Chapter Sixteen: He Is a Cultivator!

Thunder Tian raised his voice, looking down at his troops, who were brimming with excitement. “Good! That’s what I call my soldiers! From today forward, you are one unit. You are comrades who can entrust their backs to each other, who can shield one another from bullets on the battlefield—brothers bound by life and death!”

He gestured grandly. “Now, as always—introduce yourselves, show what you’ve got, demonstrate the fruits of your training. Let’s begin!”

With those words, Thunder Tian leapt off the platform in a flash. The seasoned members of the Furious Dragon squad were unfazed by his antics, but Lei Dong could only shake his head in silence: what a wild bandit!

Still, this so-called “old custom” piqued Lei Dong’s curiosity. At the very least, it was a chance to observe the strength of his future comrades up close and personal. Yet, something struck him as odd: a minute passed, then two, and the man standing at position twenty-nine hadn’t moved a muscle.

“What’s going on?” Lei Dong muttered in annoyance, glancing from one person to another. Wasn’t this supposed to be self-introductions and demonstrations? Why was there not a whisper of action?

Clearly, someone else’s patience was running thin. Lei Dong had just finished his complaint when Thunder Tian’s eyes widened in irritation. “What are you all doing? Hurry up!”

The thirty men below looked at one another. The duty officer, Luo Haoran, sneered, “Who doesn’t know how this goes? Whoever goes up first gets scolded the most. Whoever wants to go, go ahead. I’m not going!”

Thunder Tian laughed and cursed, “You little rascals are getting out of hand! Move it, move it, or I’ll kick you up there myself!”

The group exchanged helpless glances. After some time, they shouted in unison, “Wu, you go first!”

Wu Yun shook his head like a drum. “Why me again? I’m not going!”

“Who told you to transfer to logistics? If you don’t go, who will? Is logistics the most important part of modern warfare?” The others quickly found their scapegoat, banding together gleefully, all pointing the finger at Wu Yun.

Wu Yun was about to argue, but Thunder Tian grew impatient and snapped, “Wu Yun, will you stop it? Don’t make me lose my temper! Watch out this semester—”

He didn’t even finish before Wu Yun’s face changed dramatically. “No, no, I’ll go!” he shouted, and, like a large monkey, sped onto the platform, leaving behind a group of gloating veterans and one utterly confused rookie standing below, dumbfounded.

“What’s going on? They can haggle over this?” Lei Dong glanced at the flustered Wu Yun on stage, then at Thunder Tian, whose face was dark but whose eyes held a hint of expectation. He thought to himself: “These two are truly something else…” But was Wu Yun forced into logistics? There’s a story here—what could it be?

Standing on the platform, Wu Yun no longer wore his usual cheerful smile that Lei Dong was accustomed to seeing. He stood at the center, his brows furrowed, delivering a salute entirely devoid of military vigor. “Wu Yun, Head of Transportation at the Logistics Department of the Reconnaissance Academy, hand-to-hand combat instructor for the Furious Dragon squad. My demonstration—Taiji Boxing!”

The veterans seemed used to Wu Yun’s introduction, giving him face by refraining from any odd reactions, but Lei Dong was somewhat stunned.

It wasn’t because Wu Yun was going to demonstrate Taiji. Lei Dong had some knowledge; although the military trained mostly in lethal combat techniques, unlike outsiders who believed Taiji was only suitable for slow-paced exercise among the elderly, he knew its depth. Taiji was profound, not only for cultivating mind and body, but also possessing formidable martial applications—a martial art with an aura of mysticism and philosophical insight.

However, like many traditional martial arts, mastery required a gifted teacher, exceptional understanding, and decades of dedicated practice. In the efficiency-driven military, such arts had little appeal.

Yet, to practice Taiji alongside military combat training was not particularly odd. What truly shocked them was Wu Yun’s claim: Head of Logistics, and concurrently a combat instructor for the Furious Dragon squad?

This man with narrow, mischievous eyes, always laughing and full of warmth, lacking any air of a master—he was a combat instructor for the Republic’s most elite force?

Under everyone’s gaze, Wu Yun drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his expression soon settling into tranquility. He raised his hands, relaxed his shoulders, sank his elbows, rounded his chest and straightened his back, assuming the opening posture. Then, Single Whip, Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail, White Crane Spreads Its Wings, Repulse Monkey, Diagonal Flying, Ascending, Casting Fist, Lowering Stance, Tiger Stance, Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane, Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg, Cloud Hands—each move flowed seamlessly from his hands…

Lei Dong’s gaze sharpened: Wu Yun was not performing the popular 74-form Taiji, nor the 26-form Chen-style, nor even Yang-style, but the original thirteen-form Old Frame Taiji—the primordial form of Taiji Boxing!

