A fist works even better!

"Beat him! Beat this little brat to death, how dare he secretly learn martial arts!"

"Yeah, and he even meddled with the techniques, got us all in trouble and scolded by the master!"

A group of youths pummeled a boy with fists and kicks. The boy curled up on the ground, arms wrapped around his head, mumbling in protest, "I wasn't meddling... My improvements to the Thunderclap Palm will make it better..."

"You still dare talk back!"

Who would believe that a fourteen-year-old could alter the clan's well-honed palm technique? The boy, refusing to yield, was beaten all the more savagely.

In the distance, a hint of green shadow appeared, silently approaching along the stone-paved road. It was a green-canopied carriage, drawn by a beast that looked almost but not quite like a horse, its white fur as soft as drifting clouds, its hooves touching the ground without a sound.

A bamboo curtain veiled the window, behind which the silhouette of a slender figure could be seen.

While the boys brawled noisily by the roadside, the figure within the carriage paused and beckoned gently. The elderly woman perched on the driver’s seat immediately leaned in to listen.

After a brief exchange, the old woman nodded repeatedly and rose to her feet. Just as she was about to speak, the scene ahead shifted dramatically.

The boy, jaw clenched tight, suddenly caught a glimmer in his eye. Amid the chaos of flying feet, he twisted his wrist, forming a fist with knuckles jutting outward, and jabbed another boy right in the ankle. A scream burst forth as the victim crashed to the ground, clutching his ankle and writhing in pain, forcing his companions to scatter.

With a roll, the boy managed to stand, bracing himself on the ground. His back straightened like a pine tree, and he declared with stubborn clarity, "For example, at this moment, using a fist... a fist is better!"

With a swish, the bamboo curtain was lifted, and the old woman called out anxiously, "Miss!"

The slender figure stepped past her, approaching the crowd of boys. They, who had been poised to attack again, froze in place, staring blankly as if they'd forgotten what they were doing.

Anyone witnessing the scene would have been astonished—who could imagine that a girl of fifteen or sixteen could possess such beauty, such grace and bearing? She seemed to drift forward like a dream made flesh, leaving those present utterly spellbound.

The young lady bent slightly and asked, "A fist is better?"

The boy, bruised and bloodied, his eye split and blood covering his face, struggled to lift a hand and wipe it away. His dark eyes burned with fierce light as he nodded vigorously. "Yes, a fist is better!"

Suddenly, the young lady smiled and reached out a hand to him. "Come."

Almost without realizing it, the other boys parted to form a path, watching as the battered boy followed her away. One of them suddenly snapped back to his senses and shouted, "Don't think you can escape—"

He moved to give chase, but a companion grabbed him. "What are you doing?"

The other boy lowered his voice. "That brat was taken away by her!"

"Her? Who is she? She's just a woman, isn't she?"

"You fool, she’s the pride of North Jiang!"

"What? You mean... that one?"

...

The old woman wrung out a towel and handed it to the boy, who thanked her shyly. His manners were a bit rough, but earnest and sincere.

The young lady sat nearby, holding a teacup, watching him. The steam from the tea gently veiled her brows and eyes, only accentuating her figure—lithe and resilient as a willow branch.

She asked, "What is your name?"

Hearing her question, the boy quickly put down the towel and sat up straight. "My name is Jiang Feng. I live at the end of Peace Bridge in South Jiang."

The young lady hesitated. "Jiang Feng—you are that Jiang Feng?"

Jiang Feng was a little puzzled, not understanding her emphasis. He scratched his head. "Well... there’s only one person with that name in all of South Jiang."

She went on, "Why were they beating you?"

Jiang Feng answered calmly, "Only those from North Jiang are allowed to learn martial arts. I secretly learned a bit and made some modifications. They saw me. They tried my modified palm technique and got scolded by the master because of it."

The Jiang clan was divided into North and South, separated by a bridge. North Jiang was the seat of the main family—grand houses, broad smooth streets, all the splendor of a great clan. South Jiang was home mostly to the collateral branches, poorer and less privileged. Only those of North Jiang were permitted to practice martial arts; those from the south could only sneak lessons, risking a beating if discovered.

The young lady mused, "The Thunderclap Palm? Why did you change it?"

"The Thunderclap Palm is good, but I think these two parts could be improved. It’s called a palm technique, but actually it uses fists, palms, and fingers together. If you switch to a fist here, the power can be much greater."

As soon as martial arts were mentioned, Jiang Feng’s eyes lit up, and he began demonstrating involuntarily.

The old woman’s expression darkened. "Mind your manners before the young lady!"

Jiang Feng froze and apologized, "I forgot myself."

The young lady shook her head, motioning for the old woman to withdraw. She smiled at Jiang Feng, rose, and led him outside. "Watch closely," she said.

