Shooting the Eagle: Starting from Iron Palm Peak

"Would you be willing to become my disciple?"

Lin Qi stood there, stunned.

Qiu Qianren – the Iron Palm Water-Walking Master, a peerless expert of his time. His Iron Palm skill is unparalleled in its ferocity; in terms of the sheer power of his palm strikes, it is second only to Hong Qigong's Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms in the martial arts world. However, in terms of the exquisite variations of his moves, the Iron Palm skill even surpasses the Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms.

The Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms excels in its fierce and direct attacks, each palm strike distinct and expansive; while the Iron Palm Kung Fu combines strength and gentleness, with moves within moves and variations within variations, where one palm strike can be transformed into ten moves, and ten moves can be reduced to one palm strike.

Would someone like that accept me as a disciple?

Without hesitation, Lin Qi immediately knelt down and kowtowed deeply: "Disciple Lin Qi greets Master!"

Qiu Qianren accepted the greeting and said calmly, "Rise. From this day forward, you are the personal disciple of the Iron Palm Clan's leader. The Iron Palm Clan has been established for decades with strict rules. Only the leader and his successor can practice the Iron Palm Kung Fu. Of the tens of thousands of disciples in the clan, only you and I are qualified to learn this skill."

Lin Qi's heart burned with excitement, and he clasped his hands in a fist salute again: "This disciple will certainly live up to Master's high expectations."

"Don't rush to express your determination." Qiu Qianren sat back in his chair, picked up his teacup, and said, "The position of a personal disciple is a double-edged sword. Many people in the gang are eyeing this position. Your foundation is too shallow, and you have offended Han Duanyue. You must be careful in your future actions. I can teach you martial arts, but people's hearts are treacherous. You have to weigh things yourself."

"Disciple understands."

"Also," Qiu Qianren put down his teacup, "you've fallen behind in your studies while you're recovering from your injury. Starting tomorrow, come to me every day at dawn to practice the basics."

"Yes."

---

The next day at dawn, before it was fully light, Lin Qi was already standing on the open ground in front of the stone building.

Morning mist rose from the mountains, and dewdrops clung to the pine needles. Qiu Qianren, now dressed in shorts, stood with his hands behind his back, watching Lin Qi.

"You've practiced Iron Palm for ten years, so your foundation is quite solid. But Iron Palm is an external martial art; its power generation is rough, focusing only on force and not on subtlety," Qiu Qianren said. "Iron Palm Kung Fu is different. Its foundation isn't the palms, but the entire spine."

"Spine?" Lin Qi was taken aback.

"Where does a person's strength come from? From the legs to the waist, from the waist to the back, from the back to the shoulders, from the shoulders to the arms, and finally to the hands. The core of this line of force is the spine." Qiu Qianren turned around, his back to Lin Qi. "Watch closely."

He slowly raised his right palm, the movement so slow that Lin Qi could see every subtle change in his body. His feet gripped the ground, his knees slightly bent, his waist and hips rotated, and his spine flowed like a great dragon, power rising from his heels, passing through his calves, thighs, waist and hips, back, shoulders, and arms, finally converging in his palm. The entire process was as smooth as flowing water, without the slightest hesitation.

Then he gently pushed it forward.

Five steps away, a pine tree as thick as a bowl suddenly trembled, its needles falling in a flurry, revealing a palm print an inch deep on its trunk.

Lin Qi gasped. Five steps away, he exerted force from a distance, his palm imprint penetrating an inch into the wood—this was not brute force, but a perfect combination of internal strength and power.

"Did you see clearly?" Qiu Qianren withdrew his palm and turned around.

"I see it clearly. But..." Lin Qi smiled wryly, "I'm afraid I can't do it."

"Of course you can't do that. You don't even have internal energy, how can you exert force from a distance?" Qiu Qianren walked up to him. "I'll teach you stance training first. The stance training for Iron Palm Kung Fu is called 'Dragon Bone Stance,' which trains the connection of the spine. When you can stand like a snake, moving your spine segment by segment, you'll have entered the door."

