What is the purpose of learning?

Xu Ying, whose head had been drooping, suddenly came to life, nodding vigorously. “You’ll teach me? Right, I still don’t know your name. You’re not from the mountain stronghold, are you?”

The delicate-featured young man smiled. “Zhang Ling. I was brought up the mountain by your chieftain to teach. My younger brother was taken too, though he’s a simpleton. I’ll introduce you to him later.”

Xu Ying’s eyes shone brightly. Her fists danced unconsciously as she exclaimed excitedly, “Ling, teach me quickly! That move of yours is amazing. When you grabbed my hand, I couldn’t muster any strength at all.”

Zhang Ling asked, “Don’t rush. Let me ask you first, why do you want to learn boxing?”

Xu Ying was puzzled, answering candidly, “What else? To fight! When I learn, I’ll beat them until they can’t get up. Let’s see if they still have the strength to scold me.”

Zhang Ling tapped her head, smiling wryly. “Remember, they are not your enemies. What you need to learn is where your strength comes from and where it’s directed. A fist raised against family is the act of a weak-hearted person.”

Xu Ying nodded, young as she was, her mind was quick. She clenched her fists. “I understand.”

Zhang Ling couldn’t help but mock himself inwardly—preaching what he himself could not practice, shamelessly thick-skinned.

The two put some distance between them. Xu Ying rested her hoe on her shoulder, focusing entirely on Zhang Ling. His movements were slow and fluid, yet lively, wandering without pattern, forming his own unique style—like a bird nestling in the wind and sand, rising with the flow.

He advanced and retreated unpredictably. It seemed he performed several routines, but each was executed as he pleased. This style was certainly not the Cloud-Breaking Fist taught by Zhong Chentian, nor the Finger-Twining Softness taught by Zhang Jingqian and Yang Xiao. Zhang Ling, having combined the two, gradually dissected and separated out the Taiji portion—not identical, but at least an eighty percent resemblance.

Xu Ying’s round eyes remained fixed on him, her heart quietly constructing the form, integrating spirit and shape, blending them within herself.

She began moving with Zhang Ling’s steps, often stumbling when her movements failed to connect, but she would stand up each time and search for a suitable way to throw her punches.

Zhang Ling moved to a nearby step and sat down. A pebble flew towards him; he raised a hand to block it and tossed it back, only for Xu Ying to kick it back at him. This time, Zhang Ling simply tilted his head to dodge. Soon, she sent a series of pebbles his way, but without exception, Zhang Ling evaded them with ease.

From the morning sun in the east to the slanting light in the west, Zhang Ling watched as her movements shifted from clumsy to skillful in just one day. Whether grasping and collecting pebbles or kicking them over, she developed her own judgment and seamless execution, forming muscle memory. Naturally, this was also closely related to her usual ruthless treatment of other children.

Zhang Ling caught several flying pebbles. The force, once consistently rough, now varied between light and heavy, distinct and discernible. Though she had yet to fully master the precision of her strength, such progress was remarkable.

A full day spent honing her focus showed she truly wished to master boxing—or perhaps to earn the approval of those in the stronghold. Zhang Ling noticed her face was flushed and stopped her. “Martial arts aren’t mastered overnight. You must take care of your body. That’s enough for today.”

As Zhang Ling turned, he saw Hou Liu approaching. Zhang Ling called out, smiling, “Brother Hou!”

Hou Liu, whose face was honest and simple, nodded and asked, “I didn’t expect you to know martial arts, Zhang Ling.”

Zhang Ling chuckled, “It’s just something I learned for health in my idle days. I don’t use it for fighting.”

Xu Ying chimed in, “Ling is amazing. If you don’t believe it, Chief Hou, you can try him yourself.”

Zhang Ling, resigned to taking a punch if needed, listened as Hou Liu replied, “Taiji is not just a health exercise. The technique is easy to learn, but few master it deeply. If you reach its highest level, it’s no less than the finest martial arts. Of course, that’s just what I’ve heard down the mountain. I’m no expert myself.”

Zhang Ling responded helplessly, “Seems I have no affinity for it. After all this time, I haven’t felt a thing.”

Hou Liu patted Zhang Ling’s shoulder, laughing, “Everyone is different!”

Zhang Ling let the topic drop and asked, “Is there something you need, Brother Hou?”

Hou Liu answered, “I originally wanted to talk to Xu Ying, but it looks like that’s unnecessary. Also, I’ve gathered some books for you. The large house to the north has been cleared out. The books are there—see what’s still missing. Afterward, I hope you won’t hesitate to teach us and help my brothers learn to read and write.”

Zhang Ling looked at Xu Ying and asked, “Have you ever hired a teacher for the children here?”

Hou Liu admitted, “No way. Those teachers either tremble with fear when they hear it’s a bandit stronghold and refuse to come, or spit and swear they’d rather die than set foot here.”

Zhang Ling nodded in understanding. Most literate men, those who can distinguish a few characters, are shallow in knowledge but lofty in self-regard, proud and temperamental. But it’s not entirely their fault—who wouldn’t scoff at the thought of bandits wanting to study? Not everyone can be like the contemporary Sage of Letters, who, relying on his own strength, teaches the masses.

There is no surname of “World” in the world, yet this Sage of Letters taught all people with his golden ruler. Though he wielded the ruler, those he struck were few and far between, but without exception, each became a talent in high society. Thus, all scholars hoped to be touched by the golden ruler, and collectively opened literary forums, bestowing the title “World” upon him and calling him Teacher.

In the martial world, the Sage of Letters is famed alongside the Divine Physician—one’s literary talent unmatched, the other’s medical skill peerless. Two elixirs of the age, healing both body and mind.

Zhang Ling looked at Hou Liu and said, “Tomorrow, bring all the children over.”

Hou Liu clasped his hands in thanks. “Truth be told, Zhang Ling, it’s not flattery. Compared to those scholars full of learning, you are far more deserving of the title Teacher from me.”

Zhang Ling waved his hand and joked, “Wasn’t it you who dragged me up here? I have no choice in the matter.”

The two exchanged smiles. Zhang Ling added, “I’ll go see what’s missing.”

He turned to Xu Ying, “You come help as well.”

Xu Ying merely murmured agreement and followed.

Zhang Ling pushed open the door to the house. The original furnishings were gone, replaced by an air of a schoolroom. Ink, paper, brushes, and uneven desks and chairs—not quite a real academy, but given how quickly Hou Liu assembled these, his dedication to his brothers was evident.

Zhang Ling pulled up a stool and began issuing instructions to Xu Ying, directing her to complete the necessary tasks. She didn’t ask questions, simply moved things in silence. Though exhausted from boxing, she kept at it, knowing in her heart these tasks were important.

As the sun set behind the western hills, Zhang Ling looked at the girl, sprawled across the most comfortable desk, fast asleep. He draped his coat over her and walked out alone, gazing quietly at the bright stars and moon.