The true origin of Taiji is unclear, the most widespread tale being that Zhang Sanfeng, inspired by a snake and sparrow’s duel, created the art. It originally consisted of just thirteen forms, modeled after thirteen animals and their unique skills, a set of exercises called “Imitative Thirteen Forms.” The animals: lion, snake, sparrow, monkey, tiger, crane, bear, toad, dragon, phoenix, chicken, cat, horse—thus also known as “Thirteen Animal Forms.” Over centuries, with its effectiveness in combat and health, the art spread and evolved, growing ever richer but gradually losing its original shape, eventually becoming a soft exercise for elderly enthusiasts. True practitioners of the thirteen-form Old Frame Taiji had become exceedingly rare.

But Lei Dong knew this art was formidable. Even his eccentric master, who claimed to be hundreds of years old, once mentioned meeting a Taiji expert in his youth, whose skills were unmatched north of the river, and whose inner cultivation was so advanced he nearly stepped into the threshold of true cultivation.

From his master’s tales, Lei Dong knew that the Taiji adept practiced the thirteen-form Old Frame Taiji, and that each form had a corresponding verse known as the Taiji Elixir Formula—a name indicating cultivation techniques.

As Lei Dong watched, surprised and expectant, Wu Yun calmed himself completely. His gaze was inward, his body gave nothing away, his lips curved in a faint, elusive smile. His feet never left their spot, yet his movements never stalled; every gesture flowed like a gentle river, winding left and right, up and down, adapting to the landscape. It was as if he were a breeze, brushing the willows by the riverside, caressing the faces of passersby. Everything seemed so natural, so ethereal.

The thirteen forms of Old Frame Taiji were short and simple. Wu Yun’s movements were tender and slow, yet he finished the set quickly. But he did not stop. With “Cloud Hands” completed, he moved naturally into “Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg,” then “Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane,” then “Tiger Stance”... After completing the thirteen forms in reverse order, his sequence became unpredictable—sometimes “Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane” connected to “Cloud Hands” then to “Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg,” sometimes “Single Whip” flowed into “Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail” then “Casting Fist,” at times “White Crane Spreads Its Wings” turned into “Tiger Stance.” No matter the variation, there was never any hesitation or artificiality; the forms emerged as if ordained, naturally, with an unbroken, subtle energy weaving through the continuous movements. Even those unfamiliar with Taiji felt refreshed and uplifted watching him.

Twenty minutes passed, with Wu Yun performing the Old Frame Taiji over and over. Then his style changed. With a light slide of his foot, his body suddenly moved from its spot, now as if facing a tangible opponent rather than the air or audience. His left hand rose, right fingers curled, tracing a smooth arc before his chest. At the moment his hand was about to fully extend, his feet pressed gently, waist tensed, and his right hand suddenly exerted force—a subtle, explosive action, the latter half of “White Crane Spreads Its Wings.”

This movement was unremarkable, but to Lei Dong’s eye, it summoned the power of every muscle in his body—a rare “unified force” in martial arts. Lei Dong was certain: if this were a real fight, and Wu Yun released his strength fully, the opponent would suffer a thunderous blow. Combined with the “White Crane Spreads Its Wings” and Wu Yun’s gaze, if the enemy attacked with a straight punch, Wu Yun’s move would block, divert, and potentially break their arm.

Lei Dong’s eyes flashed as he scanned the room. Everyone was holding their breath, staring intently at the stage. Clearly, they all knew that the real, decisive combat demonstration had begun.

On stage, Wu Yun’s movements expanded. Though still unhurried, his rhythm now varied; his steps, his hands, his whole body’s exertion alternated—sometimes a full move, sometimes a half, sometimes just a quarter before changing again. The thirteen-form Old Frame Taiji now seemed infinitely variable, as if thousands of techniques could emerge from his hands.

His expression changed with each form—lion’s fierceness, monkey’s agility, crane’s elegance, bear’s solidity, snake’s cunning—mirroring the spirit of nature, as if these animal essences had seeped into his very marrow.

As Wu Yun continued, Lei Dong suddenly realized: a faint, subtle energy was gathering around Wu Yun, thin but steadily accumulating, forming an invisible field enclosing him with no gaps.

“What is this?” Lei Dong wondered in awe, as Wu Yun performed “Cloud Hands,” his arms drawing circles in the air—large and small, upright and diagonal, each movement gathering, circulating, and expanding flows of energy around him. His face took on a majestic, inviolable, overwhelming presence.

Suddenly, Wu Yun stomped his feet, fingers curled as his hands parted forcefully—“Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane!”

Boom! In the instant Wu Yun’s stance settled, a turbulent aura exploded from him, shaking the hall—over a hundred meters in every direction, reverberating through the steel and concrete structure.

“This can’t be!”

Nearly everyone was stunned by the sheer force of this aura, the hall fell dead silent. Lei Dong almost jumped up; perhaps others didn’t realize, but he saw clearly—Wu Yun was manipulating the omnipresent but thin spiritual energy of the world, swirling around him like a dark whirlwind, and what burst forth was not mere force, but true energy—the hallmark of one who has broken through the barrier of internal cultivation, stepping onto the path of true cultivation!

This always-smiling, harmless-looking man—the inexplicable Head of Logistics, the so-called combat instructor Wu Yun—he was a cultivator!