Shooting the Eagle: Starting from Iron Palm Peak

The ship sailed for a day and a night. The next afternoon, the captain pointed to a pink shadow on the sea ahead and said, "That's Peach Blossom Island." Lin Qi stood at the bow and looked into the distance. The peach orchards on the island stretched as far as the eye could see, in full bloom. The pink and white flowers were densely packed, looking from afar like a pink cloud fallen on the sea.

The boat docked. The shore was a rocky beach, the rocks covered in moss. Huang Rong was the first to jump off the boat, landing steadily on the rocks. Guo Jing followed, but slipped, and Huang Rong grabbed him. Lin Qi jumped off and turned back; Mu Nianci placed her hand in his palm and jumped down as well.

Once ashore, Huang Rong led the way, with Mu Nianci beside her. Lin Qi and Guo Jing lagged behind. The four of them walked along the path by the shore into the depths of the peach grove, where peach blossoms drifted down.

As they entered the peach grove, the sound of a flute drifted from the depths. The music was initially gentle, like waves lapping against the shore, unhurried and measured. Huang Rong listened for a moment, then said to Guo Jing, "Brother Jing, that's my father. You and Brother Lin wait here, don't wander off. I'll go take a look first." She then pulled Mu Nianci aside and whispered, "Sister Mu, come with me." Mu Nianci glanced back at Lin Qi, who nodded. The two women quickly disappeared at the end of the path where peach branches intertwined.

Guo Jing and Lin Qi waited in the peach grove for a long time. The sound of the flute grew increasingly urgent, sometimes soaring like a raging tide, sometimes low and mournful, making them restless. Guo Jing became uneasy and couldn't help but follow the sound, with Lin Qi following behind him. The peach grove was crisscrossed with countless paths, and the two wandered around for a while, the sound of the flute sometimes near and sometimes far, unable to find its direction.

The sound of the flute grew increasingly urgent, and Guo Jing's forehead broke out in a fine sweat, his breathing becoming unsteady. He gritted his teeth and charged forward by instinct, while Lin Qi also circulated his inner energy to resist. After passing through another peach grove, a cliff appeared before them, with a dark cave at its base. The sound of the flute was coming from outside the cave, but something inside was making suppressed gasps.

As Guo Jing reached the cave entrance, the sound of the flute suddenly rose in pitch, like an invisible needle piercing his brain. He quickly composed himself, steadied himself, and then ducked inside.

Lin Qi followed behind him. His eyes scanned the cave entrance, a thought suddenly occurring to him: "This should be the cave where the Old Rascal is."

The cave was small and dimly lit, filled with a musty, rotten smell. Dry grass covered the ground, and an elderly man with white hair and beard sat cross-legged in a corner, trembling violently. His facial muscles twitched, and his hands braced against the ground, his fingernails digging deep into the soil, leaving deep marks. The chains rattled, but he couldn't break free.

The old man was none other than Zhou Botong. He was currently fighting against the sound of the flute with all his might, veins bulging on his forehead, sweat streaming down his face, and his lips bitten until they bled, beads of blood hanging from the corners of his mouth. He seemed to be resisting desperately, but he had reached his limit, and his body swayed precariously.

Seeing his pain, Guo Jing couldn't bear it. He stepped forward, sat cross-legged behind him, placed his palms against his back, and slowly channeled the internal energy of the Quanzhen School into his body. Lin Qi walked to the cave entrance, circulating his internal energy to protect his mind and guard against the aftershocks of the flute music.

The Quanzhen School's internal energy cultivation is the orthodox school of esoteric arts, emphasizing moderation and balance. Guo Jing had studied internal energy cultivation with Ma Yu for half a year and also practiced martial arts under Hong Qigong, so his internal strength already had a solid foundation. When he circulated his internal energy, Zhou Botong's body trembled, and the pain on his face visibly eased.

The sound of the flute lingered outside the cave for a while, then suddenly stopped. A clear, cold voice came from afar, neither too loud nor too soft, but clearly audible into the cave: "You little beast, you ruined my plans!" The voice carried a hint of anger. A moment later, the footsteps faded into the distance.

Zhou Botong let out a long breath, collapsing onto the dry grass, panting heavily. After a while, he finally raised his head, looking at Guo Jing with surprise in his eyes.

"Young man, you...you are a disciple of the Quanzhen Sect?"

