Chapter Nineteen: Also True

“What’s wrong? Oh my, your clothes are soaked—and burned, too?” Su Fangxun pressed her hand to Kang Ning’s forehead, held it there a moment, then slowly drew away. “You might have a slight fever. I’ll bring you some medicine in a bit, and also some hydrogen peroxide and ointment. Many of your wounds need to be redressed.”

Kang Ning gave an awkward smile. “It’s nothing. What time is it?”

“When I came down it was about six-thirty in the morning. I’ll bring you an alarm clock later.” Su Fang pointed to his chest. “Take your shirt off… I’ll wash it for you. In fact, you might as well not wear one for now—it’ll be easier to apply the medicine.”

“Alright.”

Kang Ning took off his shirt, folded it carefully, and looked at Su Fang apologetically. “Doesn’t your clinic open at eight-thirty? I’ll go upstairs for a while. Thanks to your attentive care, I’ve recovered quickly these past few days, and all my bodily functions are returning to normal. But from today, I need to change my diet—keep it as simple as possible, or it’ll be hard to get through this.”

Su Fang understood his meaning; her cheeks flushed as she picked up his shirt and turned away. “Come up soon.”

Kang Ning stooped as he left the cellar, and saw Old Su practicing boxing in the courtyard.

He watched for a moment, but couldn’t identify the style. Yet from Old Su’s posture and movements, Kang Ning judged it to be an external style. He nodded in greeting, accepted the basin Su Fang handed him, and went to the tap to brush his teeth and wash up.

Once he’d finished his personal hygiene, he noticed Old Su was still practicing, each move deliberate and precise. After some thought, Kang Ning resolved to teach him a family method as thanks. Yet, worried whether Old Su would accept, he devised a plan.

“Uncle, may I ask what style you’re practicing?”

Old Su stopped at Kang Ning’s approach, took a towel hanging from a branch, and wiped his sweat as he chuckled, “It’s Hua Boxing. Around here, we have a tradition of martial arts. I’ve practiced this set since I was a child—great for the body.”

Kang Ning nodded. “What’s the highest level one can reach with this style, Uncle?”

Old Su pondered, then replied, “That, I’m not sure. I’ve only heard of elders who could break bricks with their palms or snap tree trunks as thick as a bowl with their kicks, but I’ve never seen it myself. Around these parts, I haven’t known anyone to reach that level.”

Kang Ning smiled faintly. “Do you believe in internal styles, Uncle? Like Tai Chi, Xingyi, and Bagua.”

“I’ve heard of them, but never seen them! The masters on TV seem amazing—though who knows if that’s real,” Old Su laughed, then asked, “You know boxing too, don’t you?”

Kang Ning nodded, went to the yard wall, picked up three red bricks, and brought them to Old Su’s side. “Uncle, what do you think of my skills?”

Under the curious eyes of Old Su and Su Fang, Kang Ning squatted on one leg, drew a half arc in the air with his right hand, and suddenly struck the stacked bricks. With a muffled thud and a puff of dust, the three bricks split instantly—the top one shattered into fragments.

Kang Ning stood, dusted off his hands, and spoke amiably to the stunned Old Su. “Uncle, it’s not about which style is superior; it’s about grasping the essence. The set you practice isn’t bad, but it lacks the spirit. If you’re willing, I can teach you a family method. With your decades of foundation, you’ll pick it up easily. It might not let you break bricks, but it’ll surely strengthen your health and help you live longer.”

Overjoyed, Old Su shook Kang Ning’s hand in thanks. He hurried inside and returned with a plastic-covered notebook and a pen. Kang Ning took them and wrote out the training formula from memory. “Here, Uncle. If you ever have questions during practice, bring this notebook and seek out my father in Lanning. I won’t write the address or number—just ask around at the medical college and you’ll find my family. My father is easygoing, loves a drink, just like you. I think you two would get along well.”

Clutching the notebook, Old Su thanked Kang Ning repeatedly, then headed back into the main hall, beaming.

As soon as her father left, Su Fang threw her arms around Kang Ning’s, exclaiming excitedly, “You’re incredible! Absolutely amazing! I never knew you could do martial arts. Three years at nursing school and no one ever said a word—you’re unbelievable!”

Pressed against her ample chest, Kang Ning smiled awkwardly and gently withdrew his hand. “It’s getting late—I should go back in. Your courtyard walls are high and there are no neighbors nearby, but if anyone overheard something, it wouldn’t be good. By the way, could you bring me some fresh newspapers later? If possible, all of the last few days—the more, the better.”

“Alright!”

Su Fang watched him walk toward the cellar and only turned away reluctantly after he disappeared into the storage room.

At night, Kang Ning brooded over the reports in the newspapers. It puzzled him—five days’ worth, and not a word about his case, nor a single mention of the TV host Zhen Qian’s death. The strangeness of it all left him deeply dismayed. He realized something was wrong: Zhen Qian’s murder was certainly connected to Lan Tao, and the way the case had turned after his report had drawn him into the heart of it. Some invisible, powerful force was manipulating the authorities, framing, hindering, and slandering him. The comprehensive police dragnet clearly signaled the case’s gravity—one careless misstep and his life could be in danger.

For twenty days, Kang Ning lived every day with anxiety and dread.

As he leafed through page after page of articles on Hong Kong’s return and reports of the nation’s prosperity, Kang Ning, who’d never been in the habit of reading newspapers, gradually began to perceive the layers of meaning behind what he once ignored. Through careful reading and analysis, things grew clearer. Sometimes, a brief, seemingly innocuous paragraph—after scrutiny by his increasingly sharp mind—revealed deeper significance.

During this period, Kang Ning dreamed almost every night. The dreams were wild and bizarre, endless in their strangeness. A few times, harrowing scenes jolted him awake, the boundary between reality and illusion so blurred he sometimes forgot where he really was.

Beset by agitation, he turned to practice for solace, keeping his mind calm and his body strong. Sometimes he would enter a meditative state for over five hours at a stretch. Surprised by these experiences, Kang Ning also came to appreciate the subtle joys and remarkable effects of his training, which helped ease the heaviness weighing on his heart.