Observing Wanfa from the martial arts school servants

Chapter 11 Body Tempering Technique

"Yes."

Lin Mu silently recited in his heart.

A warm current of energy surged from the dantian and slowly spread along the meridians in the body.

A mnemonic phrase came to mind:

"Blood and qi are the furnace, skin and flesh are the iron. Forged a hundred times, it can dissipate a thousand pounds. From head to toe, it penetrates every nook and cranny. Skin is like copper, bones like iron pillars..."

Its operating method is completely different from that of the Long Wind Fist.

The Long Wind Fist gathers Qi and blood into a line, which then circulates along the fist's path;

The body-strengthening technique requires dispersing the qi and blood, like splashing water, from the dantian to the limbs, torso, top of the head, soles of the feet, and even every inch of skin.

Lin Mu sat cross-legged and guided his qi and blood according to the incantation.

First, my lower abdomen felt warm, like a gentle fire was burning inside.

He tried to send the heat down, flowing to his legs, knees, ankles, and toes, gradually filling them with warmth.

Then it flows upwards, over the waist, back, and shoulders, down the arms to the fingertips. Finally, it reaches the top of the head, where the Baihui acupoint feels like it's been pricked with a needle, with a slight numbness.

The most difficult part is the skin.

It's easy for qi and blood to reach the muscles and bones, but for it to seep into the skin's surface, it's like water trying to seep into a dense fabric—every inch has to be squeezed out. He gritted his teeth and pushed the last bit of heat from his dantian outwards, to the back of his hands, to his cheeks, and to the back of his neck.

Every inch of my skin felt warm, like I was soaking in warm water.

But this warmth only lasted for a few breaths.

My dantian is empty.

My blood and energy seemed to have been drained, and I felt weak all over, without even the strength to sit up straight.

Lin Mu leaned back and lay on the muddy ground in the yard, panting heavily.

Then, it itched.

Starting from the fingertips, it feels like countless ants are crawling under the skin.

Then it was my arms, shoulders, back, stomach, thighs, calves... every inch of my skin was itchy. It wasn't a surface itch, but an itch deep inside my bones, flesh, and blood vessel walls. I couldn't scratch it.

Lin Mu rolled over and lay face down on the ground, rubbing his arms vigorously with his palms, but it was no use.

I pinched it with my fingernails, leaving white marks, but the itching still wouldn't stop.

He rolled around in the yard, using fallen leaves, dry branches, and sand to relieve the itch.

He rolled from left to right, and from right to left, his back covered in mud and grass clippings.

Unable to bear the itch any longer, he rubbed his back against the wall like a cow scratching an itch, causing the mud wall to crumble and crumble.

Or not.

The itch felt like it was embedded in my flesh, and I couldn't get rid of it no matter what I did.

Lin Mu suddenly remembered Zou Wanruo—she patted her body, one pat after another, heavily and frequently. At the time, it seemed strange, but now he realized that it was not a quirk at all, but part of the body-strengthening technique.

He sat up, clenched his fist, and punched his thigh.

"Snapped!"

A crisp sound.

The itching has subsided a little.

Lin Mu pounded a few more times, then alternated his hands, starting from the shoulders and patting down—shoulder, arms, chest, abdomen, waist, legs, pounding each part with force, like driving piles, the rhythm getting faster and faster.

A series of loud banging sounds came from the courtyard, like someone was banging on the door.

He hit harder and harder, his skin turning bright red and burning. The itching was finally suppressed, replaced by a scalding heat that seeped into his muscles and bones from the surface of his skin.

Lin Mu stopped, drenched in sweat and panting heavily.

My skin is still burning, but the itching has subsided.

He looked down at his arm; the area where he had been slapped was red, and underneath it, there was a faint sheen, as if a thin layer of oil had been applied.

Close your eyes and bring up the booklet.

[Body Tempering Technique: Unripe 1/100]

Lin Mu lay back down on the ground, gazing at the moon overhead, her chest still heaving.

Is this body-strengthening technique entirely based on masturbation?

According to the interpretation of the mantra, the body is like a container. You need to disperse the Qi and blood, let it seep into every inch of the skin, and temper yourself into a large vat full of Qi and blood.

