Chapter 18: Do You Believe There Are Immortals in This World?

Lei Dong stood tall in the boxing ring, his gaze fixed on Song Jingang as he asked, “Are you alright?” His words carried a hint of concern. After all, Song Jingang was his comrade, not an enemy; this was a friendly bout between brothers-in-arms, not a deadly battle on the field.

Song Jingang had fully regained his senses. With a nimble kip-up, he stood before Lei Dong, his eyes showing neither shame nor anger, but instead admiration. He gave a hearty laugh, raised his thumb, and exclaimed, “Impressive! I yield to you!”

Lei Dong hadn’t expected such a reaction and immediately took a liking to this straightforward fellow. Grinning, he replied, “One day, you’ll be just as formidable!”

Song Jingang, surprised by Lei Dong’s apparent “arrogance,” was briefly stunned, but then laughed heartily. “You’re cocky, man. Awesome!”

Hopping off the ring, Song Jingang showed no sign of being bothered by his loss. With a cheerful tone, he turned to Wu Yun and said, “I think this guy’s got it, Boss Wu. Want to give it a try yourself?”

Wu Yun’s expression grew solemn. He nodded slightly and ascended the ring, offering Lei Dong a formal salute, hands clasped in front of his chest in an ancient style. In a deep voice, he said, “I know I’m likely no match for you, but as a warrior, as a martial artist, I still wish to challenge you. Please, grant me your instruction!”

Watching Wu Yun’s earnest, almost old-fashioned salute, Lei Dong felt a smile tug at his lips. Though he’d trained since childhood with his master—a so-called Taoist hermit who claimed to be over three centuries old—the old trickster had never been so serious, nor had he taught Lei Dong any ancient rituals. In the old man’s words, “We’re cultivating immortality, aiming to transcend the mundane. What use have we for those outdated formalities?”

Yet, faced with Wu Yun’s unprecedentedly solemn demeanor, Lei Dong found he couldn’t laugh. Instead, a profound respect rose from his heart.

In truth, the practice of martial arts and combat is much like cultivation—a grueling process of struggling against others, against fate, and most of all, against oneself. Without the will to constantly strive upwards, without the eagerness to hone one’s skills against powerful opponents, one’s achievements would always remain modest, with no hope of true breakthrough.

And as a soldier, even with the most advanced military technology, if you lose your nerve before a formidable opponent, you can never hope to be a true special forces operative. Fearless fighting spirit and psychological resilience are the most basic requirements for a special forces soldier—the very traits that set them apart from ordinary infantry.

Lei Dong knew that in some elite special operations units, after more than a day of forced marches without food, water, or rest—when the commandos were at their physical limits—seasoned veterans, professional fighters, even underground boxing champions would be set upon them in a brutal test, all to cultivate that indomitable will to fight and win.

Seeing Wu Yun’s expectant gaze, Lei Dong nodded gravely and said, “To be blunt, at our level, ordinary fighting techniques have little effect…” He stepped forward with his left foot into a false stance, hands spread—one high, one low, one forward, one back—taking up a posture. “Shall we listen to each other’s force?”

“Listen to each other’s force?” Wu Yun was momentarily puzzled, but then grinned and nodded. “Alright, let’s listen.”

Listening to force, or “ting jin,” is in fact another term for “push hands.”

Mention “push hands,” and many imagine two people standing face-to-face, hands joined, circling in place as if playing a game. Most people think “push hands” is exclusive to Tai Chi. But it’s far more complex—the art is not unique to Tai Chi, nor is it a mere game of tracing circles.

In most of the internal martial arts of the Republic, “push hands” is a common practice, requiring both practitioners to use their strength to pressure or lure the opponent into losing balance. The essence lies in movement within stillness, and stillness within movement; the mind must be free from distraction, wholly attuned to every ounce of force within oneself and one’s opponent. The fundamental training includes the four primary hand techniques—peng, lu, ji, an—and the four corner techniques—cai, lie, zhou, kao—while eschewing actual combat methods like grappling, throws, tearing, striking, or joint locks. The goal is to sense one’s own deficiencies in using force, to understand how to apply power in different situations, and to avoid developing flawed technique. It is an indispensable and highly effective method for mastering internal martial arts.

In this sense, “listening to force” is an even more fitting term than “push hands.”

As a Tai Chi master—perhaps the only person in modern times to have inadvertently crossed the threshold of cultivation through this art—Wu Yun was naturally well-versed in push hands. Standing with feet shoulder-width apart, he reached out and placed his hands on Lei Dong’s.