Qiu Qianren corrected Lin Qi's posture—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, tailbone centered, chest slightly concave, back straight, head suspended, shoulders lowered. Lin Qi adjusted according to the instructions, and soon his thighs began to ache, his back stiff as a board.

"Relax. I don't mean tense, I mean relaxed." Qiu Qianren patted his shoulder. "Your spine needs to be relaxed so that the power can be transmitted. If you're tense, the power will be cut off in your shoulders."

Lynch tried to relax, but his body began to sway. He steadied himself and continued to stand.

He stood there for half an hour. When he finished, Lin Qi's legs were shaking like leaves, and his clothes on his back were soaked with sweat. But he did have a strange feeling in his spine—not pain, not soreness, but as if something had opened up, a kind of indescribable smoothness.

"Not bad." Qiu Qianren rarely praised him, "You were able to stand on the dragon bone stake for half an hour on your first try. Your perseverance is commendable."

From then on, every day at dawn, Lin Qi would go to the stone building to practice his skills without fail. Qiu Qianren taught him the stances, walking steps, power generation, and energy release meticulously, and Lin Qi learned diligently.

Half a month later, the dragon bone stake began to show results. Lin Qi could clearly feel his spine transmitting power segment by segment when he exerted force, with the power flowing from his heels all the way to his fingertips, at least 30% more than before.

---

A month later, Qiu Qianren began to teach the core training methods of Iron Palm Kung Fu.

That morning, instead of taking Lin Qi to the open space, he led him into the cellar of the stone building. The cellar was small, with stone walls on all four sides. In the center was an iron pot with charcoal burning underneath. Inside the pot was a pot of dark, bubbling medicinal liquid, and a pungent smell permeated the entire cellar.

Lin Qi coughed twice, choked by the choking sensation.

"This is the medicinal bath for Iron Palm Kung Fu." Qiu Qianren pointed to the iron pot. "The reason Iron Palm Kung Fu is called Iron Palm is not only because of its powerful palm strike, but also because the training process is like blacksmithing—the palm is the iron, the medicine is the quenching liquid, and the internal energy is the hammer. Blacksmithing requires repeated forging, quenching, and hammering to turn iron into steel. Iron Palm Kung Fu is the same."

He squatted down and stirred the medicinal liquid in the pot with an iron rod. Lin Qi saw various medicinal herbs soaking in the liquid—some of which he recognized, such as Aconitum carmichaelii, Aconitum kusnezoffii, Pinellia ternata, and Arisaema heterophyllum, all of which were highly poisonous; others he did not recognize, which were black in color and emitted a putrid smell.

"Are these medicines poisonous?" Lin Qi asked.

"Yes." Qiu Qianren did not deny it. "The first step of Iron Palm Kung Fu is to refine the palm with poison. The poison seeps into the skin, flesh, tendons, and bones, corroding the meridians and destroying the tissues. This process is extremely painful, and many people give up after reaching this stage."

Lin Qi felt a chill run down his spine.

"But poison is not just about destruction," Qiu Qianren continued. "Poison stimulates the meridians and acupoints in the palm, making them expand, sensitive, and active. It's like burning wasteland first; only burned land can be cultivated. Poison is that fire."

"What if the poison remains in your palm?"

"Good question." Qiu Qianren glanced at him. "After the poison enters the palm, the second step is to use palm force to force the poison out. The Iron Bone Manual's internal energy cultivation method has a special technique that uses intention to guide qi, forcing the toxins that have seeped into the palm out little by little through the pores. During the process of forcing out the poison, the palm force will naturally increase—because each time the poison is forced out, it is a tempering of internal energy."

Lin Qi pondered, "It's like... using poison as a whetstone, sharpening your inner strength?"

A hint of appreciation flashed in Qiu Qianren's eyes: "That's the principle. The stronger the poison, the harder it is to expel, and the faster the palm strength increases. The cultivation of Iron Palm Skill is to constantly repeat this process—refining, being poisoned, expelling the poison, and increasing palm strength. Over and over again, the palm becomes more and more resilient, and the internal energy becomes more and more refined."

"And what about reaching the highest level?"

"The highest level is when your palms are immune to all poisons, and your palm power is as flexible and forceful as you wish. A single strike can shatter metal and stone, and sever flowing water." Qiu Qianren paused, "But this path is very long. You haven't even taken the first step yet."

