Morning in Yellow City always began with sound. The creak of wooden cart wheels over stone. The shouts of vendors hawking breakfast. The hurried footsteps of people rushing toward what they believed were the most important matters in the world. This city never truly slept—it only rested for a moment before rising again with the same vigor.
Li Wuchen walked through it all with relaxed steps. His overly calm and unenthusiastic demeanor made people think he was a gloomy character who viewed the world with cynicism and apathy.
Beside him, the old man walked while chewing on a piece of rice cake he had snatched from a passing vendor's cart.
Wuchen glanced at him.
"Old Man."
"Hmm?"
"You didn't pay."
The old man shrugged. "Didn't you see me pay?"
"What I saw was you not paying."
"Just because you didn't see me pay doesn't mean I didn't, right?"
Wuchen didn't continue. He knew his master well enough to understand that arguing like this would only give him a headache.
Maybe it was true. The old man's movements were too fast for him to see. Maybe the old geezer really had paid, and he just hadn't noticed.
The two continued walking through the bustling morning market, then down a road that grew quieter toward the east. The buildings here were sparser. Older. Some looked long abandoned, with moss-covered walls and tightly shut doors.
"Uh, I didn't expect there to be a part of the city like this," Wuchen commented. His expression showed his complicated feelings.
"Gloomy places like this exist everywhere. But it's fine. Besides, hardly anyone wants to come here," the old man said indifferently.
"Why?"
The old man bit off the last of his rice cake and chewed calmly. Then he answered, "Because the people who live here don't like receiving guests."
Wuchen stared at the road ahead.
"Then why are we coming here if we're just going to get chased away in the end?"
The old man put on a smug face. "That won't happen. Here, I'm not a guest."
*****
They stopped in front of a building at the end of a dead-end street.
The building wasn't small—even quite large for this part of the city. Its walls were made of dark black stone, with a curved roof whose edges were slightly worn by time. There was no signboard. No lanterns. No markings at all to indicate that someone lived inside.
Yet from behind its high walls, a steady sound could be heard.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Wuchen recognized that sound.
The sound of someone training.
The old man stood in front of the large, thick wooden door. He didn't knock. He simply stood there silently for a few moments—like someone waiting to be recognized, not invited.
The sound of training inside stopped.
Silence for a moment.
Then, heavy footsteps approached from within. Slow. Steady. Like the steps of someone who had never hurried in his life. The door opened.
*****
The man standing behind the door was around forty years old. His build wasn't large—even for a martial artist, his posture was rather ordinary. Medium height. Shoulders not particularly broad. His black hair, streaked with a few strands of gray at the temples, was tied back simply. His clothes were plain gray, without any ornaments.
What was unusual were his eyes.
Not sharp. Not soft either. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too many things—and had chosen not to be surprised by anything anymore.
The homeowner looked at the old man in front of him. His expression didn't change. No smile. No coldness either. Just… flat, with a kind of acknowledgment that didn't need words.
"You've finally come," he said.
His voice was deep. Calm. Like someone who rarely spoke—not because he had nothing to say, but because he chose his words very carefully.
The old man grinned. "It's been a while, Chen Baoli."
"Twenty-three years," Chen Baoli said without any intonation. Simply stating a fact.
"You counted?" the old man asked.
"Not on purpose."
The two stared at each other for a few moments. Meanwhile, Wuchen stood silently, observing the interaction that felt like a conversation between two mountains that had once collided.
Then Chen Baoli shifted his gaze to Wuchen.
Unhurried. Not rushed. He looked from bottom to top, then from top to bottom. The way an experienced martial artist assessed an opponent—not by appearance, but by the way someone stood.
"Is this your disciple?" Chen Baoli asked.
The old man answered casually, "Not a disciple. A slave I saved from his own stupidity."
Wuchen didn't react. He was already used to hearing nonsense from the old man.
Chen Baoli looked at Wuchen again. Longer this time. Then he said softly, "Come in."
*****
Inside the courtyard, Wuchen understood why the sound of training had been audible from outside.
The courtyard was wide and empty—no plants, no decorations, nothing except hard ground that had been trodden thousands of times. In the center stood a thick wooden post twice the height of a man. Its surface was covered in marks of attacks. There were cracks, holes, and dark stains that might have been a mixture of dried sweat and blood accumulated over the years.