Guo Jing shook his head: "This junior is not a disciple of Quanzhen Sect. I only learned some internal skills from Master Ma Yu of Quanzhen Sect."

"No wonder, no wonder," Zhou Botong said repeatedly, wiping the sweat from his face and grinning. "You saved my life. I couldn't hold on any longer to Huang Yaoshi's 'Azure Sea Tide Song,' and I was just about to go out and fight him. If you hadn't come, I would have had to go out and suffer his humiliation."

He rambled on about his origins, introducing himself as Zhou Botong, the Old Urchin, a junior brother of Wang Chongyang of the Quanzhen Sect, and someone who had been imprisoned on an island by Huang Yaoshi for fifteen years. Guo Jing was alarmed and offered a few words of comfort.

After talking for a while, Zhou Botong suddenly stopped, looked Guo Jing up and down, and then looked at Lin Qi with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"That's not right." He scratched his head. "My cave isn't close to Huang Yaoshi. His flute playing is extremely powerful; most people would have been driven away long ago. You, young man, have practiced Quanzhen internal energy, so it's not surprising that you managed to get this far." He looked at Lin Qi. "Your friend actually managed to hold on?"

Lin Qi clasped his hands in greeting and said, "Junior Lin Qi greets senior."

Zhou Botong sat up straight, brushed aside the messy hair covering his eyes, and carefully examined Lin Qi for a few moments. "What kind of kung fu do you practice? Your breathing is steady, and your internal strength is profound. It doesn't seem to be the style of the Quanzhen Sect."

"I practice Iron Palm Kung Fu," Lin Qi said without hiding anything.

"Iron Palm Kung Fu?" Zhou Botong's eyes lit up. "Who is Qiu Qianren, the Iron Palm Water-Walking Master, to you?"

"He is my teacher."

"No wonder." Zhou Botong nodded, then suddenly became interested, rubbing his hands together. "Come, come, you two little kids, play with me. I've been so bored all these years, and now that two living people have come, let me see what you're really made of. It's not often that you can keep up with the sound of the flute in my cave."

Guo Jing quickly waved his hand: "Senior, this junior wouldn't dare—"

"What do you mean, 'dare' or 'don't dare'! I told you to hit me, so hit me!" Zhou Botong struck out with his palm without saying another word. His palm strike was light and seemingly powerless, but it suddenly accelerated halfway through, carrying a supple yet powerful force.

Caught off guard, Guo Jing hastily raised his palm to meet the attack. The moment their hands touched, Guo Jing felt a continuous, penetrating force surge through him, like water seeping into every crevice. He was thrown back seven or eight steps, his back slamming heavily against the stone wall with a dull thud, dust falling in a flurry. Guo Jing felt a tightness in his chest, his blood churning, and it took him a while to recover.

Zhou Botong exclaimed "Eh?" and withdrew his palm, laughing, "The Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms? You're Hong Qigong's disciple?"

Guo Jing nodded, panting, "This junior has learned some things from Master Qi."

"Not bad, not bad, quite interesting. But your internal strength is still lacking." Zhou Botong made a few more moves, each unpredictable, sometimes real, sometimes feinting. Guo Jing went all out, his Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms fierce and powerful, but when they struck Zhou Botong, it was like hitting cotton; the force was completely neutralized. Zhou Botong shook his head as he parried the moves, muttering, "Not bad kung fu, but too rigid, lacking flexibility."

Guo Jing was sweating profusely, finding it increasingly difficult to parry. Zhou Botong suddenly stopped, took a step back, and waved his hand.

"Alright, alright, I've tested your martial arts. Not bad, a bit stronger than I expected, but nothing special."

Guo Jing lowered his head in shame. Zhou Botong ignored him and turned to Lin Qi, his eyes narrowing and his gaze becoming more serious.

"Young man, it's your turn. Don't hold back, let me see what kind of disciple Qiu Qianren has taught."

Knowing he couldn't refuse, Lin Qi clasped his hands and said, "Please enlighten me, senior."

Zhou Botong didn't hold back, striking with a palm. This palm strike was silent and subtle, its force almost imperceptible, like a spring breeze or ripples on a lake. Lin Qi dared not be careless, extending his right palm to meet it with the first stance of the Iron Palm Technique, "Pushing the Mountain." Just as their palms were about to touch, Zhou Botong's palm force suddenly vanished without a trace. Lin Qi's palm struck empty air, its power gone, and his body involuntarily leaned forward. He hurriedly withdrew his force and retreated to defend.

