Chapter 182 - I Have a Question!

The Invincible Fist Demon probably hadn't expected it, and neither had I—that I would ever say such a thing to him. But the moment I heard him say he wanted to bring down the cliff with a single blow, something blazed to life inside me.

It was an intense desire to throw my own fist into his impossible challenge.

The Fist Demon's gaze shifted from my eyes to my hands.

"With those baby hands?"

Ah, so the day had come when even my hands could be called baby hands.

"They're very small and cute compared to yours, but among ordinary people, they're rather well-endowed hands."

"Enough nonsense. Go home."

Radiating coldness, the Fist Demon walked away.

I looked up at the cliff again.

If a fist capable of bringing this down in one blow came flying at me, could protective concentrated qi withstand it?

My clenched fists tightened.

* * *

That afternoon, I visited Father and played Go with him for the first time in a while.

The crisp sound of stones being placed, move by move, calmed my mind. Perhaps playing Go with Father felt so comfortable because it resembled a sparring match. Once you stepped into the sparring arena, or began a game of Go, there was no need to say anything to your opponent.

"I concede."

I had won our last game by two points, but today, at last, I lost by six. Seeing the smile Father couldn't hide, I thought he was truly incorrigible. Whether in Go or martial arts, he simply couldn't stand losing.

"Learn some Go from Strategist Sima when you have the time."

"I suppose I should."

"What brings you here today?"

Father had already realized I had come with something to discuss.

"Can you tell at a glance when you look at someone?"

"Your moves were unusually impatient today. Weak players always give themselves away."

"A weak player? This is the first time you've beaten me!"

Inwardly, I was pleased. It meant Father had been paying attention to my state of mind even as we played.

"There's something I'd like your permission for."

"What is it?"

"I'm thinking of learning fist arts from the Fist Demon. Please give me your permission."

Father showed little reaction, as though he had expected this.

"If you want to learn, then learn. Why do you need my permission?"

"Of course I should tell you before I learn. And I should have your permission."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll have to work harder to obtain it."

I told Father honestly how I felt.

"At first, I was mostly thinking of making a feint in the east to strike in the west. I was probing my brother's response—seeing how he would react if I kept knocking on the Fist Demon's door. But today, the Fist Demon told me his goal was to bring down a cliff with a single blow."

Father seemed to know about that goal already. My words didn't surprise him at all.

"When he said that, it wasn't the cliff that crumbled, but my wariness. I thought it was admirable, and I wanted to bring down the cliff myself."

"That chronic weakness of yours. Naive sentimentality that will get you killed."

The first time he'd said that, it had been "cheap sentimentality that will get you killed." Now "cheap" had disappeared, replaced by "naive." That difference was exactly how much closer Father and I had become.

"Sometimes that naivety works to my advantage. It's won me some of the Demon Supremes, too."

"Won them? Do you truly believe the Demon Supremes are on your side?"

Father really did trust no one. Perhaps that outlook was essential for a cult leader responsible for leading the Cult.

"I don't believe any feeling in this world is unconditional, except a parent's love for their child. I'm simply trying not to create circumstances that would change the Demon Supremes' hearts."

People rarely had a sudden change of heart as they went through life. Most people changed because their circumstances did.

"Do you understand this? If you become involved with the Fist Demon through martial arts, the time will inevitably come when you must fight him. He cannot stand losing. Then you may get a result quite different from what you intended."

He could offer that warning because he knew the Fist Demon's character well. He meant that trying to grow closer might only make our relationship worse.

"What happens if I win?"

"His goal will become you, rather than the cliff."

After a moment, I said to Father,

"Wouldn't a life spent as someone's goal be worth living, at least once?"

Father studied me for a moment, then nodded.

"With the Fist Demon, you will need to make the right moves and hold to the right path."

He meant I should do my utmost with sound moves rather than hope to get lucky with tricks. Father had given his permission.

"Thank you."

I bowed respectfully to Father and turned to leave. He spoke behind me.

"From now on, I play white."

"Don't you have to win three games in a row?"

"That rule has changed as of today."

Well, what could I do if the Heavenly Demon wanted to change it?

"Then I'd better teach my strategist Go as soon as possible."

* * *

I visited the Fist Demon again the next day.

He had missed training for several days, but today he was watching the Iron Fists practice.

His reaction to me was the same as on the first day: a brief glance my way before his gaze returned to the Iron Fists. Yet our relationship was clearly different from what it had been then.

"May I learn alongside the Iron Fists?"

The Fist Demon looked at me, his face as fierce as ever. Anyone else would have said he was glaring as though he wanted to kill me, but I could read the emotion in his eyes.

Did I truly intend to learn fist arts from him?

I answered with a look of determination.

Yes.

He regarded me with a look of derision, then nodded. His attitude said he would see what I did next.

"Thank you."

I unfastened my sword, set it aside, and copied the Iron Fists' stance.

This was the first time in my life I had learned fist arts. I had never learned them before my regression, either. Fighting without a sword in my hand? It wasn't easy to imagine.

The Iron Fists' glances were filled with surprise.

The Heavenly Demon's Second Young Master had volunteered to learn fist arts alongside them. They wouldn't need any food to accompany their drinks tonight, with that much to talk about.

The Fist Demon taught me nothing.

I copied the Iron Fists' movements. A martial art being taught to dozens of people couldn't be the Invincible Fist Demon's exclusive fist art. It would be the basic fist art learned by the Eastern Fist School's martial artists.

All the better. I knew better than anyone that even a fist art capable of toppling Mount Tai began with these basic movements.

I executed the movements precisely.

