Seventh, forge sinew and bone. Eight Extremes... Eight Extremes what? What were those final two stages?
I stood in the underground arena.
Bright lights, packed stands. Men in suits had loosened their ties; refined women had shed their composure. Everyone stared at the ring with the bloodthirsty eyes of hunters.
Two fighters were locked in stalemate and separated by the referee. After some negotiation, they agreed to add an intermission bout. Neither wore gloves — only bandages wrapped around their fists. They'd just fought an inconclusive round, and both young men were fired up.
I stepped onto the platform, took my stance, steady in my old man's clothes.
The referee signaled me — if I felt I couldn't continue, I should call it off.
I looked back. I wondered how Lily's day was going. Had she done her homework properly?
The two fighters had already noticed me. They approached, eager to take me on.
I thought of that medical report filled with diagnoses — bone cancer, expert consultations, anxiolytics, too many words I couldn't read. I just kept thinking, if only I were the one with bone cancer.
Then I could say to her: Lily, your grandpa earned three hundred thousand.
She would definitely hug me and say, "Grandpa, Grandpa, you're so amazing."
A fist came at me. I sidestepped, pushing up with yielding force, striking his armpit.
Baji.
First train raw force, second train yielding force.
I advanced with a palm strike, but before I could reach his chin, a sudden numbness in my lower back — the other one had kicked me.
My perception was failing. Arthur, you old coot, you'd laugh at me if you saw. Don't laugh, I'll kill you someday.
I stumbled two steps, pushed off my toes, steadied myself, and turned to dissipate the force.
Third train inch power, fourth train open form.
They closed in from both sides. Left threw a straight punch at my face; right threw a hook at my midsection.
Instead of retreating, I advanced. One hand pressed down the hook, the other blocked the straight punch. Steady as could be.
I pulled my hands back, then thrust both fists forward, detonating on their nose bridges.
Fifth train cannon hammer, sweep the six directions.
Suddenly my chest felt tight, my breathing labored. I really was getting old. I'd had a few more cannon hammer strikes to deliver, but barely held them back. The two young men didn't fall. They landed two consecutive punches to my midsection. My stomach caved in, and I spat blood.
Damn, why are the lights so dim?
Seventh, forge sinew and bone. Eight Extremes... Father, you never told me what those last two stages were. I've comprehended the seventh, but the eighth eludes me.
Seventh, forge sinew and bone. Eight Extremes...
Eight Extremes, No Regrets.
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13
A fine drizzle fell from the sky.
Arthur and Lily were at the entrance of a bank. He'd bought her a milk tea and sat under a tea pavilion, waiting for someone. A car pulled up, and several young men with luggage bags jumped out and went into the bank.
Then, a figure appeared on the distant horizon. That old man came stumbling along, clutching a schoolbag to his chest.
He said, "Leo, how come you're not dead yet?"
I walked slowly up to him and placed the bag in his hands.
I said, "Until I kill you myself, nobody's putting me in the ground."
Lily ran over with tears streaming down her face. She pounded my chest and said, "Bad Grandpa Leo, going out to fight again."
I crouched down and patted her head.
She wiped the blood from my face and asked, "Does it hurt?"
I said, "It doesn't hurt. If you study hard, it doesn't hurt."
I picked Lily up and said to Arthur, "Let's go home."
A gunshot rang out.
Behind us, several masked young men burst out. They carried luggage bags and looked around frantically.
A head poked out from a car. "What's wrong?"
One of them said, "Nothing. Just two old men."
The head in the car was also masked. He glanced back at me and froze. I froze too. I recognized the car, and the wounds on his neck.
I handed Lily to Arthur and said, "Take Lily and run."
He said, "What?"
I said, "Run!"
"He knows him. Kill him, now!" the young man shouted.
A gunshot. I shoved Arthur aside and fell to the ground. I wasn't hit. Arthur, holding Lily, sprinted around the corner and disappeared.
They came at me with guns. I knelt on the ground and slowly raised my hands.
A gun pressed against my head.
The young man said, "How come you're covered in injuries?"
I said, "Following your example. Getting into arguments."
He said, "At your age, you shouldn't hold grudges. Drink more chrysanthemum tea."
I said, "Duly noted."
He said, "You followed me here?"
I said, "Just passing through."
He sighed and said, "I guess it's fate. What a shame, old man. I really liked you."
I said, "Shame indeed, kid. You're a decent comedian."
He said, "See you, old man."
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly I heard Arthur's furious roar. He sprinted several steps, closed the distance, and delivered a close-body mountain strike. The young man went flying. Without losing momentum, Arthur threw two punches — two cannon hammers detonating on two masked faces.
I lunged at the last man, grabbing his shoulders tight. Arthur spun with another mountain strike. I yanked my hands free and delivered one of my own. The man was crushed between us and crumpled to the ground.
Silence fell, save for the bank's piercing alarm. We stood in the middle of the street.
I said, "Old coot, why did you come back?"
He said, "If I didn't, should I just wait for you to die?"
I said, "If I don't die, I'm definitely killing you."
He said, "Give it a rest. You've been saying that for sixty years... watch out!"
Another gunshot. He yanked me aside, and I hit the ground.
He slowly knelt, pressing his hands against the wound that had opened in his stomach.
The young man held a smoking gun. He tried to fire again, but police swarmed him from behind and pinned him down.
I said, "Old coot."
The old coot spat blood. He was fading, collapsed on the ground, his face turning blue, struggling to speak, unable to make a sound.
I said, "Old coot, don't talk. Talking only makes the wound worse. That's how Dad was killed by the foreign soldiers."
I crawled over and pressed down on his stomach.
I said, "Old coot, you're really dying. Why isn't it me killing you?"
Then a smile crossed his face. Finally, he had more blood on him than I did. His lips moved, his voice faint: "The breakfast shop is yours. Cure Lily's illness."
I said, "Who wants your rundown shop?"
He said, "I have to die, Leo. You understand? I have to die."
He gripped my hand fiercely. The muscles around his wound contracted, and more blood poured out.
He said, "Being sent to the hospital by police costs too much money. Save it for Lily."
I said, "Don't you dare move, damn it. I have ways to get money."
He just kept gripping my hand.
Finally, my voice trembling, I said, "I'll cure Lily's illness."
I felt his grip loosen. He gradually went soft. I didn't dare shake him, just kept my hand pressed against his stomach. You finally died in front of me, old coot. But how come I'm so unwilling to accept it?
Later, I heard Lily walk over. She asked between sobs, "What's wrong with Grandpa Arthur?"
I said, "Grandpa Arthur is homesick."
Arthur's arm struggled upward. Lily's small hand took hold of it.
She said, "Grandpa Leo, Grandpa Arthur, let's go home."
I turned around. Her body was bathed in sunlight. Her face, backlit, had grown blurry.
She watched us quietly.
For an instant, I felt transported, as if time had returned to my youth. Arthur and I were running toward the ridge between the rice paddies. Who was that sitting on the ridge? She wore a straw hat, head tilted back, watching the white clouds drift across the sky.
Arthur ran ahead of me. The old coot was always faster. I couldn't keep up, puffing and gasping for breath.
She heard my voice, turned around, and smiled at me.
I reached out my hand and said, "Sister."