Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 17 Strengthening Bones

Chen Zhuo, carrying a large bag of meat, wandered along the abandoned railway line like a ghost.

He didn't go back to the tenement.

Carrying over forty pounds of meat, the bloody smell was mostly frozen off, but it still pungent up close. These days, if someone stews a pot of meat, the aroma can waft for three blocks, let alone the raw, fishy smell of pork. If I were to carry this meat back, the whole courtyard would be in an uproar tomorrow.

These days, which family doesn't only have meat once every six months or so?

If people knew that he was an unregistered tricycle driver who could eat meat so freely, the neighbors' gossip would drown him without even the recycling company coming to find him.

Wealth should not be flaunted, and flesh should certainly not be exposed.

Under the cover of night, he headed west and circled around to the abandoned air-raid shelter near the Red Bridge.

This place was left over from the early years of "digging deep tunnels and storing grain widely." Later, it was abandoned, filled with water, and had many mosquitoes in the summer and was cold and damp in the winter. Usually, there wasn't a soul in sight. Chen Zhuo found a relatively dry entrance and crawled inside. It was pitch black inside, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

"call……"

Chen Zhuo took the meat bag off his back and threw it heavily to the ground.

The dull thud sounded reassuring.

The frantic run he had just made, coupled with carrying such a heavy load, had taken a toll on his stamina. The suppressed hunger had now resurfaced like wildfire, burning in his stomach.

He pulled out a box of "Botou" brand matches, a common old brand in Tianjin, which cost two cents a box.

Before coming to the cargo yard to "double-cross" him, he had already planned to have some meat outdoors that night, so he went back to get a box of meat as well.

With a hiss, a red phosphorescent flame traced a bright arc in the darkness, igniting the dry grass and rotten wood, and starting a fire. The flickering firelight illuminated the eerie air-raid shelter, and the shadows on the walls seemed to dance an eerie dance.

Chen Zhuo wasn't one to be fussy; he didn't bother with things like washing the meat, blanching it, or removing the fishy smell.

He picked out a piece of meat from the pile, a three-layered piece weighing about two or three pounds, cut it into palm-sized pieces with a spring knife, skewered it directly onto a cleaned tree branch, and roasted it over the fire.

Soon, the grease dripped into the fire, sizzling and releasing an enticing aroma.

The aroma of meat filled the narrow space. Chen Zhuo swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. This was the taste of being alive.

The meat was about 90% cooked, with a golden-brown skin and still some blood inside. He blew on it, grabbed the scalding hot meat, and without caring about the heat, took a bite.

"Sizzle—"

The scalding hot oil burst in my mouth and dripped down the corners of my lips.

The meat, without any seasoning, had a faint fishy smell, but in Chen Zhuo's mouth at this moment, it was even more delicious than dragon liver and phoenix marrow.

He chewed it in large mouthfuls.

They chewed up the skin, the meat, and even the little bit of cartilage and swallowed it all.

One piece, two pieces, three pieces...

He was like a starving lone wolf, devouring his prey alone in a dark cave.

He ate a full six or seven pounds of meat in that meal. Only when the burning sensation in his stomach finally subsided and was replaced by a warm current that began to spread throughout his body did Chen Zhuo stop.

"belch--"

Chen Zhuo let out a burp, feeling a surge of heat rise from his stomach and rush to the top of his head.

My whole body felt warm and cozy, like I was soaking in a hot bath.

He wiped the grease from his lips, let out a long breath, and felt that this was the life a martial artist should live.

As the saying goes, "The poor study literature, the rich study martial arts."

These four words aren't just empty words. Without the support of rich, meaty foods, practicing internal martial arts is tantamount to suicide. You'll empty your body, ruin it, and end up as a consumptive.

Now that we have enough energy, it's time to get down to business.

Chen Zhuo stood up, rewrapped the remaining large bag of meat, and hid it in an inconspicuous corner deep inside the air-raid shelter, weighing it down with a pile of rubble.

This place is cold and damp, a natural refrigerator; meat left here won't spoil for ten days or half a month.

After doing all this, he walked out of the cave and came to a wasteland outside.

The snow stopped, and the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the snow-covered ground in a stark white light. All around was quiet, save for the occasional bark of a dog in the distance, making the place seem exceptionally empty.

Chen Zhuo stretched his limbs, his joints cracking. The meat he had just eaten was rapidly digesting in his stomach, turning into a warm, surging sensation. He took a deep breath, spread his feet shoulder-width apart, and assumed the Three-Body Stance.

This station instantly gained momentum, like a large spear planted in the snow.

Head to the sky, feet gripping the ground, tongue touching the upper palate, anus contracted and kidneys tucked in.

Three-body pose.

This is the mother fist of Xingyiquan, and the source of all techniques.

Chen Zhuo closed his eyes and focused his mind on his body. With each breath, his chest rose and fell slightly, and a sound like a toad's croaking came from his abdomen. This was the "toad's croak," the sound of his internal organs rubbing and wriggling, a sign that he had reached a certain level in internal martial arts.

He was moving, moving that newly generated vital energy.

Six or seven pounds of pork is made up of real fat and protein.

Under the influence of this massive heat, Chen Zhuo felt his previously withered cells, like parched land receiving rain, greedily absorbing nutrients.

