Chapter Sixty: Kung Fu Is the Art of Killing

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Although I was curious to see the two of them compete, I’d already wondered last night when Li Qing made his move—if my brother went up against him, who would win? But now that the fight was actually happening, I couldn’t stay calm. Fists and feet have no eyes; what if someone got hurt? I called out to Chen Dongfang, “Uncle Dongfang, you brought Li Qing here just to fight, didn’t you? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have brought you.”

Chen Dongfang simply picked up his cup of Biluochun and sipped it slowly, his eyes fixed on the two fighting in the courtyard. He ignored me, and since I couldn’t stop them anyway, I just sat down to watch as well. But as I observed, I felt my brother was at a disadvantage. He was tall, but Li Qing was the wiry, agile type—his movements quick and nimble. Each time he darted in close, it was either a punch or a kick before retreating immediately. My brother couldn’t even land a blow on him.

Naturally, I wanted my brother to win. He could be infuriating at times, but Li Qing’s expression was even more deserving of a beating. Seeing things go against my brother, I couldn’t help but get nervous.

“Don’t worry,” Chen Dongfang said, “Li Qing’s main skill is the Eighteen Linked Falls. It originally evolved from Shaolin’s Sleeping Arhat technique, but it’s become all about agility now. His technique is about using minimal force to deflect the strongest attacks, so he’ll have an advantage at the start.”

Actually, since last night when Chen Dongfang timed Li Qing’s attack, I’d suspected that he, who looked every inch the leader, might be a hidden master himself. I could only watch the fight as if it were two immortals dueling, unable to grasp the subtleties, but his casual commentary only deepened my suspicion. It was even possible Li Qing had been trained by him.

“Uncle Dongfang, do you know martial arts yourself?” I asked softly.

“Not everyone who coaches football can play,” he replied with a smile, not bothering to hide that he’d trained Li Qing himself.

I didn’t press further, since the fight wasn’t going well for my brother. Dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, his arms were already covered with red marks from Li Qing’s whip-like kicks.

Yet Li Qing, after all this time, didn’t show a sign of fatigue; his movements remained fluid and beautiful. I’d said before, my brother’s style was all about brute force, but Li Qing’s was a pleasure to watch.

After a beautifully executed spinning kick was blocked by my brother’s arm, Li Qing landed lightly, made Bruce Lee’s signature taunting gesture, and said, “Sun Zhongmou, stop holding back. If you keep hiding your strength, I’ll go upstairs—and if I happen to see something I shouldn’t, don’t blame me.”

“I just don’t want to smash the furniture,” my brother replied quietly.

“Fine, let’s take it outside. I’m starting to feel cramped in here too.” With that, Li Qing tapped the floor lightly and dashed out the door in one smooth motion.

My brother followed right after. Since Chen Qingshan and I were here to watch, we went outside too.

My brother’s courtyard wasn’t small, so the two continued their bout outside.

Li Qing remained agile and elegant, while my brother kept taking hits.

To be honest, the fight was starting to seem tedious—like watching someone beat up a muscle-bound man who had nowhere to unleash his strength.

Just then, Li Qing leapt high into the air, preparing a whip kick that looked like it could snap a tree in half. If that landed on my brother’s arm, it might well break it.

“He’s lost,” Chen Dongfang remarked.

I thought he meant my brother had lost. But in the next instant, the situation changed completely. As my brother raised his arm to block Li Qing’s high kick, he leaned back as if about to fall. Suddenly, he lunged forward with his right hand, grabbing Li Qing’s martial arts jacket.

With a sharp tug, Li Qing lost his balance and was flung to the ground. But just before he hit, he struck the earth with both palms, using the rebound to spring upright again.

But my brother didn’t give him the chance.

Swinging his left arm, still smarting from the kick, he seized Li Qing’s shirt and yanked upward. Li Qing reacted quickly, twisting in midair and tearing his jacket to break free, kicking my brother as he bounced away.

Before Li Qing could even steady himself, my brother was already upon him.

This time, my brother’s movements were strange—both hands clenched at his abdomen, his body tilted, one shoulder raised. He looked more like a bull, his shoulder like a horn, charging straight at Li Qing.

His speed was astonishing—nothing like the man taking a beating before. Li Qing, just having landed, had no time to dodge. I could see panic flash across his face.

At that moment, Chen Dongfang, who’d been standing beside me, vanished. The next instant, he was in front of Li Qing, raising one hand to block my brother’s charging shoulder.

Li Qing took the chance to leap aside.

My brother’s momentum carried him forward, but Chen Dongfang held him off with one hand, the friction of his shoes against the ground producing a harsh screech.

In the end, my brother pushed Chen Dongfang back eight steps.

“That was a fine Mountain-Pressing Shoulder,” Chen Dongfang said with a laugh.

My brother shrugged, shot him a glance, and went back inside without a word. After he left, Chen Dongfang rolled his shoulder and cursed with a smile, “He really is a bull!”

He turned to Li Qing and asked, “Do you know why you lost?”

Li Qing shook his head, smiling wryly.

“Martial arts are for killing. You wanted to show off too much, always chasing after beautiful moves. You’d be better off as a kung fu actor. In a life-and-death fight, no one cares about your performance. Sun Zhongmou’s shoulder charge may be ugly, like a bull’s brute force, but it could have taken your life,” Chen Dongfang said.

Li Qing rubbed his bald head, his wry smile turning sheepish.

“Let’s go, no need to embarrass ourselves any further. Yezi, say goodbye to your brother for us.” With that, Chen Dongfang led Li Qing away. Clearly, he’d come just to have Li Qing spar with my brother.

After they left, I went inside and saw my brother sitting on the sofa, shirtless, his whole upper body flushed red—Li Qing’s fists and feet had landed everywhere before my brother turned the tables. I couldn’t even face him; what the hell had I just done? I’d brought someone over to fight him, and then they just left?

“Brother, I didn’t expect it to turn out like this,” I said apologetically.

“It’s fine. Go ask Chen Dongfang if he needs my help tonight—I’ll come over if he does,” my brother replied.

He stood up, and only then did I notice a dark, shiny handprint on his left shoulder where Chen Dongfang had blocked him—deeper than any mark left by Li Qing’s blows.

“Are you alright?” I asked, worried, even forgetting to wonder why my brother suddenly offered to help tonight. Was Chen Dongfang planning to hold Grandpa’s funeral tonight?

“I’m fine. You go on.” He turned away and put his shirt back on.

Seeing the resolve in his eyes, I could only leave. After walking a few steps outside, I saw Chen Dongfang and Li Qing waiting for me.

“Sorry about that, nephew,” Chen Dongfang said with a smile.

I scratched my head. “It’s fine. My brother asked me to tell you: if you need help tonight, just call him—he’ll come.”

At those words, Chen Dongfang’s expression suddenly became strange, then he frowned. After about thirty seconds, his face relaxed into a slight smile. “No need. This is Chen family business.”

“What business? Family business? Are you really going to hold Grandpa’s funeral tonight?” I asked.

“No,” he replied.

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