Under the fist

Chapter 57 I am Lian Youming, and I have learned a lot!
Surprisingly, there were only two people in this last carriage.

A disheveled child, about ten years old, and an old woman in tattered clothes.

The old man sat in the corner, coughing incessantly until his back was bent and he was curled up in a ball. The child was carefully feeding him water from a faded military water bottle.

Listening to the old man's heart-wrenching coughs and smelling the sour stench emanating from the two people, it's no wonder no one was squeezing into this carriage.

And this child, I don’t know if he’s been rolling around in a pigsty, he’s smelly, but his eyes are bright and clear. When he sees a stranger, he doesn’t seem to move, but there’s a wariness hidden in his eyes.

Lian Youming glanced at the water bottle in the old man's arms. He could still vaguely make out a few words on it: "Presented to the most beloved people." His eyes flashed. "Did you hitch a ride on the train?"

These days, when traveling all over the country, it's not uncommon to hitch a ride on a truck halfway through. And judging by the person covered in coal dust and soot, they might have crawled out of the cargo compartment.

The child stared at him intently, still clutching a short knife in his hand, and said nervously, "Let me tell you, we have tuberculosis. Whoever gets it dies. If you dare come any closer, I'll spit in your face."

The voice was clear and crisp; it turned out to be a girl.

"Tuberculosis? No wonder... But silly girl, tuberculosis is treatable these days."

Lian Youming chuckled, his wariness lessening somewhat. Seeing that the people behind him hadn't rushed over yet, he had Yan Tao sit in the corner of the last row, separated from the grandfather and granddaughter by only an aisle.

The girl then saw a group of people at the other end of the carriage, a dark mass. Her dirty little face turned pale instantly, and she said in a tearful voice, "Grandma, those flower sellers are here again. We can't escape."

Lian Youming smiled gently and said, "Why are you crying? They're coming for me."

The little girl, her big eyes brimming with tears, listened in stunned silence, then grabbed the old woman and turned to try and crawl into the cargo compartment.

Seeing this, Lian Youming reminded her, "Don't run away. It's freezing cold outside, and your grandma's condition is so serious. She can't take any more trouble. Just sit here. I'll buy you both tickets when we're done. Also, don't smear feces on yourself next time. It's smelly and dirty, and it will affect your grandma's condition."

The little girl stopped in her tracks and stared at Lian Youming with some curiosity.

The stench of excrement on her body wasn't from falling into a cesspool; she had smeared it on herself. The dirtier and smellier she was, the more the beggars would despise her. Little did she know that Lian Youming had seen through her act.

Lian Youming put down his luggage, then casually draped his coat over the back of a chair. While slowly and methodically rolling up his shirt sleeves, he asked the grandfather and grandson, who had just sat back down, "What's going on here? Visiting relatives or fleeing famine?"

After coughing for a while, the old man took a couple of breaths and said weakly, "My family suffered a disaster and we can't go on living... cough cough, I brought my granddaughter out to beg for food to survive, but we were targeted by beggars and I even contracted tuberculosis."

Lian Youming nodded knowingly, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, lowered his eyes, and glanced sideways at the carriage he had come from.

As he watched the group of thieves file in, he lightly twisted his right index finger and thumb, loosening two buttons on his collar. Under the lamplight, his exposed chest appeared as if it had been poured with molten copper, firm as iron, sharp and imposing.

The night outside the window suddenly changed, and I saw crystal flakes falling with the wind, the snow falling heavier and heavier.

The heavy snow fell gently, not as wildly as the snow in Northeast China, but it was dense, as if a white curtain had been drawn back, reflecting the murderous intent in the carriage.

A middle-aged man wearing sunglasses stepped out from the crowd, his hands tucked into his sleeves, and walked over.

"My surname is Song. May I ask your name, young brother? May I ask which hero you are?"

Lian Youming glanced at the crowd behind the other party, then walked around the carriage once, opening all the windows and even the last door.

The wind and snow filled his chest, but he smiled and asked instead of answering, "Talking is too much trouble. Does anyone want to get off now? I'll only say this once: jump off now, and you might still save your life."

The middle-aged man wearing sunglasses showed no emotion on his face, but he scoffed, "What arrogance!"

Lian Youming, tall and muscular, looked down at his opponent with droopy eyelids, like a tiger dozing with its eyes half-closed. "You're the Eighth Master? Heh, what era are we living in? People still call you 'Master' these days." The Eighth Master gave a forced smile, wiped the moisture from his glasses, and said slowly, "You really are a fearless newborn calf. Today I'll show you what true arrogance is."

