dkrc Chapter 14 Practical Application
Chapter 14 Practical Application
The martial arts school has a small storefront, sandwiched between two restaurants. The signboard is made of dark brown solid wood with four gilded characters engraved on it: "Zhenshan Martial Arts School".
When Lin Fan pushed open the door, a faint smell of sweat and leather protective gear wafted towards him. It wasn't unpleasant; instead, it carried a rough and pungent quality that ignited a sense of excitement.
The person standing at the front desk was a young woman in her early twenties, with a neat ponytail, wearing the martial arts school's uniform black training clothes, and a metal badge that read "Zhenshan Martial Arts School".
She was sorting through a stack of flyers when she heard the door open. She looked up, her gaze sweeping over Lin Fan, and a professional smile instantly appeared on her lips.
A student. Young. Most likely just finished the college entrance exam.
She quickly labeled Lin Fan in her mind.
Every summer, it's the same routine—after the college entrance exam, a large number of high school graduates flock to martial arts schools, hoping to learn some practical combat skills before entering university, so they won't get beaten up by their classmates at a martial arts university.
Although the boy in front of me was more composed than the average high school student, his age was a factor, so he couldn't be wrong.
"Welcome to Zhenshan Martial Arts School, student!" The young lady came out from behind the front desk, holding a stack of colorful course brochures. "You just finished the college entrance exam, right?"
Our martial arts school offers a summer intensive practical training program specifically for high school graduates. It lasts six weeks, with three classes per week, starting with basic boxing techniques and fighting methods. It's suitable for all students at the Body Refinement stage. All instructors are graduates of martial arts universities and have formal teaching qualifications.
As she spoke, she handed the flyer to Lin Fan, pointing to the course schedule on it with her finger, and said quickly: "Regular classes have two sessions per week, intensive classes have three sessions per week, and one-on-one private tutoring is also available, but it's a bit more expensive."
If you sign up now, you can enjoy an early bird discount of 20% off, plus a free hand bandage—
"I'm not here for class." Lin Fan gently pushed the flyer back.
The young woman's smile faltered for a moment. Not here for class? She sized Lin Fan up and down, her mind quickly switching between different interpretations—could he be looking for a part-time job?
The martial arts school does occasionally hire college students as teaching assistants, but this one in front of her is too young, looking two or three years younger than herself.
"Then you are...?"
"I'm here for real combat experience." Lin Fan glanced around the martial arts hall, his gaze landing on the corridor leading to the training area. "Does your martial arts hall have sparring partners? Just find me one."
The young woman blinked, then blinked again. She'd worked at the front desk for over a year and seen all sorts of customers—some came to register for courses, some to get refunds, some to use the restroom, and some to sell equipment.
But this was the first time someone who looked like a student who had just come of age had walked in and directly asked for sparring practice. She subconsciously gave Lin Fan a second look.
He wasn't particularly strong, but he had a very upright posture, with his shoulders open and back straight. It wasn't the kind of posture that was deliberately stiff, but rather a natural and effortless uprightness.
His gaze was calm, neither wandering nor evasive, and when he looked at people, you felt a sense of weight and importance.
This doesn't have the aura of a high school student.
The young woman mentally overturned her earlier judgment. She figured he was probably a university student from a martial arts college, on summer vacation back in Jiangcheng, coming to the martial arts gym to practice.
Students at the Martial Arts University are on a completely different level from high school students. Once they enter university and systematically learn practical combat courses, it's perfectly normal for them to seek out sparring partners.
"Okay, please wait a moment, I'll arrange it for you." The young lady put away the flyer, turned around and walked behind the front desk to pick up the internal phone.
Lin Fan stood in the lobby waiting, his gaze sweeping over the introduction of the martial arts school hanging on the wall.
Zhenshan Martial Arts School is one of the oldest martial arts schools in Jiangcheng, established for over twenty years. The school's owner is a formal martial artist at the peak of the Qi Condensation Realm, and is registered with the Martial Arts Association.