He made Lynch take off his shirt, revealing his lean upper body. Then he ladled a bowl of steaming hot liquid from the pot, its color as black as ink.

"Reach out your hand."

Lin Qi stretched out his hands. Qiu Qianren slowly poured the medicine into his palms.

Burning. Then came the pain. Not ordinary pain, but the pain of a thousand needles piercing flesh simultaneously, the burning sensation of venom corroding tissue. Lin Qi gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, but his hands remained motionless. The medicine seeped through his fingers, into his nails, into the calluses on his hands, into every tiny wound.

"Bear with it." Qiu Qianren's voice was calm. "The first time is the most painful. You'll get used to it gradually."

Lynch didn't speak. His entire focus was on his hands—the burning sensation spread from the surface of his skin deeper, like fire, like ant bites, like someone slowly grinding his bones with a file. Sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped to the ground, but he remained silent.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the burning sensation began to subside. Lin Qi looked down at his palms—the skin had turned dark red, with a hint of black, and his fingers were somewhat swollen, but there were no blisters or ulcers.

"The poison has already seeped in," Qiu Qianren said. "Now, use your internal energy to force the poison out. Do you still remember the incantation for the Iron Bone Technique?"

"Remember."

Lin Qi closed his eyes, concentrated his mind, and circulated his internal energy according to the Iron Bone Technique. The thin layer of internal energy in his dantian slowly rose, flowing along the meridians of his arm to his palm. Wherever the internal energy passed, the burning sensation reappeared, but this time it was not the corrosive effect of the poison, but rather the internal energy pushing the toxins outward.

He felt the pores on his palms opening little by little, like countless tiny mouths. Black fluid seeped from the pores, carrying a fishy stench, and trickled down between his fingers.

This process lasted for nearly half an hour. Lin Qi's internal energy was almost exhausted, and he was drenched in sweat, but the dark red color on his hands had faded somewhat, returning to their normal flesh color, only slightly red.

Qiu Qianren examined his palm and nodded.

"You managed to expel 60% of the poison on the first try, not bad," he said. "The remaining 40% will stay deep in my palm, and I'll continue practicing tomorrow. The training of Iron Palm Kung Fu is about getting the poison deeper and deeper with each session, and expelling it more thoroughly each time. The meridians in the palm become stronger through repeated poisoning and expulsion, and the palm strength will increase accordingly."

Lin Qi looked at his slightly reddened palms and clenched his fists. He felt that his palms were stronger than before, not by muscle strength, but by a resilience that came from his bones.

"Master, when you finally master this skill, will your hands become as hard as iron, but lose all feeling?"

"No." Qiu Qianren shook his head. "The beauty of Iron Palm Kung Fu lies in this—it's not about practicing dead palm techniques. The Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms are fierce and direct, each palm strike distinct; Iron Palm Kung Fu, on the other hand, combines hardness with softness, and strength with gentleness. The palm must be hard enough to shatter metal and stone, yet sensitive enough to discern the force and power. You'll understand as you practice further."

Every day thereafter, Lin Qi had to go through the same process—refining the medicinal liquid, getting the poison into his palm, using his internal energy to expel the poison, and increasing his palm strength.

For the first few days, he trembled with pain every time he had to expel the poison, but he didn't utter a sound. Qiu Qianren observed this and nodded inwardly. For martial artists, innate talent and comprehension are important, but the most precious quality is resilience. Lin Qi possessed this resilience.

Half a month later, Lin Qi was able to expel 80% of the toxins, and the dark red color of his palms almost completely faded after the process. His palm strength had also increased significantly—when he slapped a blue brick, the brick shattered into four pieces, breaking more evenly than before.

A month later, Qiu Qianren began to teach him the moves of Iron Palm Kung Fu.

"The Iron Palm Technique has thirteen stances, each with three moves, totaling thirty-nine forms." Qiu Qianren stood on the open ground and slowly extended his palm. "The first stance is called 'Pushing Mountain Stance,' which seems simple but has the most variations."