If people practice against each other, the friction between skin and the collision of muscles, could that also relieve the unbearable itching?

Lin Mu was already used to the weakness caused by the depletion of his qi and blood.

He lay on the ground, waiting for the moon overhead to slowly set in the west. Once his fingers could move again, he propped himself up on his arms and slowly moved to the straw mat. He didn't even have the strength to pull the blanket off, so he just lay on his back and closed his eyes.

......

Just as dawn was breaking, there was a knocking on the courtyard gate.

It wasn't the arrogant patting style of Lin San, but a slow and deliberate tapping, one tap at a time, conveying an undeniable sense of authority.

Lin Mu opened his eyes, his whole body still aching.

He put on his coat, went over and unlatched the door.

There were three people standing outside the door.

The leader was a middle-aged man in his forties, wearing a gray-blue robe, a leather belt around his waist, with a fair complexion and a faint smile on his lips.

Lin Mu recognized him—the village chief, Lin Tianyou.

Zhou Mao stood behind him, bowing, holding a food box in his hand.

Behind him was a burly man with his arms crossed and a blank expression.

"You're Lin Mu?" Lin Tianyou looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on his thin frame for a moment.

Lin Mu nodded.

"You must have heard about Lin San's matter." Lin Tianyou didn't intend to come inside; he just stood outside the threshold, his voice neither loud nor soft.

"He had some disagreements with you before he died."

Lin Mu did not respond.

Lin Tianyou's gaze swept over the somewhat overly composed young man from head to toe, before finally noticing the bronze waist tag of the Changfeng Martial Arts School on his waist.

That was an assessment of Lin Mu's identity; at the very least, he was the curator's nominal disciple.

This shows that Lin Mu has the potential to become a martial artist.

His eyes flickered slightly, and he patted Lin Mu's shoulder in a seemingly friendly manner.

"I brought you some food because I was worried you might have been wronged."

After saying that, he left with Zhou Mao and the big man.

Before leaving, he subtly said to Zhou Mao, "It's a good thing you brought the food box."

Lin Mu stood at the door, watching their backs disappear into the alley, a cold, tingling sensation shooting from his tailbone straight to his head.

Those few words you just said sounded so light, but every single one felt like a stone falling from a great height.

Although the reason for Lin Tianyou's departure is unknown, danger still exists.

He bent down, picked up the food box, and turned to go inside.

Upon opening the food box, one finds a bowl of plain porridge, two steamed buns, and a dish of pickles.

The porridge is still hot.

Lin Mu squatted by the stove, finished the porridge in a few gulps, stuffed the steamed bun into his pocket, and went out to walk towards the town.

When we arrived at the martial arts school, it was just getting light.

He arrived earlier than usual, swept the front yard with a broom, sprinkled water on the ground, and then wiped the weapon rack piece by piece.

He polished the knives and spears until they shone, and even the grain on the wooden handles was clearly visible.

By the time the other servants and apprentices entered the hall one after another, the front yard had been tidied up neatly.

Lin Mu draped the rag over the rack, walked to a corner of the training ground, a place shrouded in the shadow of red maple leaves, and sat down cross-legged.

At 3:45 PM, the instructor led his apprentices to line up in the front yard and began practicing the Long Wind Fist.

Coach Hu stood at the very front, his legs slightly apart, his shoulders relaxed and elbows dropped, and slowly pushed out the first move.

A dozen or so apprentices followed behind, mimicking their movements in unison and shouting. Sunlight shone on them, casting straight shadows on the ground.

Lin Mu remained hidden in the shadows, his gaze passing through the gaps between his fellow disciples, landing on the instructor's every move.

Start. Turn around. Throw a punch. Finish stance.

Today, the instructor will be teaching an advanced application—how to integrate the circulation of Qi and blood into boxing techniques.

As he demonstrated, he broke it down: "When you're halfway through a punch, your qi and blood must keep up. If you throw a punch but your qi and blood haven't arrived, it's just an empty shell."

Lin Mu silently memorized it, his fingers unconsciously gesturing on his knees.

"Hey, that little servant is watching us practice our boxing."

Whispers arose from the crowd.