Chapter Twenty-Seven: Mr. Qi Gong Practices Qigong

At four o’clock in the afternoon, the sun began its descent behind the western hills. The light turned a mellow amber, casting long, slanted shadows that danced rhythmically across the ground as the trees swayed in the breeze.

Inside the quiet room, the only sounds were the soft rustle of turning pages and the scratching of pen nibs against paper. Having once been bitten by a snake and thus fearing even a well rope, Cheng Kaiyan’s mother, Xu Yuxiu, had spent a few dozen yuan on a new, small two-seater wooden sofa placed by the window. The young girl, Zhan Xinyu, had pulled up a small table to work on her homework.

Zhao Ruixue sat nearby, cradling a book in one hand and a pen in the other, jotting down notes and excerpts. From time to time, her gaze drifted to Cheng Kaiyan’s profile. He was writing furiously, looking entirely absorbed in his work.

"So focused. Is he writing another article?"

Zhao Ruixue couldn't quite put it into words, but she felt that he seemed even more charming and attractive in moments like this—especially when the sunlight caught his fair-skinned profile.

***

Cheng Kaiyan was oblivious to the girl’s romantic musings; his head was throbbing from trying to come up with a plot. He thought to himself that if it were this difficult, he should have just copied a novel and been done with it.

He glanced up, saw it was 4:30 PM, and decided to call it quits. He stood up, gulped down some tea, spat out the stray leaves that caught in his mouth, and announced, "Time to go. Let's head out."

With school on break, there were quite a few activities going on. A projection team from the nearby Beijing Film Studio had arrived to show movies to students and teachers on the large plaza in front of the library. As a temporary teaching assistant, Cheng Kaiyan had managed to secure a few tickets. After a quick discussion, the three of them—himself, the young girl, and Zhao Ruixue, who was a student herself—decided to go together.

Having spent the afternoon in the room, they hopped onto their bicycles—Cheng Kaiyan on his brand-new "Forever" bike with the girl on the back, and Zhao Ruixue on the Zhan family’s bicycle. The three of them wove through the streets and alleys of Beijing, arriving at Beijing Normal University in less than half an hour.

The library plaza was bustling. A massive silver-black screen had been hung in front of the statue, and several staff members from the Beijing Film Studio were busy fine-tuning the projector and sound system. Rows of chairs and benches were lined up. Cheng Kaiyan and his companions had brought their own stools—small, sturdy, hand-nailed wooden benches that fit perfectly in their bicycle baskets.

The crowd was immense. More than half of the students at Beijing Normal University had turned out, and many teachers had brought their families along as well.

"Hey! Little Teacher Cheng!"

Ji Qinglan, sharp-eyed, spotted Cheng Kaiyan immediately, as he stood a head taller than everyone else in the crowd.

"Hello, classmate Ji Qinglan."

The three roommates arrived together.

"Little Teacher Cheng is always the easiest to find. Standing among us, you’re like a crane in a flock of chickens," Ji Qinglan teased.

The other girls nodded in quick agreement, their gazes filled with newfound respect. Ever since New Year’s Day, when Zhao Ruixue revealed to Ji Qinglan that the short story published in *Children’s Literature* had been written by Cheng Kaiyan—a teaching assistant with only a high school diploma—everyone’s perception of him had shifted. They now looked at him with the reverence one typically reserved for a professor.

They also marveled at Zhao Ruixue’s sharp eye; who would have thought she could spot such a "potential stock"? Even though it was only children’s literature, it was something most people couldn't achieve. He was clearly talented, and compared to him, that fellow Song Jianchun wasn't worth mentioning. Yang Mengshan and Ji Qinglan felt a bit awkward seeing Zhao Ruixue and Cheng Kaiyan, remembering how they had previously claimed Cheng Kaiyan’s talent was inferior to Song Jianchun’s. Fortunately, Cheng Kaiyan didn't know that, which spared them the embarrassment.

"Hey, hey, hey! We’re all girls here. Don’t you feel awkward sitting in the middle of us, Little Teacher Cheng?" the boisterous Yang Mengshan asked, sitting on her stool, legs stretched out, as she playfully slapped Cheng Kaiyan on the shoulder.

"What, are you all sirens? Are you planning to eat me?" Cheng Kaiyan quipped with a calm smile.

"Pah! You're the siren!" the girls retorted with a collective roll of their eyes, before turning to whisper among themselves and chat with young Zhan Xinyu.