He demonstrated it once. He thrust out a palm, changing direction three times along the way. On the last change of direction, his palm flipped, changing from pushing to slapping, and from slapping to pressing. Lin Qi was dazzled, feeling that there were seven or eight variations in this palm strike, each of which could deal with different defenses.

"The moves of Iron Palm Kung Fu are not fixed," Qiu Qianren said. "Each move can be broken down, combined, and adapted. When you practice, don't just memorize the movements, but also the timing and angle of the force."

Lin Qi began to learn each move one by one. His comprehension came in handy at this time—he could imitate seven or eight tenths of many moves after Qiu Qianren demonstrated them once; after Qiu Qianren explained the key points of force exertion once, he could find the feeling in his own practice.

For example, in the "Pushing the Mountain" technique, the change of direction was something he practiced dozens of times but couldn't achieve as smoothly as Qiu Qianren. Qiu Qianren told him, "The change of direction isn't about abruptly turning midway; it's about not intending to strike in the first direction when you exert force. The first direction is feinted, the second direction is the real force."

Lin Qi suddenly understood. He practiced again, this time not using his full palm force, but holding back seven-tenths of his strength in his palm, ready to change direction at any moment. Sure enough, changing direction was much smoother.

Qiu Qianren rarely praised him, saying, "You learn things very quickly."

In addition to techniques, Qiu Qianren also taught Lin Qi "listening to the opponent's force" and "swimming steps." Listening to the opponent's force involves judging the direction and magnitude of the opponent's power through hand contact; swimming steps are footwork techniques for close-quarters combat, moving in arcs and taking unexpected turns, with each step landing on the opponent's flank.

Lin Qi studied with great eagerness. He would get up before dawn every day to practice and continue until late at night. Sometimes Qiu Qianren would get up in the middle of the night and see a figure moving around in the open space in front of the stone building; that was Lin Qi repeatedly practicing the moves he had learned during the day.

Three months later, Lin Qi was a completely different person.

In terms of internal strength, he had mastered the first level of the Iron Bone Technique, his dantian overflowing with internal energy. As for palm techniques, his Iron Sand Palm had already reached mastery, and he could skillfully execute the first three stances of the Iron Palm Skill. Most remarkably, his hands—after three months of being refined with poison and forced to expel it, the skin on his hands had become hard and resilient, like being covered with a thin layer of keratinous armor; yet they remained flexible, his fingers moving freely, and his sense of touch more acute than before.

One day, Qiu Qianren asked Lin Qi to test his palm strike on a piece of bluestone. Lin Qi gathered his inner strength and struck down with his palm. The bluestone split into five pieces with a crack as clean as if it had been cut with a knife.

Qiu Qianren picked up a piece of rubble, examined the fractured surface, and nodded.

"Your current palm strength is already top-notch among the third-generation disciples of the sect," he said. "But you've only just scratched the surface of the essence of Iron Palm Kung Fu. When true masters clash, it's not about who has the heaviest palm strike, but about who can adapt faster, who can listen to the opponent's energy more accurately, and who can find the opening the moment the opponent exerts force."

Lin Qi respectfully replied, "This disciple has remembered."

Qiu Qianren stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the distant mountains.

"I need to go down the mountain in a few days to take care of something. You'll come with me."

Lin Qi's heart skipped a beat—he would descend the mountain. For three months, he had been recuperating and practicing his martial arts on Iron Palm Peak, knowing almost nothing about the outside world. He had no idea how far the main plot of the original story had progressed.

"Master, where are we going?"

"Lin'an," Qiu Qianren said, "The Jin Kingdom has sent an envoy here to discuss some matters. Go with him and take a look."

Lin Qi's heart skipped a beat. An envoy from the Jin Dynasty—this meant that Wanyan Honglie's people had begun their activities, and the main storyline of the original novel should have already started.

"Yes," he replied, clasping his hands in a fist salute.

A morning breeze swept across Iron Palm Peak, rustling the pines. Lin Qi stood before the stone building, gazing at the vast sea of ​​clouds below, his heart filled with both anticipation and trepidation.

From this day forward, he will no longer be the third-generation disciple recuperating in that secluded courtyard.

He's about to step into the real world of martial arts.