In the corner of the courtyard was a wooden rack where various strange objects were neatly stored: stones of different sizes, iron rods of varying diameters, and a thick burlap sack that appeared to be filled with sand or rocks. Wuchen looked at it all with an expression slightly more alive than usual.
Chen Baoli sat on a wooden bench under a small awning on the side of the courtyard. He didn't offer drinks. He didn't invite them to sit. But there were two other benches nearby; it was clear enough that he had known there would be more than just himself coming.
The old man sat down without being asked. Wuchen followed.
"I heard there was some commotion in the city yesterday," Chen Baoli said.
"A little," the old man replied.
Chen Baoli looked at Wuchen. "Zhao Linyan?"
Wuchen nodded.
"The result?"
"A draw."
The old man immediately objected, "Not a draw. This kid was slightly superior. Zhao Linyan was the one who chose to stop."
Wuchen glanced at his master. "I didn't feel that way."
"Of course you didn't. You're too stubborn to admit your own victory," the old man retorted angrily.
"I just don't want to overvalue it." Wuchen shrugged.
Chen Baoli watched the small argument with an unchanged expression. But in his eyes there was something; very faint, but the old man caught it.
Something like… interest.
*****
"No inner energy," Chen Baoli said suddenly.
Not a question.
Wuchen looked at him. "Correct."
"Pure physical path?" Chen Baoli asked again.
"Yes."
Chen Baoli was silent for a moment. Then he spoke in the same flat tone as before, "How long have you been training?"
Wuchen thought for a moment. "Three full years on the mountain. Before that, two years of undirected self-training."
"Five years total." Chen Baoli concluded.
"Yes."
"And you could draw with Zhao Linyan?" Chen Baoli emphasized again.
"My master says I was slightly superior," Wuchen said. "But I'm not sure."
The old man snorted. "Bah! Pretentious humility!"
"I'm just being honest," Wuchen replied.
Chen Baoli observed the brief exchange between his two guests. Though short, an assessment had already formed in his mind.
"Zhao Linyan is strong," Chen Baoli said finally. "In the realm of inner energy users, he is in the high category. If you could match him in five years without inner energy, then…"
He paused.
Wuchen waited for him to continue.
"Then the path you're taking is no ordinary path."
The old man stretched his back. "I told you from the start. This kid is not ordinary."
Chen Baoli looked at him. "You're exaggerating."
"I never exaggerate about important things," the old man countered while spreading his arms.
Chen Baoli snorted, "You always exaggerate about everything."
The old man laughed loudly. "Ha ha ha! You still remember!"
Chen Baoli sneered, "How could I forget!"
Wuchen looked back and forth between the two old men. There was something in the way they spoke: short, direct, full of unspoken layers; showing that they were not just two people who had met before. They were two people who had gone through something big together.
"Master," Wuchen said. "You and him…"
"Rivals in combat," the old man cut in. "Twice. I won both times. But he never wants to admit it."
Chen Baoli said flatly, "You won by cheating."
The old man raised his index finger, "That's called strategy!"
Chen Baoli sneered, "You threw sand in my eyes."
The old man shook his head, "That's called using the environment to your advantage."
Wuchen rubbed his temples. For some reason, he felt a bit embarrassed hearing about his master's past behavior.
*****
After the conversation that produced no agreement on sand and the definition of strategy, Chen Baoli stood up.
"Come," he said shortly.
He walked to the center of the courtyard. Stopped in front of the large wooden post already full of attack marks. Then stood still.
Wuchen and the old man followed, standing a few steps behind.
Chen Baoli didn't do anything visible. No hand seals. No preparatory movements. He just… stood.
But slowly, something began to change.
The air around the man became different. It wasn't the usual inner energy pressure that felt like an outward push—this was different. It was more like gravity. As if everything around him was slowly being pulled toward one point.
Wuchen unconsciously tightened his stance.
This was not inner energy. Or at least not the inner energy he had ever felt before.
Chen Baoli raised one hand.
Then struck the wooden post.
There was no loud sound. No explosion. No wind sweeping in all directions like Zhao Linyan's attack yesterday.
Just one simple palm strike.
Thud.
One second passed.
Two seconds.