Lian Youming raised an eyebrow, his eyes widening suddenly and flashing with a fierce light. "You're just a fish that slipped through the net of feudal dregs. Believe me or not, I can beat you so badly that you'll be stuck on the wall and can't be taken down."

Having said all he needed to say, without further ado, he clenched his left fist, wrapped his right arm around his chest, revealing the muscles and bones in his arms, and slowly raised it to his chest, clasping his hands in a fist. His light, airy voice emanated from his throat, yet it sent chills down one's spine: "I am Lian Youming, I have learned my lesson!"

The way you clasp your hands in a fist also varies. Usually, the left hand is favored over the right, and the left hand wraps around the right hand as a matter of etiquette. In the martial arts world, this is considered a "civil" etiquette. However, the right hand is often associated with bloodshed, as it is the right hand for holding knives and axes, hence it is considered very unlucky. If the right hand wraps around the left hand, in the martial arts world, it signifies life and death and is regarded as a "martial" fight.

Seeing the mournful posture, Eighth Master's pupils contracted, his cheek muscles tensed, and he clasped his hands and said, "Song Fei, I'd like to learn from you!"

In the short time it took for the two to talk, the doors of the last two carriages were closed.

After speaking, the Eighth Master in front of him retreated to a chair at the entrance of the carriage, sat upright, and began to hum a tune with an air of nonchalance while gently massaging his thigh.

In the instant the other side retreated, two figures leaped and pounced from the seats on both sides, simultaneously throwing out two swift shadows. A flash of light revealed them to be the iron darts that the old men in the alley often played with.

Lian Youming's expression shifted slightly. He shook his shoulders and raised his arms into the air with a whoosh. He took the two iron balls into his palms, exerted his strength, and flicked them in mid-air. The two iron balls, which had been flying through the air, were actually flicked back along the original path.

The two men came on menacingly, their eyes wide open, and they threw out two more iron balls.

"Bang! Bang!"

The four iron balls collided in mid-air, producing two loud explosions in an instant.

The two men leaped and tumbled, unleashing their iron fists, ready to attack again. But suddenly they felt a fierce, evil gust of wind rushing towards them. Their pupils dilated, and they let out a strange cry of "Ah!" as a fist came flying from behind the iron fists.

This punch, with its palm hollow and fingers not clenched tightly, produced a whistling sound as the force swept past, as if a thousand-pound hammer were striking directly at him, or like Li Yuanba in the storyteller's tale, raising his fist like a hammer and striking straight at him.

The man on the left was dark-skinned and thin, looking to be about thirty years old. He was wearing a large gray coat and had initially been arrogant, but upon seeing this fist, his scalp tingled, and he exclaimed in shock, "The Tai Chi School's hammer technique?"

In his haste, the man only had time to cross his arms over his chest, but the next second, he lost feeling in both arms, and the cotton coat on his chest suddenly collapsed, leaving a large fist-shaped dent. His back hunched silently, and a section of his bone protruded.

The man was not knocked back, but was instead stuck on Lian Youming's fist. Cotton-like droplets poured out from the bursting needles, covering the carriage. His fate was unknown.

Meanwhile, another person seized the opportunity to strike, collapsing onto the ground and rolling to close the gap, delivering a double punch from below to above.

"Ground-lying fist? Ha, a mere child's play!"

Lian Youming lowered his eyelids, twisted his left arm in the air, and his internal energy surged. The cotton flying in front of him suddenly spun rapidly. He reached out and grabbed the opponent's attack in mid-air. He kneaded and wrapped his palm, and then clenched his fist. His five fingers clenched again, and his tendons and bones immediately burst.

The man's face was ashen, his eyes filled with horror. He was in excruciating pain and was about to speak when three more cold glints appeared in front of Lian Youming. The blades flashed and slashed down at his head.

Lian Youming remained calm and composed. He lifted his feet off the ground and leaped backward into the air, carrying the two men under his fist with him as well.

While still in mid-air, he pushed and propelled them both out of the car window, plunging into the vast snowscape outside.

The moment he landed, Lian Youming pushed off with one foot, using the ground for leverage. Despite his tall and strong appearance, he moved as lightly as a swallow. He crouched down and lunged, his arms swinging across the air like spinning tops, carrying the three men under their arms. The three figures tumbled backward at the same time.

The Eighth Master's act fizzled out, and he roared, "Kill!"

In an instant, figures surged about, and the flashing of blades enveloped the imposing figure standing in the wind and snow.

(End of this chapter)