This is a secluded little mountain village of a few dozen households, called Chen Family Village.
In the courtyard of the clan patriarch, an old man is supervising his family's children in practicing Tai Chi Chuan.
The old man looks at this young man whose mastery of Tai Chi is quite remarkable. He thinks to himself, if only he weren't a foundling I took in, how wonderful that would be—whether it's Tai Chi Chuan or Tai Chi Swordplay, his skill is right on par with mine as patriarch.
At this moment, I am going through my daily Tai Chi Chuan practice, transitioning smoothly from slow to fast, my form completely unruffled, showing a level of skill that is far from ordinary.
First Tai Chi Chuan, then Tai Chi Swordplay. Having finished the routine, I walk up to the old man. "Well? My form is pretty good, isn't it?"
The old man says with a satisfied nod, "Not bad. When I was your age, I didn't have your level of skill. That said, your other boxing styles are much weaker, though your swordplay can certainly pass. Aside from a lack of practical combat experience, you could already be considered a top-tier master."
I reply offhandedly, "In this day and age, throwing a punch at anyone is a crime. Where am I supposed to get practical combat experience?"
The old man agrees wholeheartedly. "Indeed! Times are peaceful, and there's nowhere to put these skills to use! Still, the arts of our ancestors must be passed down. Go to my room and get the wooden box from my cabinet."
I walk into the room, open the cabinet, push aside the clothes on top, and find a small box at the very bottom. I mutter to myself, "This must be it!"
Taking the box, I return to my grandfather's side and hand it to him. "Is this the one? I didn't see any other boxes."
"That's the one, exactly." Grandfather opens it for a quick look, then continues, "Inside here are detailed guides for Tai Chi Chuan, Tai Chi Sword, and Tai Chi mental cultivation. In the present era, the mental cultivation arts can no longer be practiced, but it's still worth understanding them. This book, along with the Taiji Diagram pendant, are yours."
With that, he hands the box over to me. I take the box and open it: a book and a pendant lie quietly inside.
Grandfather instructs, "Read the book carefully. As for the pendant, follow the traditional rite—put a single drop of blood on it just to go through the motions. It's something handed down by our ancestors with nothing particularly magical about it; back when people could cultivate inner breath, it was probably a treasure, but nowadays it's just symbolic."
"Are you really giving this to me? Is this alright?" I ask doubtfully.
Grandfather says, "What do you mean, is it alright or not? Even though you're a foundling, I raised you with my own hands. There's no difference between you and a biological grandson. Just take it! The ancestral arts still need someone to pass them down. When you have time, read up more on the other boxing and sword styles—consider it good for fitness. Now get back to what you were doing."
Holding the items, I return to my room. I examine the pendant closely: a silver-toned chain holding a five-centimeter-wide Taiji Diagram. It looks just like an ordinary necklace. I place a single drop of blood on it to go through the motions, then set it aside.
I pick up the book and begin reading. It details rigorous training requirements and outlines the practice of boxing and swordplay.
There are also insights left behind by past masters. When I check the methods for cultivating inner breath, I can only feel helpless. I was born in a damnably wretched era where such things are simply impossible nowadays; even deep in the remote mountains, the environment could never meet the requirements.
Forget it, it wasn't meant to be. I turn my gaze back to the pendant. "What the hell? What's going on—where's the blood? How did it vanish?" I pick up the pendant and inspect it closely.
There isn't a trace of blood color left; that drop of blood simply seemed to disappear. Not understanding what happened, I decide to go ask Grandfather.
Carrying the pendant, I leave the room and hurriedly track down Grandfather, who is still in the courtyard. "Grandfather! Look, the blood is gone—it's completely vanished."
Grandfather says with absolute calm, "What is there to make a fuss about? This thing was originally a treasure, but without inner breath, its function is completely incomprehensible. It's a minor issue, not worth making a mountain out of a molehill. Go back to whatever you were doing! And hang that pendant around your neck."