I had watched their training for several days, and, more importantly, dozens of people were assuming the same stance right before my eyes.

Even if someone got it wrong, more people had it right. Thanks to them, I could adopt the correct stance.

When that first day's training ended, everyone dispersed quietly. I left as though I were one of them.

The next day, I joined their training again.

The Eastern Fist School's Iron Fists were divided into four groups according to their skill.

The White Fists wore white martial uniforms, the Blue Fists blue, the Red Fists red, and the Black Fists black.

I was currently training with the White Fists in their white uniforms. Of course, they weren't to be underestimated simply because they were White Fists. Merely being admitted to the Eastern Fist School meant they were no novices as martial artists.

Was training with the White Fists a waste of time? Not at all. It was better, in fact, because I could build from the foundations.

My martial attainment was at a level where I could anticipate dozens of variations from a single small movement.

From one basic punch, I envisioned dozens of situations and anticipated the variations. In my mind, the Wind God's Four Steps merged with the move I was performing. Since that footwork had combined beautifully with the Heaven-Soaring Sword Art, it naturally formed a magnificent harmony with fist arts as well.

Though I devoted myself to training, the Fist Demon still seemed not to believe in me. I could read it in his expression.

What difference would it make? Would I keep coming for a month? A year?

With such thoughts in mind, he merely gave me looks of derision.

But he was dealing with me. The next day, I even asked a question.

"I have a question!"

Everyone startled at my shout. Come to think of it, I had never seen anyone ask a question during training. They merely assumed the stances they were told to.

Perhaps I was the first to ask one.

The Fist Demon was just as surprised. He couldn't have expected me to ask a question.

"In this move, Crouching Tiger Emerges, how much freedom of movement is allowed in the left foot when pivoting on the right?"

Everyone kept their left foot completely fixed, but I thought the move would be more effective if they shifted it slightly.

I felt agitation all around me. Was this allowed? How could I dare ask a question? How would the Fist Demon react? Would they all be caught in the sudden storm, too? I sensed a thousand such feelings.

But, unexpectedly, the Fist Demon answered without any particular objection.

"If your body remains steady when you complete the final turn, you need not restrict your left foot."

With his clear answer, I performed the move as he instructed.

My left foot shifted enough to lift slightly off the ground, but that was to link into the next move as quickly as possible. We were currently practicing one movement at a time, stopping between each, but in actual combat, continuous movement mattered.

For the first time, the Iron Fists' gazes turned toward me. They didn't yet know that what they were witnessing wasn't a change in a move. It was a change in the Eastern Fist School's long-entrenched training practices.

I returned to the training ground the next day, and the day after that.

I didn't deliberately ask questions for the sake of asking. I simply asked about things I genuinely wanted to know, and the Iron Fists listened closely. In a way, I was asking on their behalf the questions they had wondered about but never dared voice. Some began greeting me after training.

After five days, I was executing the moves with the most correct form of any of the Iron Fists learning martial arts there. Some even came to ask me about the movements after training.

It was the seventh day.

Formal training had ended, but I stayed behind alone to continue. I was becoming immersed in the new world that fist arts opened to me. Apart from my current circumstances, learning fist arts was enjoyable in itself.

I could feel the Fist Demon watching me, but I paid him no mind and immersed myself in the moves. I focused only on my outstretched fist.

What would this fist need to carry to bring down the cliff?

At last, the watching Fist Demon spoke.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Didn't I tell you I wanted to learn fist arts from you?"

"Do you truly mean to become my disciple?"

"If you'll accept me."

The Fist Demon started in surprise. No son of the Heavenly Demon had ever become a Demon Supreme's disciple.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. I've already received Father's permission."

"The Cult Leader gave his permission?"

"He did."

That was the moment the Fist Demon realized my resolve was no joke.

"Do you know what sort of man I am?"

"Not very well. But the moment you told me your goal was to bring down the cliff, I think I became captivated by you."

I was employing equal parts sincerity and flattery.

"Do you think those bullshit tricks will work? Do you think this will make me support you as successor?"

"It's fine if you don't. No, please don't. I don't know if you've heard the rumors about me, but my goal is to end this selection of a successor without bloodshed between brothers. So it's actually reassuring to know you're there for my brother. You'll stop him from crossing the line."

"Why do you think I would stop him?"

"Because you're a man who means to bring down a cliff with his bare fist. You must know that the moment that fist grasps sordid plots and schemes, you'll never be able to bring the cliff down."

"!"

"I believe you're the only person who can beat some sense into my brother or me if we go mad and run wild over the succession struggle. If either of us tries to cross the line, please stop us. Beat us mercilessly with those fists."

I didn't look away from his disapproving, ferocious gaze. He thought he was a man obsessed with martial arts? When it came to being obsessed with something and pursuing a single path, I was no less devoted than he was.

The next instant!

The Fist Demon's enormous fist was right in front of my face.

He had thrown it so quickly, yet there hadn't been so much as a whisper of wind. It stood before my face as though it had been there all along.

Only then did the sound erupt.

WHOOOOOSH!

A tremendous roar of wind sounded behind me, and then—

BOOOOM!

A huge hole had opened in the wall far behind me.

Amazingly, he had left my face untouched where his fist had stopped, while blasting away everything behind it. It was a truly extraordinary, masterful technique.

The Fist Demon stared coldly at me, who hadn't so much as blinked at the incoming fist, then turned and walked away without a word.

I remained where I stood, watching his retreating back.

The more you do this, the fiercer the flame in my heart will burn.

At the end of the path, the Fist Demon stopped.

"Starting tomorrow, report to the Blue Fists' training ground."