Then, very slowly—extremely slowly—the wooden post, nearly one and a half arm spans in diameter, began to crack from within. Cracks spread from the point of impact in all directions, like a growing spiderweb. Then, without any sound, the post shattered into small fragments that fell to the ground.
Silence.
Chen Baoli lowered his hand. His expression didn't change at all.
Wuchen stared at the pile of wood fragments in front of him. Then at Chen Baoli's hand. Then back to the wood fragments.
"That…" he searched for the right words. "…was a very efficient attack."
The old man behind him yawned. Then commented in a cynical tone, "Still the same as twenty-three years ago. Nothing interesting. Your attacks always go straight to the core. You just punch and your opponent dies."
Chen Baoli ignored the old man. He turned to look at Wuchen. "What did you feel?"
Wuchen thought for a moment. He answered honestly. "Gravity. Like something pulling inward, not pushing outward."
For the first time, Chen Baoli's expression changed slightly. His eyebrow rose half a millimeter.
"You could feel it?"
"A little."
Chen Baoli looked at the old man. The old man shrugged. "Told you. This stupid kid is talented. Especially since I personally polished him!"
Seeing the old man boasting about himself, Chen Baoli snorted and turned away indifferently. Maybe Chen Baoli was practicing some advice: You know how to deal with a show-off? Just ignore him!
*****
Chen Baoli sat down again. This time his attitude was slightly different. More direct, like someone who had decided not to waste any more time.
"Li Wuchen," he said.
"Yes."
"Do you know the difference between a strong martial artist and one who lasts long?"
Wuchen didn't answer. He felt this wasn't a question that needed an answer; rather, an opening for something more important.
Chen Baoli continued, "A strong martial artist relies on his peak power. A martial artist who lasts long builds his foundation."
He looked at Wuchen.
"You have an extraordinary physique for someone your age. But I see a flaw."
"Where?" Wuchen asked.
"You attack with full power too quickly. In a prolonged fight, that will drain you."
Wuchen was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I've never really fought for very long."
"How long was the fight with Zhao Linyan yesterday?"
"Maybe… one incense stick. No more."
Chen Baoli nodded. "Imagine three incense sticks. Five. Ten. What would happen to your body?"
Wuchen didn't answer immediately. He was thinking seriously.
"I would get tired," he said honestly. "Faster than an opponent who uses inner energy."
"Exactly."
Chen Baoli looked at him.
"The physical path has advantages that the inner energy path doesn't. But it also has weaknesses that must be understood from the beginning. If you don't build stamina endurance equal to your attacking power… you will only be a firecracker. Burning brightly for a moment, then gone."
The old man beside Wuchen made a small sound. "Who said I haven't taught him about that?"
"You taught him how to hit hard," Chen Baoli said flatly. "About lasting long in a fight, huh, that's a different matter!"
The old man fell silent. Something that rarely happened.
Wuchen looked at his master, who had suddenly gone quiet, with mixed feelings of surprise and slight satisfaction.
*****
"Stand up," Chen Baoli said to Wuchen.
Wuchen stood.
"Show me how you attack. Normal punch. Don't hold back."
Wuchen regulated his breathing. Then threw a punch into the air.
Thud!
Wind swept from the impact. Strong enough to move the dry leaves in the corner of the courtyard.
Chen Baoli observed. His eyes didn't leave Wuchen's hand.
"Again."
Thud!
"Again."
Thud! Thud! Thud!
After ten times, Chen Baoli raised his hand.
"Stop."
He approached. Stood right in front of Wuchen. Their distance was very close—close enough to make most people uncomfortable. But Chen Baoli didn't seem to care, and neither did Wuchen.
"Your wrist is too stiff when you strike. It does produce greater power at one point. But it also absorbs the recoil into your elbow and shoulder. In a long fight, your left shoulder will have problems before halfway."
Wuchen thought. Then said, "My left shoulder already has problems since yesterday."
Chen Baoli looked at him. "Zhao Linyan?"
"His final attack hit me."
"But you didn't show any weakness, right?"
Wuchen shrugged. "I'm not that stupid."
Chen Baoli was silent for a moment. Then said, "Take off your shirt."
The old man behind immediately scolded, "Oi, Baoli! Why does my disciple have to take off his shirt in front of you? Don't you know there are limits to decency!"