The price list hanging on the wall reads: coaching services are charged by the hour, with regular coaching costing 180 yuan per hour and premium coaching costing 350 yuan per hour.
He touched his wallet in his pocket; thankfully, he had brought extra cash with him before leaving home.
Before long, footsteps could be heard at the end of the corridor.
The person who came out was a young man, who looked a year or two older than Lin Fan. He was about the same height but more muscular, with obvious muscle lines on his arms, the kind of physique that showed he had spent a lot of time in the gym.
He was wearing a black T-shirt with the words "Zhenshan Martial Arts School Coach" printed on it. The sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, revealing a faint old scar on his shoulder and arm, probably from a previous sparring match.
"Hello, my name is Zhang Yang, and I'm the coach here." The young man extended his hand.
"Lin Fan".
They shook hands briefly. Zhang Yang's palms were rough, with thick calluses on his knuckles, the result of years of boxing practice.
His grip was quite strong; he subconsciously increased the pressure when shaking hands, probably to test Lin Fan's strength. Lin Fan returned the grip calmly, without increasing the pressure or wincing in pain.
When Zhang Yang withdrew his hand, he silently gave Lin Fan a score in his mind: calm reaction, calluses on his hands but not thick, doesn't look like someone who practices boxing often, but shouldn't be a complete novice either.
He was a local from Jiangcheng and a freshman at an ordinary martial arts university in a neighboring city. He returned to Jiangcheng during the summer vacation to look for a part-time job, and Zhenshan Martial Arts School happened to be recruiting summer instructors, so he came here.
Actually, the income from this job isn't high. A regular coach only earns a few dozen yuan per hour, which is far less than what his classmates earn as private coaches for rich kids.
But it's just a temporary job for the summer vacation. Every little bit helps, it's better than lying at home.
Moreover, his academic performance at school was only average—his martial spirit was of the upper-grade yellow level, but his strength was only a little over 800 jin during his senior year of high school, barely enough to qualify him for a martial arts university.
After a whole year of training in my freshman year, my strength has just broken through 3,200, and the threshold of the Qi Condensation Realm is still a long way off.
There are plenty of people in their school better than him, but he's more than capable of teaching senior high school students. After all, senior high school students mainly practice "training methods" in high school.
He couldn't even last a single round in the ring. Last summer, he coached several prospective college students and felt like a personal trainer hired from a gym.
"Come with me." Zhang Yang waved and turned to lead Lin Fan inside.
The martial arts gym is much larger inside than it looks from the outside, with several training areas distributed along both sides of the corridor.
The first floor was the basic training area, covered with dark blue anti-fall mats. Several trainees in training uniforms were practicing punches on sandbags, each blow landing hard, their sweat and low shouts mingling together. Zhang Yang didn't stop, leading Lin Fan directly up to the second floor.
The second floor is divided into several independent arena rooms, separated by soundproof panels. Each room has a standard arena in the center, with elastic rope railings at the four corners and professional shockproof arena mats on the floor.
Zhang Yang chose the innermost room, pushed the door open, took out a set of protective gear from the cabinet in the corner, and threw it to Lin Fan.
"Put them on. Helmet, chest protector, arm guards, groin protector, leg guards—don't forget any of them."
Lin Fan took the protective gear and weighed it in his hand. The gear was old but well-maintained, with some minor scratches on the surface, but no damage or odor. The face shield was made of tempered glass, with high transparency that did not obstruct his vision.
After he finished putting on the protective gear, he stretched his arms and legs. The protective gear wasn't too restrictive and didn't affect his punches or movement. Zhang Yang leaned against the rope post of the ring and waited for him. He only straightened up after seeing that he was fully dressed.
"How do we fight?" Zhang Yang asked.
Everyone who comes for actual combat has their own preferred rules. Some people like free fighting and can use any move; others specialize in a particular style of boxing.
Some people only practice defense and not offense; others insist on not using martial spirit enhancement and relying solely on physical strength to fight head-on.
"I'm not a martial artist, just a quasi-martial artist," Lin Fan said calmly, cracking his knuckles. "I'll use the Returning Mountain Fist."
