When they reached the open ground, Zhu Siqi couldn't help but find it a little amusing—who drags someone off to spar the moment they meet? But since the other party was his martial uncle, there was nothing he could do. Ruru and Yuanfa, standing nearby, seemed completely unfazed; clearly, they were already used to such scenes.
Liaoping used Shaolin's Subduing Tiger Fist. Zhu Siqi knew his martial uncle wanted to test the Innate Luohan Fist, so he circulated his inner energy and responded with that very style.
I saw fists flying, and the two of them were punching and kicking in the open space, the faster and faster they hit, and soon the figures could not be seen clearly. Liao Ru and Fang Fa were also watching secretly and were frightened. They did not expect that Zhu Siqi was so young. Not only did he have deep internal strength, but he was also very proficient in boxing skills. Later, Zhu Siqi would fight After using Xiantian Luohan Quan twice, he transformed the Bodhidharma Sword Technique into the palm of his hand. Seeing how flexible he was, Liao Ping became very excited and showed off all the unique skills of Shaolin one by one. The two of them were inseparable from each other, and those watching from the side were mesmerized.
In the end, it was Liaoping who leapt back out of the circle."Enough! Enough! That was immensely satisfying. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed myself this much. If we keep going, these old bones of mine will fall apart!"
Zhu Siqi knew his martial uncle was joking. Liaoping's inner strength was extremely deep, and as a lifelong celibate monk his true qi was pure and refined. As for himself, Zhu Siqi had also held something back—he had used only about seventy percent of his strength. He believed that if he went all out, he would be roughly on par with his martial uncle. But he was still young, and his cultivation advanced rapidly. Before long, he was confident he would surpass him.
Seeing that it was getting late, Yuanfa took his leave of his master and martial uncle. Matters in Outer Shaolin were still many.
Ruru and Liaoping then called over their disciples to meet Zhu Siqi. Ruru had accepted five disciples, while Liaoping had eight. These thirteen disciples were all of the "Yuan" generation. Each of them had in turn accepted several to more than a dozen disciples, who belonged to the "Fa" generation. The youngest among them were only seventeen or eighteen, while the oldest were nearly thirty. Thinking that in the future he would have to face martial nephews much older than himself, Zhu Siqi felt a bit embarrassed.
There were still other masters of the "Liao" generation as well. Altogether, Inner Shaolin housed nearly four hundred Shaolin disciples. The vast majority of them would never leave Inner Shaolin in their lifetime, treating martial arts as their sole pursuit. A small number who did venture out usually did so to train personnel for the military, armed police, or special forces as instructors, returning to Inner Shaolin once their task was complete. Another group consisted of outstanding young disciples selected to serve as personal bodyguards for Party and state leaders. Many Zhongnanhai bodyguards came from Shaolin—if not directly from Inner Shaolin, they had at least received guidance in Shaolin martial arts.
Zhu Siqi stayed on at Inner Shaolin. Every day, he either sparred with his martial uncle or practiced techniques with his martial brothers. In the past, he had usually trained alone, rarely sparring even with his master. Here, with so many partners, his practical combat ability improved greatly. Moreover, Inner Shaolin had a Sutra Repository Pavilion. The books there were not ordinary scriptures, but secret manuals of Shaolin martial arts, as well as introductions to the martial arts of other schools and sects. Whenever he had free time, Zhu Siqi immersed himself in the pavilion, reading to his heart's content.
About a month passed like this. He had read most of the books in the repository, and through constant sparring with his martial brothers, his application of techniques had grown far more refined.
That day, he went to Ruru's meditation room to bid farewell and return home. After all, the New Year was less than a month away, and he wanted to make it back before the holidays.
When he arrived, Ruru was still meditating. Opening his eyes upon seeing Zhu Siqi, he asked, "Martial nephew, how have you found your time here?"
"Very well," Zhu Siqi replied. "Sparring daily with my martial brothers has made my techniques much more polished. But the New Year is approaching, and Grandmaster is still in seclusion. This disciple wishes to take his leave and return home."
Ruru did not answer immediately. After a moment of silence, he said, "Your talent is exceptional. I've seen your progress this past month—it's remarkable. When you go out into the world, remember that you are a Shaolin disciple. Do not disgrace your master, and even more so, do not disgrace Shaolin."
"This disciple will remember."
"Very well. You are, after all, a lay disciple. Staying in Inner Shaolin for too long is not appropriate, and other martial uncles might talk. Since you wish to return home, you may leave tomorrow. I won't see you off."
"Thank you, Martial Uncle."
Ruru waved his hand and closed his eyes, entering meditation once more. Zhu Siqi quietly withdrew from the room.
The next morning, after bidding farewell to Martial Uncle Liaoping and the various martial brothers, Zhu Siqi left Inner Shaolin. He went to the abbot's quarters in the front mountain Shaolin Temple, where Yuanfa was also present, and bade him farewell as well before departing.