Chen Baoli didn't turn, but he snapped back, "You perverted old man! I want to check his injury."
"Oh." The old man said as he lay back down.
Wuchen removed his upper garment.
On his left shoulder was a fairly large bluish-black bruise. No bones were broken—if there were, he wouldn't have been able to move all night. But the impact had clearly left its mark.
Chen Baoli examined it carefully. His hand touched the bruised area with certain pressure at several points. Wuchen didn't make a sound, though it was clearly uncomfortable.
"Deep bruise. Nothing broken. But the muscle tissue is shaken."
Chen Baoli stepped back.
"If you were forced to fight today, this shoulder would be a big problem."
"How long until it heals?" Wuchen asked.
"With full rest? Three days." Chen Baoli answered.
"What if without full rest?" Wuchen asked seriously.
Chen Baoli looked at him. "You're even asking that?"
"Circumstances don't always allow full rest." Wuchen replied helplessly.
Silence for a moment.
Then, for the first time, Chen Baoli smiled. Thin. Very thin. But it was there.
"I understand why the old man went through the trouble of bringing you here."
*****
Chen Baoli went inside the building for a moment. He returned carrying a piece of cloth that had been soaked in something with a sharp smell—a mixture of herbs and something pungent.
Without much talk, he tied the cloth to Wuchen's left shoulder in a certain way. The pressure was precise. Not too tight, not too loose.
"This will reduce the swelling. In two days, the shoulder can be used for light training."
Wuchen felt a cool sensation spreading from the cloth. Uncomfortable, but something felt like the pressure had slightly eased.
"Thank you," he said.
Chen Baoli didn't answer. He simply sat back down.
The old man beside Wuchen whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, "See? Twenty-three years and he hasn't changed. No pleasantries at all."
Chen Baoli said expressionlessly, "I heard that."
"I did it on purpose," the old man grinned.
*****
They sat in silence for quite a while. Not an awkward silence, but one filled with each person's own thoughts.
Outside the high walls of the building, the sound of the city continued to pulse. But inside this courtyard, time seemed to move a little slower.
Chen Baoli was the one who finally spoke.
"Li Wuchen."
"Yes."
"Do you know why the physical path is considered inferior?"
Wuchen answered, "Because not having inner energy is considered to mean having no talent."
"That's not the only reason." Chen Baoli locked his fingers in front of his chest, staring ahead. "The current system was built by inner energy users. They are the ones who decide what is called strong. They are the ones who determine what is considered worthy. And they built that system to maintain their own superiority."
Wuchen remained silent. Listening.
"The physical path has never been officially recognized. No sect teaches it openly. No manuals document it properly. Because if there were… then the dominance of inner energy would be questioned."
"Dominance that you think shouldn't exist?" Wuchen asked.
Chen Baoli didn't answer directly. He stared at the training courtyard in front of him.
"I'm not talking about what should be. I'm only talking about what is." Then he said more softly, "What you need to understand is this: you are not competing in the same system as them. You are challenging the system itself. And that… is far heavier than simply defeating one or two talented martial artists."
Wuchen pondered that for a moment.
"Are you also walking the same path?" he asked.
"Partially," Chen Baoli answered. "I am an inner energy user. But I learned that inner energy alone is not enough. So I combined both: inner energy and physical development."
"And the result is like what you showed earlier. One strike that destroys from within."
"That was only a small part."
Wuchen looked at the pile of wooden post fragments still scattered on the courtyard ground.
"If I could reach even half of what you showed earlier…"
"Half would be enough to destroy Zhao Linyan in three moves." Chen Baoli cut in. "But the road to that half is not easy. And your time is limited."
"Why is my time limited?"
Chen Baoli looked at him. This time more seriously than before.
"Because you've already drawn attention. Yesterday, Zhao Linyan. Today, the people who witnessed it. Tomorrow…"
He didn't continue. But the meaning was clear.
The old man beside Wuchen remained silent. For the second time that morning.
Wuchen looked up at the sky above the courtyard. Bright. Clear. No clouds.
"Alright," he said finally.
"Alright what?" Chen Baoli asked.
"That means I have to be faster than their schedule."
Chen Baoli looked at him for a few moments. Then turned to the old man.
