. The so-called Pangu's essence blood was never a solitary divine artifact, but the enduring vitality of millions, the rhythm of his mother chopping filling, the sweat stains in his father's spear shaft, and the starlight flickering in the eyes of every ordinary person reaching for the sky.
He stood up. The Six Harmonies Great Spear gleamed with a warm luster under the moonlight. The girl followed him, striking a starting pose, her scales trembling lightly in the evening breeze. The distant neon lights and the ancient martial arts hall's lanterns reflected each other. The shouts of Baji Quan, mixed with the hawkers' cries from the night market, wove a tapestry in the late spring night.