As I walk away, Grandfather mutters to himself, "Did the ancestors actually approve of this grandson of mine? Otherwise, how could his blood have melted right into it? What a truly fine grandson; even the ancestors have accepted him."
I hang the pendant around my neck and just step out the front gate when the neighbor, Uncle Chen, arrives and says, "Xiaofeng, go water the fields. It's almost time for your family's plot to get water. Oh! The old man gave you the pendant?"
"Yeah! Grandfather gave it to me. I've got to go, let's talk later." With that, I return to the courtyard, pick up a shovel, and head toward our farmland.
Uncle Chen hoists his shovel and enters the courtyard. He says, "Uncle, you actually gave him the item?"
Grandfather nods. "I did. We've watched this little fellow grow up, and his martial skill is quite good. There's nothing wrong with giving this to him. At the very least, he's far more promising than those little good-for-nothings in our own family, and this way the ancestral arts will be passed down."
Uncle Chen lowers his head in thought. "True enough. In this day and age, nobody's going around committing crimes by relying on martial arts, but among his generation, he truly has no rival in skill. Not giving it to him would be a waste of talent. We've watched him grow up, and his character is beyond reproach. What a pity he was born in the wrong era!"
"Indeed! Five hundred years ago, he genuinely had the potential of a martial arts grandmaster. Even without inner breath, his current skill would allow him to hold his own against a top-tier master," Grandfather says with a look of regret.
Uncle Chen sighs, "What a shame! Now that society is peaceful, how many martial arts are truly being passed down? Harmony—is harmony really wrong? It's a pity the ancestral arts are just going to vanish like this."
Grandfather sighs heavily. "We must adapt to the times, what else can we do? I chose him to inherit the ancestral martial arts because, at the very least, he is the most outstanding one in the clan regarding this. Those kids of yours aren't even worth a second look—every single damn one of them is all show and no substance."
Uncle Chen looks a bit awkward. "Adapt to the times? If the ancestral arts are lost, we can only blame our own incompetence. The skills in our hands aren't enough to attract the young people, who all rush off to the cities. But if they really practiced this craft of ours, how would they make a living? Nowadays, forget about killing people, even hitting someone is a crime—you can't really blame the young folks for not learning."
Grandfather agrees wholeheartedly. "Too true! Hitting anyone is a crime. Although life is better now, for martial artists of our generation, finding a foothold in contemporary society is truly difficult."
Uncle Chen says, "I'm going to buy some wine and food. When he gets back, the three of us generations can have a drink. I'm heading out!" With that, he hoists his shovel and leaves.
Watering the fields is leisurely work. For someone living in the countryside, it's a second nature task with no real difficulty. It just takes up a bit of time, though it isn't particularly tiring.
Back home, the two elders are chatting idly in their chairs. Seeing me return, Uncle Chen speaks up, "Hurry up and grab the vegetables and start cooking. Everything's already washed and prepped, just waiting for you to man the wok."
Without wasting words, I grab the fresh vegetables, head into the kitchen, and get the fire going. There are plenty of vegetables, plus a good amount of fresh meat. I make eight dishes, which takes quite a bit of time, but looking at the eight dishes lined up on the stove, the time wasn't wasted.
I serve the dishes at the table and set out the bowls and chopsticks. The two of them are discussing affairs of state, chatting quite happily about things I simply cannot understand.
What the hell do affairs of state have to do with you common folks? You don't even have the right to vote in an election, what business is it of yours? All day long, you just chatter away blindly.
As soon as I finish and sit down, I hear Uncle Chen say, "That Ruscov is something else. Just level the place with a single artillery barrage and wouldn't all the problems be solved? Dilly-dallying like that, not a shred of major-power demeanor."
That makes me realize why people say that in the Land of Flowers, the biggest hawks are among the common people, while the government is actually the biggest conservative. If government departments shared that mindset, the world would have descended into chaos long ago. People would be beating each other's brains out, and wars would never stop.
Well, it has nothing to do with me. Time to eat.