"Alright, then I'll fight you with the Returning Mountain Fist."
The two men flipped over the ropes and stood at opposite ends of the ring. Zhang Yang stretched his neck and wrists, his joints making a few crisp cracking sounds, then assumed the standard starting stance of the Returning Mountain Fist—
Step back half a step with your right foot and lower your center of gravity, with both fists positioned in front of you, one in front and one behind, in a posture so perfect it could be used as a teaching demonstration.
He taught several groups of senior high school students during the summer vacation. His basic routine was to first strike a standard pose to show the other person what it means to be a professionally trained student, then wait for the other person to make the first move, dodge and counterattack in a few moves to knock them down, and finally point out the other person's weakness.
Lin Fan also assumed a starting stance.
His starting stance was almost identical to Zhang Yang's, but he lowered his center of gravity by a little more and subtly adjusted the angle at which his feet gripped the ground. Zhang Yang noticed it but didn't think much of it.
"You go first," he said.
Lin Fan didn't hold back either. He stomped his foot on the ring mat and his whole body shot forward like a spring, his right fist flying out of the air, aiming straight for Zhang Yang's face.
This punch is the most basic straight punch in boxing, without any fancy variations or hidden counter-attacks.
Seize the center line, gain the upper hand, and deliver a straight punch with unwavering force, striking the opponent's defensive core with the shortest possible distance.
The wind from the punches was so strong that even through the helmet and visor, Zhang Yang could feel the oppressive force coming at him.
It's not the strength of a beginner.
The thought flashed through Zhang Yang's mind for a moment, but his body moved faster than his mind.
He shifted his body to the side, using the "wind-like step" technique, and his upper body slid to Lin Fan's left side like a willow branch swaying in the wind, barely avoiding the frontal impact of the punch.
Then, using the momentum of his sideways rotation, he circled around to Lin Fan's side and threw a right punch diagonally from his waist, aiming straight for the gap under Lin Fan's ribs.
This move is "Wind Entangling the Mountain" from the Returning Mountain Fist style. The key to "Wind Entangling the Mountain" is "circling" and "entangling"—circling around the opponent's attack and entangling the opponent's rhythm.
This is a classic example of using softness to overcome hardness and skill to defeat force.
If your opponent throws a powerful punch, and you try to block it head-on, you'll fall into their rhythm. Disrupt their rhythm, wear them down, and exhaust them. Then, when they're panting, deliver a counter-attack and finish them off.
Zhang Yang used this move to defeat many classmates in the school's practical combat class. Those greenhorns who had just entered the school would often lose their balance after missing their punch and fall forward, leaving their ribs wide open. He could knock them off the stage with a single punch.
Lin Fan did indeed miss.
The punch was aimed at Zhang Yang's face when it was thrown, but Zhang Yang is no longer in that position, so the punch should have missed.
But Lin Fan didn't stagger at all. After throwing a straight punch, he almost instantly pulled back his fist to defend, bending his right elbow and sinking down to block Zhang Yang's punch coming from the side.
boom!
The impact of fists and elbows clashing, the sound of the collision under the protective gear as dull as the beating of a drum.
Zhang Yang's eye twitched.
The reaction was incredibly fast. Not just "good," it was truly fast.
There's a time lag between throwing a straight punch and returning to defense—the retraction of the punch, hip rotation, adjustment of the center of gravity, and re-locking onto the target. For an average high school senior, this entire sequence takes at least 0.5 seconds.
A skilled practitioner can suppress the opponent's movement to within 0.3 seconds, but the angle at which his punch lands from the side is tricky, and a normal person would instinctively use their left hand to block.
Instead of using the right elbow to block, they would choose to lower their right elbow to block – because it takes more time to retract the right fist after it has been thrown out and then change their move.
But Lin Fan did just that. And he did it so naturally, as if he already knew Zhang Yang would flank him.
Zhang Yang didn't have time to think it through, because Lin Fan had already switched from defense to offense.
