0010 Learning Martial Arts

“Master!” Azhi and Jiang Mingzhe cried out together in joy.

Azhi glanced swiftly at Jiang Mingzhe—she had been raised by the venerable elder of the Star Sect since childhood, and their bond was deep, so her excitement was understandable. But Jiang Mingzhe had only been an apprentice for a few hours; how could he utter such a sweet, affectionate tone?

Without looking at Azhi, Jiang Mingzhe fixed his gaze on Ding Chunqiu standing at the door, his eyes full of sincere happiness.

“Disciple congratulates Master on successfully capturing the Six-Winged Iron Centipede. With such a divine beast’s aid, Master’s immortal arts will surely advance beyond measure.”

Ding Chunqiu asked curiously, “You’ve seen the Six-Winged Iron Centipede? How can you call it a divine beast?”

Jiang Mingzhe replied decisively, “Such a divine beast is not something a mere mortal like me could ever see. But Master, as a venerable Immortal, certainly perceives it, so it must be a divine beast without doubt.”

Azhi blinked and teased, “If what Master admires is divine, then what about the clothes Master wears?”

Jiang Mingzhe answered firmly, “Divine robes!”

“And what about Master's fan?”

“Divine fan?”

“Then what about me, your senior sister?”

“A divine disciple, an immortal maiden!”

Their rapid-fire banter made Ding Chunqiu laugh heartily, and Azhi giggled along.

Jiang Mingzhe’s eyes shone with admiration as he sighed deeply, “Master’s smile carries endless meaning. Hearing it, I seem to see a divine dragon soaring through the clouds, its heroic spirit shaking the eight directions, and also a purple swallow dancing up and down, its voice like silver bells, as if singing to soothe the divine dragon.”

The Star Sect’s atmosphere was corrupt, and everyone fawned over Ding Chunqiu. He had long grown accustomed to such flattery, but Jiang Mingzhe’s compliments were refreshingly novel, causing him to laugh even more heartily. “Long ago, Zhong Ziqi heard Bo Ya’s qin music and saw lofty mountains and flowing waters. Today, little fellow, you hear my smile and imagine a divine dragon and purple swallow. Ha ha ha, good disciple—you are truly my kindred spirit.”

Azhi laughed too but felt a secret delight: Jiang Mingzhe’s gift for flattery ensured Master’s favor. She only wondered about his talent in martial arts—if he had even half, or a quarter, of his looks, in time, he could become her capable ally.

Hee hee, this bet was not wasted.

Rolling her eyes, Azhi deliberately said, “Junior Brother Jiang, your taste and eloquence are first-rate. But since you’ve made Master so happy, he will surely teach you powerful skills. Hmm, but the harder the skill, the tougher the training. If you fail to master it later, Master might not like you anymore.”

Ding Chunqiu glanced at Azhi and smiled, “Interesting, very interesting. You and little Azhi get along well. It’s rare she would help carry your sedan chair.”

Azhi was caught off guard and quickly acted coquettish, “Master, it’s not that I’m fond of this big ginger. I’m just here to watch his misfortune unfold. They say a clever face often hides a foolish heart. He looks so smart; perhaps he’s foolish beyond measure.”

Jiang Mingzhe smiled but inwardly cautioned himself: Ding the old devil is no fool. We flatter him, but he knows it well and simply enjoys the flattery, deliberately encouraging it. He’s a grandmaster; I must be careful not to truly take him for a fool—that would be the real stupidity.

Ding Chunqiu waved his hand gracefully and said in a melodious voice, “‘In spring’s play, apricot blossoms fill the hair; on the path, whose young lord is so gallant? I plan to marry him and rest my life, even if abandoned without feeling, I shall not be ashamed.’ These lines by Wei Duanji capture a maiden’s heart. Little Azhi is growing up, and it’s natural she’d be moved by a handsome youth. I too, in my youth, was once the object of countless women’s longing.”

Azhi blushed, twisting Ding Chunqiu’s wide sleeve shyly. “I’m not moved! Besides, how could this big ginger compare to Master?”

Jiang Mingzhe nodded eagerly, “Master not only possesses extraordinary looks but profound immortal arts and vast literary knowledge. Such a person is born once in five hundred years; how could I compare?”