The heat flowed upwards along his spine, straightening his tailbone and reaching the crown of his head. He felt his vertebrae being stretched apart and then snapped back together, one vertebra at a time.

That tingling, numb sensation seeped from the depths of his bones, making him want to cry out.

Chen Zhuo quickly calmed his mind, focused intently, and firmly guarded the stake frame.

Xingyiquan trains one's breath and nourishes one bone, which is the spine.

Humans are vertebrates, and all the strength of our bodies is contained in this great dragon. If the great dragon is strong, the whole body is strong.

Time passed second by second, and the sweat on Chen Zhuo's body turned into billowing steam, rising from above his head like a boiling pot.

Suddenly, a very faint but very crisp "pop" sound came from his body.

It was like a bowstring snapping, or like ice cracking.

Chen Zhuo shuddered. Then, a series of crisp cracking sounds, "Bang! Bang! Bang!" exploded up his spine.

That's bone tinnitus!

Only when the Qi and blood are abundant to a certain extent, penetrating into the bone marrow and nourishing the periosteum, can this sound be produced.

Chen Zhuo suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze flashing with a sharp light.

He didn't move, but the snow under his feet seemed to be squeezed by an invisible force, and with a "crunch," two deep pits sank in.

An unprecedented sense of fulfillment filled his body.

His strength used to be scattered and weak. When he threw a punch, although it was powerful, it was just brute force from his muscles, and doing it too often would be harmful to his health.

And now.

His energy was restored.

Chen Zhuo suddenly opened his eyes, his eyes gleaming with a sharp light.

He stomped his foot and unleashed a half-step crushing fist!

"call!"

The fist sliced ​​through the air, creating a sharp whistling sound.

This punch landed in mid-air, yet it carried the force of a thousand pounds.

If there were any experts here, they would surely exclaim in surprise—this is a sound that "cannot be bought with a thousand pieces of gold." Although it hasn't reached the point of being deafening, the crisp sound of his sleeves rustling already shows that he has mastered the art of internal strength.

This also means that his "manifest strength" has finally been completely stabilized.

"good!"

Chen Zhuo finished his stance and exhaled a long breath.

That breath condensed into a white line in the cold air, lingering for a long time.

Those six or seven pounds of meat weren't wasted.

This risk was worthwhile.

He clenched his fist; his knuckles were thick, and his palm was large.

The skin, which was originally somewhat pale, now has a healthy rosy glow, a sign of vigorous blood and energy.

If he were to face Gangzi again now, he wouldn't need any scheming or magic touch at all.

One punch, just one punch, is enough to knock him down head-on.

The increase in strength brings not only an increase in martial prowess, but also a change in mindset, which is the source of confidence.

Chen Zhuo glanced at the sky; the moon was already setting in the west, so it must be around three or four in the morning.

It's time to go back.

Chen Zhuo glanced at the remaining meat.

There's still more than half a fan left, weighing about thirty kilograms.

He hesitated for a moment, but still felt it wasn't safe.

If you leave it on the ground, it could cause trouble if a homeless person or a stray dog ​​finds it.

He took the meat from the pile of bricks, wrapped it in a cloth, then moved a few loose bricks, dug a hole underneath, and buried the meat. He then weighed it down with heavy objects and sprinkled some lime powder to mask the smell.

After doing all this, he patted the dust off his hands.

It's time to go back.

……

When I returned to the courtyard, it was still dark, but the eastern horizon was already tinged with a pale light.

The courtyard was quiet; most people were still asleep. Chen Zhuo, like a cat, climbed over the courtyard wall and landed quietly in the courtyard.

As soon as I landed, I heard a series of light footsteps ahead.

"Who's there?"

A hoarse voice suddenly rang out.

Chen Zhuo's heart tightened, and his muscles tensed instantly, but he relaxed the next second.

It's Aunt Zhang who lives in the front yard. This old lady has a habit of getting up very early every day to empty her chamber pot.

Chen Zhuo emerged from the shadows, hunched over, hands tucked into his sleeves, feigning a shivering appearance. "Aunt Zhang, it's me, Chen Zhuo."

Aunt Zhang, carrying a chamber pot that reeked of urine, squinted at Chen Zhuo for a long time with her old eyes, her brows furrowed so deeply they could trap a fly: "Oh, it's Little Chen. Didn't you come back all night? What were you doing?"

The old woman had a very keen sense of smell. She sniffed and asked suspiciously, "What's that smell coming from all over you? It's a mix of dirt and...blood?"

Chen Zhuo had already prepared his lines in his mind, and a wry smile appeared on his face: "Don't even mention it, Auntie. Yesterday I took a job far away, all the way to Beicang. On the way back, the bike chain broke, and I spent most of the night fixing it. So, when I passed by the slaughterhouse, I wanted to ask for a bowl of hot water, but I ended up getting covered in the smell of slaughtering pigs. What bad luck!"

Upon hearing this, Aunt Zhang waved her hand dismissively, "Alright, alright, hurry back inside and wash up, this smell is awful. It's only for you rickshaw pullers that you suffer so much for a pittance."

"Yes, yes, I'll head back now. You go ahead with your work."

Chen Zhuo nodded obediently, stepped aside to let Aunt Zhang pass, and quickly walked towards the backyard.