Just as he withdrew his palm, a supple force surged from an unbelievable angle, striking and receding abruptly with lightning speed. Lin Qi had no time to change his move and could only sidestep to meet the attack. The two palms collided with a muffled thud, and Lin Qi staggered back three steps, feeling a tightness in his chest.

"Good!" Zhou Botong praised, then struck out with both palms, attacking from both sides.

Lin Qi braced himself, gathering the sharp power of his Iron Palm technique in his palm, and met Zhou Botong's attack with palm strike after palm strike. But Zhou Botong's palm technique was too unpredictable; each strike seemed both real and illusory, its power appearing and disappearing suddenly, completely elusive. Lin Qi felt as if he were not fighting a person, but rather battling a gust of wind, a cloud, or a fog. His Iron Palm technique was sharp and fierce, but when he struck, he either hit empty air or cotton, losing seven or eight tenths of his full force. Zhou Botong's palm power, on the other hand, could surge from any angle at any time, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, sometimes fast, sometimes slow; a slight miscalculation could result in being struck.

This kind of pressure, this unfathomable feeling, Lin Qi had only experienced with one person—Hong Qigong. Back outside Baoying City, Hong Qigong's casual move required Lin Qi Qi to exert all his strength, and the overwhelming sense of oppression he felt was still unforgettable. Zhou Botong's martial arts style was different from Hong Qigong's; one was fierce and unparalleled, while the other was ethereal and unpredictable, but the pressure he exerted on Lin Qi was almost the same—both made him feel that no matter how hard he tried, he could never reach the other's bottom line.

The two exchanged over twenty blows in the cave. Lin Qi exerted all his strength, barely managing to avoid showing any signs of defeat. Zhou Botong's palm strikes were like an invisible net, firmly trapping him; each strike felt like sinking deeper into quagmire. Fine beads of sweat appeared on Lin Qi's forehead, and his breathing became rapid.

Zhou Botong suddenly withdrew his palm, took a step back, and looked Lin Qi up and down for a long while.

"Good lad!" He slapped his thigh, his voice filled with disbelief. "Although I've never met your master, Qiu Qianren, his Iron Palm technique is quite famous. I originally thought he was just a top performer in external martial arts, but I never expected that you, at such a young age, would have reached this level."

He paused, as if talking to himself, yet also as if addressing Lin Qi: "To be able to withstand more than twenty of my moves without being at a disadvantage, among all the people I've ever met, you're already among the best. How old are you this year? Twenty-five? Not even that? If your master knew, he'd be laughing all the way to the bank."

Lin Qi withdrew his palm, clasped his hands, and said, "Senior, you flatter me. I only benefited from my youth and strength; my skill is still far from sufficient."

Zhou Botong waved his hand and said nothing more, but there was clearly a hint of admiration in his eyes.

Night deepened. Zhou Botong leaned against the stone wall, rambling on and on about Wang Chongyang, the Quanzhen Sect, and strange tales of the martial world. Guo Jing listened, his eyelids drooping with sleep. Lin Qi leaned against another corner of the cave, his eyes half-closed, and remained silent.

After an unknown amount of time, Zhou Botong's voice gradually subsided, and he began to snore. Guo Jing also leaned against the stone wall and fell into a deep sleep.

Lin Qi didn't sleep. He quietly stood up and walked to the cave entrance. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the peach branches, scattering silver fragments on the ground. He slowly raised his right palm, incorporating the energy manipulation techniques he had just learned from exchanging blows with Uncle Zhou into his Iron Palm Kung Fu, and struck out silently. As the palm wind passed, peach petals gently drifted down, neither shattered nor blown away, but simply as if supported by something, landing lightly on the ground.

His encounter with Zhou Botong was brief, but that battle gave him a completely new understanding of the power exertion of the Iron Palm Technique. Zhou Botong's palm strike was supple and enduring, seemingly effortless, striking and receding suddenly, making it impossible to defend against. To advance the Iron Palm Technique to the next level, one must absorb this principle of "etherealness." It's not about abandoning sharpness, but about adding another layer of variation beyond sharpness, making it unpredictable and elusive for the opponent.

The night breeze swept through the peach blossom grove, and petals fell silently. The distant sound of the waves was clear and distinct. Lin Qi stood at the cave entrance for a long time, until the moon began to set in the west, before turning back into the cave, leaning against the stone wall, and closing his eyes.