"Is he always like this?" Chen Baoli said with an expression as if he had just seen something strange.
The old man grinned widely. "Since day one."
*****
The sun had reached its midpoint when Wuchen and the old man left Chen Baoli's residence.
They walked back through the same streets. This time, Wuchen was much quieter than usual. His mind was still busy processing everything he had heard and seen that morning.
Gravity, not push.
Foundation, not peak.
His time was limited.
The old man beside him didn't disturb him. He seemed to understand that now was not the time for jokes. Or perhaps he himself was thinking about something.
They passed through the market that had been bustling earlier but was now quieter because of the midday sun growing hotter. Some vendors lowered their awnings. Buyers moved faster, not wanting to linger under the heat.
At a street corner, someone suddenly stood right in front of them.
Zhao Linyan.
The man wasn't bringing any subordinates. He wasn't carrying any visible weapons. He simply stood alone, wearing the same clothes as yesterday but this time without the cold expression he had shown before. His eyes were more… ordinary. More human.
Wuchen stopped.
The old man behind him also stopped. And immediately yawned lazily.
Zhao Linyan looked at Wuchen. For a moment. Then he said, "I'm not looking for trouble."
"I know," Wuchen replied.
Zhao Linyan looked slightly uncomfortable—something that clearly didn't happen to him often. "There's something I want to say."
"I'm ready to listen," Wuchen said.
"Yesterday…" Zhao Linyan took a short breath. "Yesterday's fight was the best fight I've had in the past three years."
Silence for a moment.
Wuchen looked at him. He didn't comment.
Zhao Linyan continued, "I don't acknowledge my defeat. But I acknowledge that you are not an ordinary person."
"I didn't ask for that acknowledgment," Wuchen said flatly.
"I know." Zhao Linyan looked at him more seriously. "That's exactly why… I'm saying it."
The two looked at each other for a few moments.
Behind Wuchen, the old man whispered, "This is almost like friendship. Touching."
Both Wuchen and Zhao Linyan turned with almost the same expression—an expression of people praying that the old man wouldn't speak any more.
*****
"There's one more thing," Zhao Linyan said.
"What is it?"
"This city is not as safe as it looks." His voice took on a lower tone. "After yesterday, your name has become a topic of conversation. And there are groups in this city that don't like things they don't understand, things that are new… things that are unnatural."
Wuchen frowned slightly. "Who are those people?"
Zhao Linyan didn't answer directly. He glanced briefly around with a small, almost imperceptible movement, but Wuchen caught it.
"Have you ever heard the name Iron Sky Clan?"
Wuchen shook his head.
"Good. If possible, keep it that way." Zhao Linyan prepared to turn away. "But if they come to you first… then the advice from yesterday's fight still applies. Don't delay. Don't negotiate."
After saying that, he walked away. Wuchen watched Zhao Linyan's back as it grew distant.
"Zhao Linyan, why are you telling me this?" he asked.
Zhao Linyan didn't turn back. He just kept walking.
"Because yesterday's fight isn't over yet," he said from afar. "And I want to finish it with my own hands. Not let someone else ruin you first."
The old man chuckled softly. "Ha… so he has his own way of making friends."
Wuchen watched Zhao Linyan as he moved further away. In his mind, a new name settled.
Iron Sky Clan.
*****
That afternoon, Wuchen spent time at the inn, resting as Chen Baoli had advised. His left shoulder did feel better with the herbal wrap, but he wasn't stupid enough to push it too soon.
He sat by the window of his room, looking down at the street below. People came and went. The city kept moving like a river—regardless of what happened at one point, the overall flow never stopped.
He was just about to lie down when there was a knock on the door.
Three times. Regular. Polite.
"Come in."
The door opened. Lin Xue'er stood at the threshold. Her hair was neat. Her clothes were clean. As soon as the door opened, Lin Xue'er's eyes scanned the place. She looked at the simple interior of the room with a neutral expression; she made no comment about how minimalistic it was.
"I don't remember inviting you," Wuchen said.
"Can you just not talk?" Lin Xue'er rolled her eyes and stepped inside.
"This is a man's room. A girl usually doesn't visit here, right?"
"I don't have time for that kind of formality." Lin Xue'er closed the door behind her with her foot. Then she said, "There's something you need to know." This time the girl looked serious.
