Young Sect Master

“Watch closely!”

Ding Chunqiu called out sharply. He lowered his stance and swiftly unleashed three claw strikes in succession. Leaping into the air, his body stretched horizontally, his twin claws hooking in a continuous chain, while he kicked upward with a sudden spin, descending with claw strikes both above and below.

The Three Yin Centipede Claw technique was known for its fierce and ruthless style. Yet Ding Chunqiu, with his white hair and youthful visage, exuded an elegant grace as his flowing sleeves fluttered with each movement. Even brutal moves like gouging eyes or scooping eggs appeared fluid and artistic, making it difficult for anyone to discern that he was a top-tier master of the dark arts.

Without haste, he demonstrated the entire Three Yin Centipede Claw from beginning to end. Standing with his hands behind his back, he exhaled deeply. “Heh heh, how much did you remember? Now show me what you’ve learned.”

Jiang Mingzhe recalled Ding’s earlier movements, awkwardly positioning his hands and feet as if mimicking an old man practicing Tai Chi in the park. He bent low and slowly reached out, then jumped like a grasshopper, flailing his hands clumsily. His left leg twitched spasmodically before he landed, nearly twisting his waist from the stumble. Composing himself, he shifted to the side and launched two more claw strikes.

His strikes were erratic—grasping here and hopping there—like a drunken monkey. His moves lacked flow and precision, rendering his performance pitifully ugly. Yet Ding Chunqiu’s gaze never wavered; his eyes shone with unmistakable admiration.

With his rich teaching experience, Ding immediately understood that Jiang’s awkwardness stemmed from insufficient physical conditioning. After all, being in his twenties, Jiang’s muscles and bones had long since set, making flexibility, balance, and agility hard to match with younger practitioners. This was something Ding had anticipated.

What delighted him even more was that Jiang remembered fifteen of the seventeen moves after just one demonstration! Though unclear on two moves, Jiang cleverly improvised transitions, seamlessly connecting to the next form without awkwardness.

To Ding Chunqiu, this was an extraordinarily rare talent, surpassing even his most gifted disciples like Star Catcher and A Zi. His heart brimmed with joy as he thought: No wonder this young man was guided by the immortal’s dream—truly a precious gem!

Originally, Ding had only believed about sixty percent of Jiang’s tale about the immortal’s guidance. Now, he found himself convinced even more.

Then a scheming thought struck him: Su Xinghe, that old ghost, always boasted of his eight top disciples. Ha! Setting aside how those disciples had squandered their talents like him, their abilities were no better than Star Catcher’s. Compared with my new disciple, the difference is as vast as sky and earth.

As he pondered Su Xinghe, a poisonous plan formed in his mind: What if I cultivate this boy carefully for a few years, then send him to slaughter Su’s eight favored disciples? If Su Xinghe’s heart breaks from grief, maybe he’ll die from sorrow. Wouldn’t that be delightful? Hehe, I once promised not to kill Su if he kept silent, but if he dies on his own, what’s that got to do with me? Brilliant, truly brilliant!

The old demon grew ever more delighted, his enthusiasm for teaching swelling wildly.

By then, Jiang Mingzhe had completed the claw routine, panting heavily and painfully aware of his own clumsiness, feeling less graceful than a middle schooler doing morning exercises. Even his battle-hardened face flushed red.

Unexpectedly, Ding Chunqiu offered no criticism; instead, he smiled warmly. “Well done, very well done. Your comprehension, compared to my youth, is only slightly weaker—truly rare! But your claw technique still overlooks many details. Watch me demonstrate.”

He then proceeded to perform the moves again, this time breaking them down one by one, explaining every nuance.

His movements were deliberate and slow, and he taught with exceptional care. Why this claw strike? What purpose does this waist twist serve? What should be done if the opponent reacts in a certain way? Every detail was dissected and explained thoroughly.

Jiang Mingzhe nodded constantly, instinctively mimicking the moves. Whenever he was confused, he asked questions, and Ding answered patiently.

Most of Jiang’s questions touched on crucial points, revealing his exceptional insight.