Cheng Kaiyan didn't linger. He asked them to keep an eye on his stool and, with the movie yet to start, headed to the nearby track for a run. Since his rebirth, he had felt his body growing stronger every day, but he hadn't really worked out. University tracks in the 70s and 80s were usually quite humble, often made of dirt or cement. Beijing Normal University was an exception; the campus had been rebuilt in the 50s, and while the track lacked a synthetic surface, it was covered in turf.

As he ran a few laps, watching a group of boys play soccer, he felt his blood pumping and stopped to rest. In a corner, he saw an old man with a round face, dressed in white martial arts garb, nodding, shaking his legs, and bending his waist in strange, contorted positions, looking for all the world like a chubby monkey.

"What are you doing, sir?" Cheng Kaiyan asked, curious.

"This is Qigong! You’ve never seen it, have you? Let me open your eyes," the old man said, lifting his chin proudly. He spread his legs, centered his *dantian*, put his hands on his hips, and leaned back, ready to demonstrate his "Qigong."

Cheng Kaiyan blinked, silent. As might be expected, things went wrong. A soft *crack* echoed, and the old man immediately clutched his waist and let out a small groan. "Ouch... ouch! My back!"

"You need to channel your *qi*. You haven't mastered the technique. The waist is the axis; the body’s rotation drives the movement. Left and right, *qi* follows the mind. If done correctly, there shouldn't be any difficulty in bending. That energy should feel like a tendon, pulling the whole body... you haven't even touched the threshold," Cheng Kaiyan commented, rubbing his chin with unhurried composure.

"You brat! Help me up!" the old man snapped, his face darkening.

"Coming, coming. No wonder your cultivation is lacking; you don't even have the focus for this."

"If you're so capable, let's see you try!"

"Watch closely."

Cheng Kaiyan calmly performed a set of "Master Ma’s" Hunyuan Taiji Xingyi Quan. As he moved, he narrated: "Watch! This is the first lash of the Pinecone-Phlegm-Shaking Lightning Whip, the second lash..."

His movements were fluid and natural, blending hardness with softness. The old man stared, dumbfounded. The truth was, he didn't know any Qigong; he had just been making it up to impress people, nearly fooling himself in the process—which was exactly how he’d thrown out his back.

"Good, good, good! Amazing! Little Master! Can... can I learn this?" The old man’s eyes glowed as he hurried over.

Cheng Kaiyan looked him up and down. Not daring to teach him anything real, he feigned mystery. "To be honest, sir, I am the 2020th generation grandmaster of the Hunyuan Taiji Xingyi school, Ma Baoguo. I have come to the capital to participate in the Forbidden Peak Martial Arts Tournament. As the saying goes, the true path is not easily imparted."

Hearing this, the old man nodded vigorously. "Little Master Ma is right. The path is not easily imparted. I never imagined that someone as young as you could be a grandmaster. Truly impressive!"

"There was once a two-hundred-kilogram British strongman who came to my training hall, claiming he’d hurt his cervical spine. He asked if I could teach him the Hunyuan technique to help treat it. I said no, those without the inherent wisdom cannot learn it. He wasn't convinced—the youth these days have no martial virtue! He wanted to spar. I told him, ‘Use both your hands to bend one of my fingers.’ He couldn't budge it. I told him traditional kung fu is about neutralizing force—borrowing, diverting, and releasing—the principle of using four ounces to deflect a thousand pounds. Even a two-hundred-kilogram strongman couldn't bend one of my fingers..."

Cheng Kaiyan stood with his hands behind his back, looking arrogant, his head tilted at a forty-five-degree angle toward the sky.

"A two-hundred-kilogram strongman couldn't even grip it... Master Ma, could you really teach me the Hunyuan technique?" Mr. Qi Gong looked at Cheng Kaiyan’s six-foot-plus frame and the aura of superiority he exuded, and he was seven-tenths convinced.

Cheng Kaiyan just smiled enigmatically, patted the old man’s shoulder three times, and turned to leave. Mr. Qi Gong stood in deep thought. "Could it be that he wants me to come back at the dead of night?"

***

The film that night was an old one from Japan: *The Admiral*.

It had been introduced to the country in 1971, and at the time, leadership teams across all provinces and cities had organized viewings. Mid-level cadres and above were required to have tickets to see it, and it was said they had to hold meetings to criticize it afterward.

Now, students and teachers didn't have to write critiques, though many would likely jot down their thoughts. By the time the movie ended, it was nine o’clock. The three of them rode their bikes by flashlight, chattering about the plot, and made their way home through the darkness to wash up and head to bed.