Chapter 111: The Taiji of the Late Sui Dynasty

At this moment, a blacksmith approached Qin Qiong to seek his advice on weaponry, and Qin Qiong returned to the armory.

Li Dong did not follow. He stood in place, feet spread to shoulder-width, knees slightly bent, torso upright, and arms held in a void, extending gracefully. His posture resembled a phoenix spreading its wings, a great kite soaring, or a falcon striking the sky.

Li Dong’s hands moved as if cradling an invisible sphere, shifting up and down, left and right. His movements were incredibly slow—reminiscent of an old ox pulling a rickety cart, a crane just waking from sleep, or the rising sun. He moved with a deliberate, measured rhythm, perfectly controlled.

The movement of the hands was preceded by the flow of qi; the intent led the qi, and the qi moved the form. It was a continuous, unbroken stream, like the dark, surging currents of the Yangtze or Yellow River, wave after wave, endless and surging forward. Li Dong’s face was as solemn as stone, his expression so serious that one dared not meet his gaze.

When Qin Qiong finished his business and stepped out of the armory, he saw Li Dong moving with such agonizing slowness—like an eighty-year-old woman spinning cotton—that the movements appeared utterly ridiculous.

Curious, Qin Qiong did not disturb him but stood by to observe. After a while, he began to perceive something. Li Dong seemed to be practicing a martial art he had never seen before. At first glance, it appeared unremarkable, but the longer one watched, the more it became clear that this was a highly sophisticated form of boxing.

General martial arts rely on striking, hammering, parrying, blocking, thrusting, smashing, and attacking as their basic movements, aiming to hit vital points, incapacitate the enemy, and gain the upper hand by shattering the opponent's defenses. This technique, however, was unlike anything Qin Qiong had ever seen. It utilized movements like warding off, rolling back, pressing, pushing, elbowing, and leaning—aligning with the principles of the Four Directions and the Eight Trigrams to neutralize an opponent's offensive force.

If standard martial arts were the resounding toll of a bronze bell, this technique was the melodic, lingering sound of a flute. Where standard arts were like a Vajra’s angry glare, this was like a Bodhisattva’s gentle gaze. While most arts favored wide, expansive movements, this style abandoned such grand gestures, focusing instead on subtle shifts and maneuvers within a tiny space, winning through small, precise actions.

Unconsciously, Qin Qiong began to imitate Li Dong’s movements. When Li Dong moved, Qin Qiong moved; when Li Dong stopped, Qin Qiong stopped; when Li Dong turned, Qin Qiong turned. Realizing that Qin Qiong was following his practice, Li Dong pretended not to notice. He eventually closed his eyes, relying solely on his intent and qi to guide his body, continuing his dense and fluid sequence. Qin Qiong, of course, could not close his eyes—he couldn't learn a thing if he couldn't see!

After completing the set, Li Dong slowly retracted his energy, stood still for a long moment, and let out a deep breath.

As Qin Qiong finished his final movement, he clapped his hands in praise. "Excellent! What a marvelous technique!"

Li Dong opened his eyes, glanced at Qin Qiong, and asked with a meaningful tone, "Is this technique truly good?"

"It is!" Qin Qiong exclaimed, delighted. He stepped forward, gripped Li Dong’s arms, and asked in astonishment, "What is this style? How have I never seen it before?"

"Naturally, you have never seen it. I developed this technique in the mountains after watching an eagle fight a python. I have never displayed it before, so no one has ever seen it. In this world, you are the only one to have witnessed it."

What Li Dong was actually performing was Taiji. He had borrowed the art that the Taoist master Zhang Sanfeng would later develop after observing a fight between a snake and a crane, claiming it as his own to entice Qin Qiong to learn from him. Since Zhang Sanfeng would live in the late Yuan and early Ming dynasties—hundreds of years in the future—no one alive today could have possibly seen it.

"Oh! Then I am very lucky!" Qin Qiong said with a smile. "Would you be willing to teach me this technique? I am very interested in it."