At the foot of Shaoshi Mountain, there were many buses bound for Zhengzhou. He found one that was nearly full and boarded it. Soon, it set off toward Zhengzhou. Upon arriving at the Zhengzhou Bus Station, he saw the railway station directly opposite. He immediately bought a sleeper ticket to Changsha—this time it was cheaper, only seventy yuan. With departure in just over an hour, he hurried to the waiting hall.
When he arrived, boarding had already begun. He got on the train, and before long it departed.
The sky had not yet fully darkened. Watching the scenery on both sides rush past, Zhu Siqi felt excited. He was about to be home. He wondered how things were now—were his parents healthy? What had become of his two elder sisters? How were his childhood friends doing?
He had bought a middle berth and didn't come down, lying on it lost in thought. He wondered whether his parents would still recognize him when he stood before them. As these thoughts drifted through his mind, he gradually fell asleep.
When he woke in the morning, daylight was already bright. The train had entered the Changsha area and was nearing its final stop. He quickly washed his face in the washroom, then sat by the small window seat, gazing outside. Buildings began to appear, then factories, then cars—he knew the train had entered the city proper. Changsha wasn't very large, only a medium-sized city.
The train pulled into the station. Following the flow of passengers toward the exit, he heard many local Hunan dialects. Though not exactly his hometown accent, he understood them well and found them warmly familiar. Outside the station was a large square. Seeing signs indicating bus stops on both the left and right, he didn't know which way to go. Using his perception, he quickly determined that buses No. 7 and No. 107 on the left both went to the South Station, where there were coaches bound for his hometown.
He headed to the left-side bus stop. From afar, he heard ticket sellers standing by the buses shouting in dialect, "To the South Station! To the South Station! That's where you catch your ride! Hurry up—it's about to leave!"
Zhu Siqi boarded a No. 7 bus. At that time, buses still had conductors rather than automated ticketing. With the New Year approaching, people working, studying, or doing business away from home were all rushing back. For Chinese people, Spring Festival is usually spent in one's hometown—no matter how far, if it's possible, they'll find a way back.
The No. 7 bus wasn't fast. After leaving the railway station and turning a couple of corners, it headed straight south along a road Zhu Siqi saw was called Shaoshan Road. More than half an hour later, they reached the South Station.
The bus stopped at the square outside. Getting off, he saw the large characters "South Bus Station." He went into the ticket hall and quickly bought a ticket to Shuangfeng for twenty yuan. The bus would depart in half an hour.
In the waiting area, he soon heard someone calling at the entrance, "Shuangfeng! Boarding for Shuangfeng!"—spoken in authentic Shuangfeng dialect. Others might not have understood, but to Zhu Siqi it sounded as sweet as honey. He immediately picked up his bag and headed to the gate.
"Is this where we board for Shuangfeng?" he asked.
"Yes, follow me."
The man led him to a large coach with big adhesive letters reading "Shuangfeng–Changsha Express."
"Sit anywhere—no seat numbers," the man said before heading back to call more passengers.
Zhu Siqi found a seat and placed his bag on the overhead rack. There were already about ten people on board. He asked the driver how long it would take to reach Shuangfeng County, and the driver said about two hours.
After another half hour, station staff urged them to depart. The man who had been calling passengers returned to the bus and told the driver to set off. By then, the bus was nearly eighty percent full.
The coach left the station slowly. At first, Zhu Siqi thought there was something wrong with the vehicle, but then he saw the man open the front automatic door. Whenever he spotted someone by the roadside, he shouted, "Shuangfeng! Going to Shuangfeng?"
Not long after leaving the station, a few more passengers boarded. Seeing them pay the caller directly, Zhu Siqi realized that riding from outside was cheaper—only fifteen yuan to Shuangfeng.
Once the bus was full, it sped up. Passing through Xiangtan and then Xiangxiang, they reached Yongfeng, the county seat of Shuangfeng, around noon.
After getting off, Zhu Siqi saw minibuses heading toward his hometown. He didn't even stop for lunch and boarded one immediately. The minibus moved slowly, stopping frequently to pick up and drop off passengers. More than an hour later, it reached his mountain village. He had thought he would have to get off at the market town and walk, as before, but the ticket seller told him this bus passed right through his village. He paid one extra yuan in fare.
Closer… closer…
His hometown had changed greatly. The old dirt path had been replaced by a paved road. Many new red-brick houses lined both sides. Some households had built large stoves by their gates, some still under construction—small private workshops. Though nothing like the big cities, it was far better than Santang Market had once been.
When they reached the place of his childhood home, Zhu Siqi asked the driver to stop and got off. His family's old house had been in a large courtyard, with neighbors' homes connected together like a siheyuan. There was an open yard in the middle and a shared main hall; his family lived behind it.
Zhu Siqi was deeply moved. The courtyard hadn't changed much, though some households had replaced their old earthen houses with red-brick ones. The people he used to call uncles and aunts all looked older now. He himself, however, had changed so much that no one recognized him. Seeing him standing dazed by the roadside, staring fixedly at the courtyard, no one knew what he was thinking, and no one approached to ask.
Finally, Zhu Siqi calmed his emotions, took a step forward, and walked toward the courtyard.
End of Volume One.