With such dedicated teaching and focused learning, Jiang quickly grasped the logic behind the martial art.

Speaking of “martial arts,” thanks to modern information, Jiang had undergone the typical progression from firm belief to skepticism and finally outright disdain. But only now did he truly understand what “martial arts” meant—

Martial arts, in Jiang’s understanding, was a “plan.”

A strategy for overcoming an opponent using one’s body.

Simply put, it was no different in essence from the business plans Jiang often drafted.

Profit strategies in business corresponded to offensive methods in martial arts.

Competitive tactics in business aligned with defensive maneuvers in fighting.

Step-by-step execution plans in business matched each move in martial arts, each a specific response to varying situations.

Industry forecasts in business paralleled the anticipation of enemy reactions—dodges, blocks, counterattacks—when designing martial techniques.

For example, the seventeen moves of the Three Yin Centipede Claw were like seventeen distinct offensive and defensive plans.

Some combined attack and defense, others defensive counterattacks. Every inch of the body, every movement, every angle held clear purpose, all aimed at maximizing the plan’s objectives.

Practicing the moves sequentially embedded them into muscle memory, forming instinctive reactions.

In actual combat, these moves would be integrated and adapted to find the most efficient execution.

What if the first strike lands? What if it misses or is blocked? What if the enemy dodges left, right, or jumps? What if the opponent counters fiercely, risking mutual destruction?

All these scenarios required different combinations of moves to resolve.

Understanding this, Jiang suddenly comprehended how to evaluate the strength of different martial arts.

Just as business plans vary in quality, martial arts differ vastly in the range of situations they address and the solutions they offer.

Simple styles like Western boxing, with eight punches—jab, cross, hook, uppercut, left and right—combined with footwork and evasion, create dozens if not hundreds of combinations, sufficient to handle most unarmed, upright attacks using two arms.

Complex systems like the Lone Sword’s Nine Swords, with nine core moves each containing hundreds of variations, encompass nearly every possible attack scenario, with or without weapons, achieving the goal of “anticipating the enemy’s moves and striking decisively.”

If the Nine Swords were a business plan, it would be a meticulously detailed analysis of all competitors’ strategies in an industry, paired with targeted countermeasures for every contingency.

Perfect, flawless business plans do not exist in reality—but in this world, the Lone Sword’s Nine Swords demonstrate the possibility of turning defense into offense.

This world was fascinating indeed.

Jiang felt his blood warm and his movements grow ever more precise.

He quickly grasped the core objectives behind each move thanks to Ding Chunqiu’s explanations, far surpassing the rote memorization of ordinary disciples. His learning efficiency soared.

Unnoticed, the moon climbed high. From the neighboring buildings, disciples who had registered for apprenticeship overheard Ding’s hearty laughter echoing from the courtyard of the Second Building. They frowned deeply.

Ding Chunqiu was known for his impatience in teaching. Only favored disciples like Star Catcher and A Zi earned his detailed explanations of minutiae. For ordinary students, he demonstrated once, mentioned the main points casually, then dismissed them to practice on their own.

Some disciples, unable to contain their curiosity, soon learned that Ding had taken on a new disciple.

Seeing how Ding favored this newcomer so greatly, jealousy stirred among them, and a wary respect grew toward the new junior brother.

At this moment, A Zi seized the opportunity to spread rumors, deliberately casting the newcomer’s origins in vague shadows.

“Ah, he’s our master’s fellow villager... in his twenties, I think... They say the master last visited home to honor ancestors over twenty years ago... You think the master favors him? It’s because this junior brother resembles the master when he was young... The master himself said so... Anyway, the master smiles whenever he sees him—I find it strange... Is hometown connection really that important? I don’t know—I’ve never had a fellow villager myself...”

The disciples listened in alarm, thinking: This girl doesn’t understand men and women, but the timing and place match perfectly. If this isn’t the old man’s illegitimate son, then even if we perform handstands and swallow poison, he’s no mere junior brother—he’s clearly the next young leader of the Star Lodge!