"You want to learn?" Li Dong felt a secret joy—the fish had taken the bait! Yet, on the surface, he remained nonchalant, acting as if he were guarding a precious secret.

"Learn? Of course, I want to learn." Seeing Li Dong’s lukewarm reaction, Qin Qiong was puzzled. *Is he unwilling to teach me? What is he worried about?*

"You are a blacksmith. You don't compete in the ring; what use is this technique to you? It’s of no use in forging iron!" Li Dong intentionally goaded him; otherwise, he wouldn't have displayed the Taiji in front of him in the first place. Qin Qiong was clever, and to get him to learn, Li Dong had to remain calm and indifferent to achieve his goal. If he begged to teach or agreed too quickly, Qin Qiong would see through the ruse and realize Li Dong was using him.

Li Dong refused to give in. He knew that if the goal remained just out of reach, Qin Qiong would accept the condition of entering the tournament. People often fell into this psychological trap: the harder something was to obtain, the more valuable they believed it to be.

Qin Qiong felt a slight sting. He pressed down on Li Dong’s arms and spoke from the heart: "Who says a blacksmith isn't allowed to learn martial arts? Which law dictates that a blacksmith must spend his whole life only hammering iron? That he is forbidden from seeking other paths? Who would be content to remain a blacksmith, selling his strength for a lifetime?"

Li Dong thought to himself: *Although he is a blacksmith, Qin Qiong is a man of discernment; he truly recognizes the brilliance of Taiji. It seems he harbors great ambitions and wishes to leave the lowly profession of a blacksmith. He will certainly want to learn this art. I shall lead him on a little further.*

"I am practicing this now so that I may perform well in the upcoming tournament, achieve merit, and win a title to bring honor to my ancestors. Since you are determined to learn, Brother Qin, I will teach you without reservation. However..." Li Dong paused, hesitating as he looked at Qin Qiong, leaving his thought unfinished.

"Good heavens!" Qin Qiong sighed in surprise. "You offended Fei Qingnu not long ago; how can you enter the tournament? If he recognizes your true face, won't you be in grave danger? As your brother, I must look out for you. I must be the one to fight in this tournament!"

"That may be so, but what will you do if you encounter Zhang Jincheng, Liu Heita, or Dou Jiande in the ring?" Li Dong pressed.

"That goes without saying! I shall simply yield to them!" Qin Qiong declared with heroic spirit. "Does it matter which of us brothers takes the top prize? Why fight for status and tear apart our friendship?"

Li Dong did not follow his lead. He shook his head heavily, signaling his disagreement. After a moment, he checked to see that no one was around and lowered his voice: "If you enter that tournament, you must not only win, but you must not show mercy to anyone—especially those three brothers. You wouldn't be suppressing them; you would be saving their lives!"

"How do you explain that?" Qin Qiong, unable to grasp the meaning, asked blankly.

"The logic is simple," Li Dong said. "Why are they conscripting laborers? Isn't it for the campaign in Liaodong? They will earn a rank through the tournament and be granted military positions. Who among them wouldn't want to serve General Lai Hu'er?"

"War means death. They are using the lives of our brothers to pave a bloody path for their own glory. If you block them and deny them the chance to be blinded by the promise of fame, you will be keeping them much safer."

Qin Qiong was incensed. He widened his eyes, indignant: "If you were an ordinary peasant, I could understand your feelings. But you are a great hero who defeated Zhi Shilang! How can you harbor such base thoughts? Since we are local garrison soldiers, we must serve our country. To die on the battlefield is an honor! Even if we must die in battle and be wrapped in horse hides, with all our blood drained away, we cannot retreat!"

Li Dong sighed inwardly. *He truly is a loyal and honest man of Shandong! How heroic and admirable his words are! To have such a brother who shares one's heart—what more could one ask for in this life?*

*But how could they know the truth of history? That the campaign against Liaodong would result in countless deaths, rivers of blood, and mountains of bones. Out of two million laborers and garrison soldiers, only a few thousand would return! I must save them!*