81 The Secret of the Village Martial Arts

The chef did not ready himself. He was no fighter after all. He had no fighting stance, no combat ability, and no defense technique. Yet, no one within the Store of Fates dared underestimate him. In a way, he had—without his knowledge—become the representation of strength, and the hope of becoming even stronger for the customers. Especially people like Zhang Yong and Li Yangyi held great interest in him. And so did Lan Jiu have, from now on.

He did not use any kind of famous attack from the Waning Principle sect. Instead, it was a raw, almost rudimentary chop from above. The chef blocked him easily with his only working arm and grabbed his wrist. With a single snap, Lan Jiu flew, spinning in the air like a windmill.

"I think I am starting to understand," Lan Jiu muttered, while still in the air. When he landed, falling to the floor on his back, he did not stand up. "There is some fundamental truth within the moves. I can feel the Dao within every move."

"That is right," the old man told him. He squatted down to get a closer look at Lan Jiu. "Are you getting an epiphany?"

"Are you trying to teach me? That is awfully nice," Lan Jiu laughed.

The chef scratched his cheek. "It is a tradition in this village to teach the newcomers our way of defense. From now on, no matter what life you lived in the past, you will be one of us after all."

"They told me the same thing when I entered the Waning Principle sect." Lan Jiu propped himself up. Though he appeared beaten and weathered, he was still full of energy. "But I am not one to reject help. Say, does that make a selfish man?"

The chef stepped a few meters back. "I think it shows you have ambition. Selfishness is important not to forget yourself. If you gave in to every demand, law, and request, what point is living?"

"That is true. Well spoken." He rubbed his back, hoping for the pain to disappear. " Then, let me be selfish and whoop your ass."

A tiny whistling sound resounded within the kitchen, the soup was close to completion. The chef placed waved for him to approach. "Come and try."

Lan Jiu smirked. In the beginning, he'd try many underhanded tactics, like using feints, moving rapidly, going for joints, and even using sand or dirt, but seeing nothing worked, he was reduced to using the most basic of attacks. He cut off unnecessary movements, removed the fancy footwork, the formations, the techniques, he whittled everything down until there was just a drop left. But that drop was the purest of creations; it represented him, what he stood for, and who he was—and everything culminated into a single move, a straight punch.

The chef realized this was not the same attack as the others. He wished to dodge it but felt drawn in. A glimmer appeared in his eyes, almost as if he was proud. The old man lifted his one arm again and blocked the fist. 

An unnatural sound of metal resounded throughout the room as they clashed, and one would hold the illusion like the air itself shook. Lan Jiu surprised himself. It was the first time one of his hits connected. In this room too, he was the first to ever truly touch the chef. Even those watching from the Store of Fates had their mouth agape.

"Good move," the chef praised him. He shoved Lan Jius' fist away. There was a reddish imprint on his left forearm—evidence of Lan Jius existence.

"Haha, I got it! I think I got it!" The long-haired man almost jumped in joy. His face flushed in excitement, while he wiped away the sweatdrops from his face.

The chef walked a single step but immediately appeared in front of the ex-sect members' face. Not even the dust from afar had time to react. "Don't space out now." He pushed his palm into Lan Jius' chest.

"Motherfu—" Lan Jiu swung his head to the side, his long hair swaying in the wind, just like a stunning line drawn with a black brush. He rotated his whole body and through that inertia, parried with a left chop on his own.

The wind chimed due to that move. The old man dodged nimbly by squatting, which was unlike his age. He kicked from below, hitting his opponent's head, then kicked once more, into his rib.

Lan Jius' coughed involuntarily, spit flinging out, as he felt his lungs crying in pain. But before he could react, the chef's fist aimed at his head, which barely dodged by spinning his head.

"Let's speed up a little." 

The distance between them was less than a step. The two exchanged a flurry of strikes. Palms, knuckles, chops, claws, stabs, a myriad of hits, all parried, dodged, and blocked. Not a single attack landed cleanly. The sound of their shifting feet were an exquisite symphony, as they shifted their positions, trying to gain the upper hand.

Those watching were at a loss of words. It was beautiful beyond words. They felt as if they watched two experts create a masterpiece. Every single action lacked any flaw and moved more perfectly than the previous one. Every move preceded another, a flawless string connecting them. It told a story, one of pain, of bloodshed, of happiness—of the roads these two walked. It was hard to believe that one was a mere chef, while another hadn't slept, eaten, or rested since forever.

The vicious exchange pinnacled with both of their fists connecting with each other's faces. But the one to fall was ultimately Lan Jiu. In the end, the chef still towered above him, beating him without ever truly taking a hit. However, no one watching would call this a loss for Lan Jiu.

"Let us stop for today," the old man spoke.

"Why? I can still fight!"

"The soup's done," he replied. "Don't waste food."

"..." That was a good point. He had no reply to give. And so, after a hard spar. The two of them ate. It was the best food he had ever eaten in his life.

Returning to the present world, Lan Jiu was met with intense stares, making him almost jump in fright. He felt like a slab of meat in front of hungry wolves. Especially Zhang Yong, who glared holes into him. One could not reiterate how uncomfortable it was to have such a burly man regard them with such intensity.

Zhang Yong grabbed his shoulders, giving him no escape. Lan Jiu was about to cry, thinking he'd get tarnished. ". . .How'd you do it," the man asked.

"Uh, what?"

"Don't joke with me, how'd you manage it," Zhang Yong said loudly. "How'd you learn the martial arts of that village?" He asked the question everyone wanted to know. He was so impatient, that he even began shaking the poor sect member as if he were a sack of gold.

Lan Jius head spun, more so than when he fought. "Even if you ask that, I just did what was natural."

"What the hell do you mean? Don't give me that shit. If you tell me anything like 'boom' or 'woosh', I will break my foot up your ass. This is not a threat, it is a promise. You hear me?"

—Yes, this was the upstanding member of justice.

"Uncle Yong, I think he got it..." Even Li Yangyi started feeling bad, seeing the rough treatment. He was scared that Shou would come to beat them up if he went any further. He cocked his head at the reception hall, and almost shat his pants, as he saw Shou silently look at them with big eyes. For some reason, the boy sensed that something else too (a much more terrifying being) was also watching over them.

"[stare stare]."

Eventually, Zhang Yong stopped his local hoodlum act, and Lan Jiu got a chance to explain himself. "The secret lies in the philosophy," he said, massaging his sore neck. "Imagine this, how exactly do define honing our skills? We get faster while being better. That is because we, over time, remove any unnecessary gimmicks and actions. What an amateur needs 1 hour and thousands cut for, the professional finishes in a few minutes, with a single move. They represent the Dao, for they have found simplicity in complexity. The same naturally goes for combat. I've realized while fighting, that all these superfluous moves and techniques ironically take us further away from the Dao."

His words rang deeply within the customers. It was a weird sight to see, all these people from different facets of life being so harmonious listening so attentively.

"See, the Dao has a certain flow. It is invisible, untouchable, and without form. But it is there, without a doubt, accessible for everyone. Because from the beginning, Daoism is not about your cultivation level, or how many Li you can carry, it is about finding that flow and being part of it. Afterward, everything is easy." He clenched his fist. "Imagine this, your powers imbued by the Dao itself. That is the secret within that 'martial art' of that village. I suppose though, for someone like the chef, an absolute monster at cooking and who has seen the true essence of the world through his food, accessing this flow is as easy as counting to ten."