It was the same move, "Wind Circling the Mountain," with the same circling footwork and the same entanglement rhythm. Then, a light, airy punch landed on Zhang Yang's side, landing with a tricky point and faster, shorter than Da Shan's straight punch.
Zhang Yang dodged the punch by turning again, but Lin Fan followed like a shadow, delivering the third, fourth, and fifth punches—each a move from the Returning Mountain Fist.
However, the order of the combos was completely different from the standard routine, leaving Zhang Yang unable to find an opening to counterattack for a while.
The two exchanged blows, punches and kicks, fighting for nearly twenty moves on the ring.
Twenty moves may not sound like much, but in actual ring combat, it's a fairly long number of rounds.
In the gymnasium, most fights between boxers end within three to five punches.
Lin Fan's breathing gradually became even, and he felt his heartbeat slowly return to a normal frequency.
I was a little nervous at first, after all, it was my first time actually standing in the ring and fighting someone who could fight back, which was completely different from practicing punches against thin air.
But after a few punches, his tension dissipated, replaced by a strange composure—his opponent could dodge, counterattack, and set traps, exactly like the fighting style he'd seen in the videos. And all the videos he'd watched, all the techniques he'd memorized…
At this moment, it is automatically matching and recalling in his mind.
Zhang Yang was also adjusting his breathing. His breathing wasn't as even as Lin Fan's, and a thin layer of sweat had already seeped onto his forehead.
He stared at Lin Fan's changing footwork, his surprise growing ever stronger.
This person didn't seem to be a first-timer in the ring. Although he was still a bit inexperienced—for example, the protective gear limited the range of his arm swing, and his punches still retained traces of "training techniques," occasionally resulting in an unnecessary half-movement—his adaptability was too strong.
The same trap might catch him the first time, but he'll avoid it the second time. The third time, he'll turn the tables and use your trap to his own advantage.
This learning ability is a bit outrageous.
Just as Zhang Yang was considering whether to slightly increase the intensity of the confrontation to regain the upper hand, Lin Fan suddenly stopped.
His feet, which had been constantly moving during the fight, suddenly stopped, and his body was nailed to the center of the arena like a nail.
Then he brought his right fist to his waist, arched his spine slightly, and his entire demeanor changed in an instant.
Zhang Yang's pupils suddenly contracted. He felt an invisible pressure emanating from the boy opposite him. It wasn't the power of a martial spirit, nor the pressure of true qi, but a pure aura condensed from the fist technique itself.
It felt like standing at the foot of a collapsing cliff, looking up and seeing the entire mountain crashing down on you.
The stance of Huishanquan (回山拳) is as firm as a mountain.
Zhang Yang had seen a teacher demonstrate the second level of the Returning Mountain Fist at school. When the fist force was concentrated, it had a kind of oppressive feeling that made people feel breathless.
But that was a teacher, a Qi Condensation Realm martial artist, not a freshman in college, much less a high school student who had just finished the college entrance exam.
Lin Fan made a move.
He pushed off the ground with his right foot, leaving a deep footprint on the mat beneath him, and charged forward, his right fist slamming towards Zhang Yang with unstoppable momentum.
This punch was completely different from all the previous probing attacks—it left no room for maneuver and no room for defense.
He turns and throws a punch, his back like a mountain collapsing. When a mountain collapses, it doesn't consider whether it will shatter; it just crashes down.
The fist whistled sharply as it pierced the air, and it seemed as if all the air in the arena had been sucked away by that punch.
Zhang Yang's expression changed completely. He knew he couldn't dodge this punch, not because it was too fast for him to avoid, but because its force had already overwhelmed his mind.
He instinctively tried to dodge to the side, but his feet felt like lead, rooted to the spot. He could only cross his arms in front of him to protect his chest and abdomen, and tough it out.
boom!
A punch landed squarely on the point where his arms crossed. Zhang Yang felt as if he had been hit head-on by a running monster—the force exploded from Lin Fan's fist, passed through his arm guards, through his arm muscles, and directly shook his bones.
His feet slid back half a meter on the ring mat, then he lifted off the ground, his body arcing through the air before slamming into the protective mat outside the ring with a thud.