His awkward praise made Ding Chunqiu laugh for a long while before shaking his feather fan. “If I say I was peerless in my youth, unmatched in the world, I’m not entirely wrong…”

Jiang Mingzhe and Azhi chimed in unison, “Of course you are!”

Jiang Mingzhe then dashed back inside, brought out a chair, placed it gently, and smiled brightly. “Master’s past must be incredible. Please sit and tell us slowly, so my senior sister and I may learn.”

Ding Chunqiu laughed heartily, spread his robe sleeves, and sat down with ease, feeling a joy he hadn’t known in ages.

His special favor toward Azhi was partly due to a hidden calculation but also because Azhi was beautiful and articulate, unlike many disciples who repeated a few dry phrases, lacking sincerity.

Ding Chunqiu had his own reasoning: those who truly respected him would strive to come up with novel compliments to please him; otherwise, they weren’t earnest enough.

Unexpectedly, now with Jiang Mingzhe, who spoke even more smoothly than Azhi and looked strikingly handsome, reminiscent of Ding Chunqiu’s own youthful charm, how could the old devil not be delighted?

“Hahaha, enough, enough. No rush to tell old tales now. You’ve just entered the sect; mastering your skills is the proper task.”

Ding Chunqiu’s fan waved lighter and lighter, then he suddenly looked at Jiang Mingzhe. “Since little Azhi has gone to great lengths to win my favor for you, how could I disappoint her? Here, take this. Memorize it carefully and return it to me. If you have any questions, bring them to me as well.”

From his sleeve, he produced a thin book bound in brocade. On the cover, bold characters declared: “Celestial Tribulation Scripture of the Heavenly Star Sect.”

Jiang Mingzhe hastily said, “Thank you, Master, thank you, senior sister.”

He respectfully took the book, intending to praise the calligraphy but worried it might not be Ding Chunqiu’s writing, making it awkward.

So he stared for a moment at the cover, as if deeply moved by the brushwork.

Ding Chunqiu noticed and chuckled. “After all, I am a son of Confucius and Mencius’s homeland. Compared to those barbarian disciples, you are far more perceptive and can appreciate my brushwork.”

Without waiting for Jiang Mingzhe to respond, his smile faded to seriousness. “You are clever beyond ordinary men, but remember: cunning helps in life, but martial arts have no shortcuts. Especially internal arts—one slip and your skills scatter like smoke. Don’t be careless.”

Jiang Mingzhe’s heart tightened as he bowed solemnly. “Disciple will follow Master’s teachings.”

Ding Chunqiu nodded with satisfaction. “Internal arts require perseverance like dripping water wearing through stone. Since I’m in good spirits today, I’ll teach you the Three Yin Centipede Claw technique. If you master it, you’ll dominate the martial world.”

Jiang Mingzhe rejoiced. This technique was among the few rare skills Azhi had highlighted. Though he believed poison arts were paramount, he would learn this first since the opportunity presented itself.

He focused intently, afraid to miss a single word.

Unexpectedly, Ding Chunqiu hesitated and looked at Azhi. “Little Azhi, return to your quarters.”

Azhi, knowing the sect’s rules, obeyed quietly. She gave Jiang Mingzhe a “study well” glance, then left the courtyard, closing the gate behind her.

Left alone with his disciple, Ding Chunqiu stroked his beard and slowly said, “Our sect’s skills, whether strong or weak, fall into three categories: first, technique; second, moves; third, poison! All other schools emphasize the first two, but ours stands unique, creating a new realm in martial arts. Like two giving birth to three, three bringing forth myriad things, endless possibilities unfold. This great path was created by me alone. A thousand years hence, all will know the name Ding Chunqiu. You young ones, to join my sect, is truly a rare fate! Remember this deeply in your hearts.”

Jiang Mingzhe bowed, “Disciple remembers. Confucius is revered in the literary world, and Master is honored in martial arts as a proving immortal!”

Ding Chunqiu had spoken his boast solemnly but could not suppress a twitch of his face at this. He burst into hearty laughter, tapping Jiang Mingzhe’s chest with his fan. “Well said, well said. The Confucian tradition has the two sages, Kong and Meng. The martial way likewise has me and Bodhidharma shining together.”

Feeling triumphant, he imagined himself as a grand successor of the martial path—how could he not be called “Master Ding”? Hmm? “Dingzi”? Nail?

A faint disappointment crossed Ding Chunqiu’s face—his first time ever feeling displeased with his own surname.