The moment their hands met and the push hands began, Wu Yun was shocked by a sudden, tremendous pressure surging from Lei Dong’s wrists, nearly sending him staggering. Though startled, he remained composed, his hands sinking abruptly to neutralize the force. Instantly, he guided with his left and pulled with his right, hoping to redirect Lei Dong’s hands outward.

By Wu Yun’s estimation, this “four ounces moving a thousand pounds” technique should not only diffuse Lei Dong’s force, but also allow him to counterattack by borrowing it. Yet to his amazement, just as he initiated his power, he found that instead of Lei Dong’s strength ebbing as expected, a fresh surge welled up from Lei Dong’s wrists. His attempts to redirect were as futile as a dragonfly striking a stone pillar—the opponent stood as immovable as a mountain, not so much as an arm trembling.

Suppressing his inner astonishment, Wu Yun didn’t wait for his move to exhaust itself. Instead, he drew his elbows back slightly, skillfully dissolving the force.

Yet as time went on, Wu Yun found, to his frustration, that no matter how much strength or skill he mustered—whether it was peng, lu, ji, an, cai, lie, zhou, or kao—he could only just barely neutralize Lei Dong’s overwhelming power. What was even more intimidating was that Lei Dong’s force seemed inexhaustible and elusive, appearing out of nowhere just as Wu Yun thought he’d gained the upper hand, adapting to every increase in strength and change in technique. The pressure came in relentless waves, like the pounding of the sea, or the weight of a towering mountain—vast and endless.

Even more unsettling was Lei Dong’s uncanny ability to learn. As Wu Yun cycled through his repertoire of techniques and applications, Lei Dong seemed to imitate them, bit by bit. After just ten-odd minutes, Lei Dong’s use of force had evolved from simple forward shoves to a comprehensive application of all the push hands skills—peng, lu, ji, an, cai, lie, zhou, and kao.

In an instant, Wu Yun’s burden grew so heavy he could barely endure it.

Unbeknownst to Wu Yun, Lei Dong was also inwardly astonished. He was well aware of his own strength—if he unleashed his full power, he could punch through a five-centimeter steel plate or shatter a boulder weighing ten thousand pounds with a single kick. But even using half his strength now, Wu Yun was still holding his own!

Lei Dong had practiced cultivation since childhood. His eccentric master had always emphasized increasing one’s internal power, and while he had admired martial artists who had achieved enlightenment through martial prowess, he never considered that the true path. And now, with the Celestial Lock restricting his energy, Lei Dong had come to rely on brute strength in combat—no matter the technique, he’d simply flatten his foe with a single punch.

Until this match with Wu Yun, Lei Dong had never doubted his beliefs. But now, he realized how mistaken he had been—Wu Yun’s ability to endure wasn’t due to superior strength, but to his endlessly shifting, exquisitely refined use of force. If not for Lei Dong’s overwhelming physical advantage, he would have been the one overwhelmed. To train the body without training technique is like a boat without a rudder—the ancients spoke true.

More importantly, as he imitated Wu Yun’s various methods, Lei Dong began to sense that although his skills were still crude, his understanding of force had deepened. He even began to perceive, however faintly, the flows of spiritual energy in the world, the movements of the sun, moon, and stars, and the transformations of all things—gaining insights he’d never known before.

A cascade of thoughts flooded his mind, leaving him momentarily distracted. In that daze, he felt Wu Yun’s hands twine around his wrists, a sudden burst of energy threatening to unbalance him. Without thinking, Lei Dong pushed forward with both hands, channeling his power in a mighty surge. He realized too late that the force would be too much for Wu Yun. He felt Wu Yun’s hands dip and rebound, a burst of force ricocheting upward, and in the scramble, Lei Dong’s hands shot up, sending a surge of energy crashing into the ceiling over twenty meters above. A thunderous bang resounded, and cries of alarm rose from the crowd below. Footsteps pounded as Wu Yun’s voice rang out, “Superb skill! I concede!”

Lei Dong looked over to see Wu Yun, having retreated several meters, now standing with his hands clasped in salute. Deep footprints were pressed into the floor where he had stood.

Steadying himself, Lei Dong gazed at Wu Yun and shook his head. “You didn’t lose. Your strength can’t match mine, but your mastery of force far surpasses mine. Let’s keep learning from each other…” He beckoned to the others below, gesturing mysteriously. “Besides, there’s a tremendous secret behind my strength…”

Seeing his serious expression, the others gathered around eagerly. With a conspiratorial air, Lei Dong lowered his voice and asked, “Tell me, do you believe there are immortals in this world?”