Wuchen looked at her. Something in her tone made him sit up straighter.
"Iron Sky Clan," Lin Xue'er said.
Wuchen couldn't hide his slight reaction. "You know about them too?"
"Everyone who has moved in this world long enough knows about them." Lin Xue'er folded her arms in front of her chest—not a defensive posture, but a habit that seemed to be her comfortable stance. "They are not ordinary martial artists. They are… regulators."
"What do you mean? Regulators of what?" Wuchen didn't understand.
"In every big city, there is an invisible network of interests. Who is allowed to be strong, who is not. Who is allowed to rise, who must be held back." Lin Xue'er spoke calmly, like someone delivering cold facts.
"The Iron Sky Clan is one of those that holds influence in that network. Especially in this region."
Wuchen pondered that. "And yesterday I drew their attention."
"Not just attention," Lin Xue'er said. "You defeated Zhao Linyan's subordinate. Then fought him to a draw. And remember! Your situation is special because you have no inner energy."
"Half a draw," the old man muttered from behind the door, which had apparently been half-open since earlier.
Lin Xue'er glanced toward the door with a raised eyebrow. "You were eavesdropping?"
The old man walked in casually. "Who's eavesdropping? Young people these days have no manners! I just happened to overhear."
Lin Xue'er let out a short sigh. She didn't want to deal with the old man. She turned back to Wuchen and continued, "The Iron Sky Clan doesn't like anomalies. Someone without inner energy who managed to fight an inner energy user—that is a threat to the system they protect. Not because you are directly dangerous to them. But because you are proof that their system can be questioned."
Wuchen was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Are you telling me this because you feel it's necessary, or because there's another reason?"
Lin Xue'er looked at him. "Because the Purple Cloud Sect has interests in this city. And you… unintentionally became part of those interests."
"Unintentionally?" Wuchen didn't understand.
Lin Xue'er nodded. "Not necessarily intentional. But it has happened."
The old man in the corner of the room spoke, "This girl talks like a politician. I like it." He said while winking.
Lin Xue'er didn't respond. Her eyes remained on Wuchen as she said, "I didn't ask you to get involved in my sect's affairs. Therefore, whatever happens next, you always have a choice."
Wuchen sighed and finally said, "And I didn't ask for protection from your sect. Even so, thank you for the information." He cupped his hands sincerely.
Lin Xue'er nodded once. Short. Then turned toward the door.
She paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob.
"One more thing."
"What is it?" Wuchen asked.
"The Iron Sky Clan has a young leader who handles field matters in this city." Her voice dropped half a tone. "His name is Wei Si, Iron Hands. He combines inner energy techniques with physical reinforcement. And…" she paused briefly, "…no one has ever counted how many he could defeat."
She opened the door.
"Rest well."
The door closed.
Silence filled the room. The old man in the corner nodded slowly with an unreadable expression.
"Wei The Iron Hands," Wuchen muttered softly.
The old man took a swig from his gourd. "Well. Now you have the next name."
Wuchen stared at the ceiling of his room.
"When do you think he will come, Old Man?"
"Not when he comes," the old man said casually. "The question is when you will be ready when he does."
Wuchen closed his eyes.
Two days.
Chen Baoli said in two days the shoulder could be used for light training.
He needed more than light training.
*****
That night, in the city that never truly slept, Li Wuchen also didn't sleep.
He sat cross-legged in the middle of his narrow room. Not moving. Not making a sound. Only breathing with a steady and deep rhythm.
Beside him, the herbal wrap from Chen Baoli did its job—slowly, diligently, without drama.
Like everything that was truly important.
In the next room, the old man was already snoring loudly—a sound loud enough to wake people in other rooms, but not enough to disturb the calm of a young man who was learning to listen to his own body.
In that silence, Wuchen didn't think about Wei The Iron Hands. He didn't think about the Iron Sky Clan. He didn't think about the pressure coming from all directions.
He thought about one thing. Foundation.
A strong martial artist relies on his peak. A martial artist who lasts long builds his foundation.
Chen Baoli's words still echoed.
And in the darkness of that room, in the silence of the city that continued to pulse outside the window, Li Wuchen slowly began to understand the difference between the two.
He was not yet strong. But he was building. And there was a big difference between the two.
To be continued.