She had Jiang Feng stand aside, then struck forward with her palm. At first, her movement appeared soft and gentle, but as her palm sliced the air, a sharp crack rang out, as if a firecracker had exploded from thin air.

Again and again, the explosive sound filled the courtyard, the air itself shuddering, a sudden wind striking Jiang Feng so his clothes and hair whipped about.

Jiang Feng stared wide-eyed. He had watched others practice martial arts in secret, but had never seen anything so powerful.

Despite the spectacle, the young lady’s movements were always graceful and poised, marked by her unique elegance. Each move was clear and precise—Jiang Feng recognized it immediately as the Thunderclap Palm.

The explosive sounds in the air were its signature. But as Jiang Feng watched closely, he noticed differences from the version he had seen before. The core movements and power were the same, but the young lady had introduced subtle changes—some switching palm for fist, some retracting as soon as they struck—just as Jiang Feng had imagined. He began to mimic her unconsciously and soon realized her version was even more effective in actual combat.

When she reached the section Jiang Feng had modified, he suddenly widened his eyes.

He realized with a shock that she had improvised these changes after hearing his thoughts—altering them faster and better than he ever could.

When she finished the set, not a trace of sweat glistened at her brow. She walked up to Jiang Feng and smiled slightly, "You are right. There are no absolute rules in martial arts—techniques should adapt to their circumstances."

Jiang Feng looked a little downcast. "I'm still far behind..."

The young lady said nothing. Suddenly, she stepped forward and gently pushed his shoulder. Jiang Feng reacted instantly, stepping back and blocking her hand with a slap.

She asked, "Did you feel it? How does your strength flow through your body, how is it released?"

Jiang Feng thought for a moment, tracing the line of his muscles with his other hand, down to his palm.

"Martial technique is the art of using strength. Muscles, fists and feet, willpower, and in the future, the inner force you will gain—all these become your power. To design a true technique, you must first understand what strength is, how it arises, and how it moves."

She spoke with calm authority. At first, Jiang Feng was confused, but gradually clarity dawned. He realized that his previous attempts at modifying techniques had been instinctive at best. Only by understanding strength from the inside out could one create the best techniques.

The young lady suddenly asked, "Can you read?"

Jiang Feng froze, his face flushing bright red. After a long pause, he stammered, "A few words..."

The young lady frowned. "In South Jiang, who takes care of you?"

Jiang Feng pursed his lips, glanced at her, and replied, "No one. I've been on my own since I can remember."

"On your own? Since childhood?"

To the young lady, this was unthinkable—how could a child survive alone, with no one to care for him?

She pressed for details, and Jiang Feng answered honestly. She learned that he had lived alone in a low house at the foot of Peace Bridge in South Jiang since his earliest memories, surviving on the clan's monthly stipend. Some months it came, some months it didn't; sometimes more, sometimes less. He often went hungry, but he was tough—fast and nimble since birth. When he was older, he foraged in the hills behind South Jiang for food, scraping by as best he could.

Of course, no one taught him to read. He learned to write his own name by eavesdropping on lessons outside the North Jiang schoolhouse.

The young lady listened in silence, then gently stroked Jiang Feng’s hair. The warmth of her hand passed through him. He had never cried, not once in his life, but now a surge of heat stung his eyes.

He drew a deep breath and managed a smile. "It's all right. I'll work hard! I’ll work hard to learn to read and to learn martial arts. One day..."

He looked at her, leaving the sentence unfinished.

The young lady smiled gently, understanding his unspoken meaning.

A boy who had grown up like this could hardly be expected to feel any attachment to the Jiang clan. What he meant was that, when he had the ability, he would leave this place.

"Leave the Jiang clan, and I will also..."

A sigh flickered through the young lady’s heart. She took the towel and gently wiped the blood from his face. Startled by the privilege, Jiang Feng tried to protest, "It's nothing, I—"

Before he could finish, the young lady’s eyes widened in surprise. She reached out and touched the corner of his eye. "Here..."

Her hand was slender and cool. Jiang Feng froze, his face flushing even more.

She paid no mind to his embarrassment and examined his injury. "What happened here?"

She had wiped away the blood; his face was now clean. The cut at the corner of his eye, which had bled down his cheek, was now almost entirely healed, leaving only the faintest scar.

Jiang Feng scratched his head. "My wounds heal a little faster than other people's..."

She gasped, "Has it always been so?"

Jiang Feng nodded blankly. "Yes, always."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No... I've always lived alone. No one would notice."

"That's wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

Seeing Jiang Feng’s puzzled eyes, the young lady suddenly asked, "Jiang Feng, would you like to learn martial arts from me?"