Chapter Five: The Thirty-Six Techniques of Flower Fist

"Don’t reveal the name of the boxing style just yet—let’s see if any of the old brothers here can recognize which form it is first!"

Wu San was trying hard not to laugh. He shared the same thoughts as Ma Shengli, but there was not a trace of mockery in his tone.

Liu Qingshan made no attempt to argue. He simply raised his hands and began, his movements alternately expansive and restrained, swift and slow, hard and gentle.

The “Fancy Fist,” also known as “Quick Fist,” was characterized by the adage: “Hard as iron, soft as silk, the body like a willow, the arms like whips,” and was governed by five essentials and four demands.

The essentials: first, long tendons; second, short breaths; third, lively force; fourth, solid techniques; fifth, completeness. The demands: first, bodywork flowing like a swimming fish; second, footwork swift as the wind; third, handwork weaving like a shuttle; fourth, eyes sharp as lightning.

With Liu Qingshan’s alternation of stillness and motion, short and long applied in tandem, every move was both forceful and honest, tightly linked in an unbroken chain.

To the onlookers, it was an exquisite blend of form and spirit, the speed of his hands and feet so great that the fists themselves seemed to leave neither shadow nor trace.

In truth, Liu Qingshan’s current mastery of boxing had already far surpassed the “proficient beginner” level he believed himself to possess.

It was said that the consummate stage of the Fancy Fist’s Thirty-Six Movements required a skill value of one hundred points; with the ten points he presently held, his strength was already a tenth of that of a grandmaster.

And what did it mean to be a grandmaster? That was the level of a legendary master of the age. Even a tenth of that strength was enough to astonish.

This realization struck Liu Qingshan as he performed, noticing the stunned expressions of those around him.

Yet he did not regret revealing his strength so soon; on the contrary, the sudden surge of power filled him with a peculiar excitement.

Along with that excitement came an even greater urge to display his skill. On a whim, he began reciting the incantation that accompanied the forms as he executed them:

“Petals flutter, Heaven and Earth revolve; swift and slow, real and unreal, all within Yin and Yang. Twisting, spiraling, swallowing and spitting; opening and closing, soft concealing hard. Strike above, defend below, guard the sides; advance and retreat, protect the center.”

This was no small matter. In an age where most ancient martial arts had long since vanished, such a vivid and mysterious display of skill, accompanied by a poetic chant, existed only in films and television.

In other words, as much ability as one possessed, so too did their bearing show it.

A true expert needed only to move to reveal their mastery—such was the origin of the saying.

Everyone present had some knowledge of martial arts, and their discerning eyes immediately sensed the subtle air of greatness in Liu Qingshan.

Perhaps in the eyes of a true master, his skills would not be worthy of much praise.

But to these half-trained martial artists, he was already an extraordinary figure.

So when Liu Qingshan completed his left bow step and brought his palm back beneath his armpit, everyone stood dumbfounded with awe.

It was a long while before Ma Shengli managed to speak:

“Brother Shanzi, is this what you call just fooling around? Doesn’t that make our own skills look like children’s games?”

“Brother Shanzi—no, Brother Shanzi, Brother Qingshan! You’ve been hiding your abilities well. Will you teach us this boxing style?”

Wu San’s words were laced with confusion; he knew that someone with such ability would never settle for being a mere stuntman.

Even if they learned only a third of the form, he was confident their entire group would become famous.

Most importantly, this unknown boxing style was simply too exquisite—not only was it beautiful in motion, but the way the body moved when dodging and weaving was profoundly mysterious.

Even adapted to weapons, its practicality and display far surpassed the flashy routines common in film and television.

Wu San laughed, “You’re joking, Third Brother. Brothers will always be brothers; there’s no problem teaching you, but let’s not change how we address each other!”

Liu Qingshan’s frankness matched Ma Shengli’s nature perfectly.

Ma Shengli laughed heartily and nodded. “You’re right, Brother Shanzi. Our friendship isn’t ranked by skill! Shanzi, what’s this boxing style called?”

The Fancy Fist is a rare branch of Chinese martial arts, belonging to the Shaolin school. Legend has it that it was created during the Kangxi and Yongzheng reigns of the Qing dynasty by Gan Fengchi, the “Hero of Jiangnan.”

Later, he was pursued by Emperor Yongzheng and hid in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region, where the art was handed down.

However, Gan Fengchi was strict about whom he taught. It was usually passed only from father to son, or grandfather to grandson, so few today practiced it.

Liu Qingshan had not previously appreciated these things, but considering that everyone present was a half-worldly wanderer, none could name the style. Clearly, even if it wasn’t completely lost, it was at least little known.

So he gave them a simple explanation:

“This style is called the Thirty-Six Movements of the Fancy Fist. I learned it as a child from an elderly man. What I said before wasn’t untrue—I’ve only mastered the routine itself, but just a few days ago, I suddenly grasped some key principles. With practice, I’ll improve even more!”

He explained it this way to give advance notice of his rapid progress, lest others find his growth suspicious.

Ma Shengli nodded in deep agreement:

“So that’s it! There’s a saying in martial arts: the deepest understanding comes not by force but in a flash of inspiration. Maybe, brother, you’re one of those people destined for sudden enlightenment!”

He wasn’t putting on airs; every martial artist had been taught something similar by their master.

Otherwise, why would students of the same teacher have such varying levels of skill with the same techniques? There was an ineffable element of personal insight involved, and not just he, but the others believed Liu Qingshan’s words implicitly.

“But let me say this up front—I know there are many stuntmen in a film crew. Once you’ve all learned the Thirty-Six Movements, try not to teach others.”

Liu Qingshan’s request was reasonable; if everyone mastered it, these few would lose their advantage.

Besides, his words gave the boxing style an air of rarity, making the group treasure the opportunity all the more.

Qiu Xingguang was the first to step forward, pounding his chest and clasping his hands in a traditional salute to Liu Qingshan.

“Brother, there’s no need for more words—the days ahead are long. Everyone here has ties to Brother Shengli, and we’ve always been close. Now, we have you, Brother Shanzi, among us!”

Wu San added, “But let me make one thing clear—not to you, Shanzi, but to the rest of you. I’m the oldest here, and I was the first to suggest we go straight. Now that we have a real skill, we must never use it to bully the weak!”

“I agree with Third Brother,” Liu Qingshan replied. “I don’t know the others well yet, but I know Brother Shengli—he and Sister Juan are planning to get married. For him, having a respectable profession is very important.”

Liu Qingshan’s words made Zhang Chengzhi laugh heartily.

“Shanzi, you worry too much—and you too, Third Brother! These days, we’ve all settled down. Have you seen anyone straying in recent years? Is being a stuntman hard? Has anyone quit? The reason we’ve been brothers for so many years is because we’re all loyal and true. No need to say more on that score!”