Madman!

Chapter 46: Tiger Descending Mountain

Zhou Qing walked into the warehouse, and Chen Wujun immediately leapt out of the sand pit.

Wooden dummies and punch targets were available at the martial arts hall, but the sand pit could only be found here. That was why Chen Wujun practiced his Mud-Wading Step every time he came to the warehouse.

Even though his Mud-Wading Step had already achieved both proper form and spirit, he hadn't relaxed his training one bit.

"Master!" Chen Wujun called out, traces of sweat glistening on his skin as he walked barefoot toward Zhou Qing.

All he wore was a pair of shorts.

Zhou Qing studied Chen Wujun's bare upper body. His gaze was sharp as a torch, and in a single glance he could tell that Chen Wujun's torso had already taken on the Crane Form.

Only one week, and his body had already developed the Crane Form.

What extraordinary talent!

What a brilliant seedling!

If any other master had taken in such a gifted disciple, they would surely groom him as their prized pupil — providing food, shelter, clothing, and everything needed for martial training.But Zhou Qing harbored no such thoughts.

Those who never fought, never seized — they would never amount to anything great.

His disciples had to fight and seize from the very beginning.

"Your Crane Form is coming along nicely. You've got the feel for it," Zhou Qing remarked with a slight nod, speaking as he walked deeper into the warehouse:

"Today I'll teach you Tiger Descending Mountain. This stance is a fusion of the old Xingyi Tiger Form Stance, Shaolin's Crouching Tiger Stance, and Southern Fist's Tiger Stance. It trains integrated force and explosive power — like a volcanic eruption. Nothing builds raw strength and burst power faster."

"Master this stance properly, and within a few months, your strength will leap to a whole new level!"

When Zhou Qing spoke about Tiger Descending Mountain, his tone was noticeably different from when he discussed other stances. Gone was the flat, matter-of-fact delivery — in its place was unmistakable pride.

"Master, did you create this stance?" A flash of insight struck Chen Wujun, and he asked from behind Zhou Qing.

"Let's say I made some improvements on what the predecessors left behind." Zhou Qing offered no further explanation. He turned around, dropped into a squat, hollowed his chest and arched his back, then raised his head.

The moment Chen Wujun locked eyes with him, a violent shiver ran down his spine.

He felt as though the Zhou Qing before him had transformed into a massive predatory cat, poised to pounce at any moment.

Those eyes, especially — Chen Wujun felt like prey. The instant he moved, the beast before him would lunge forward and tear him apart.

But in the span of a heartbeat, Zhou Qing straightened up.

"Did you see it clearly?"

"No..." Chen Wujun admitted honestly. This time, he truly hadn't seen it. His entire mind had been seized — all he'd perceived was a great cat crouched before him, ready to strike.

The words had barely left his mouth when something clicked. His eyes widened with sudden understanding. "I get it now — the key to this stance is the pounce, not the standing!"

Hearing this, Zhou Qing — who had been about to speak — froze mid-breath.

The guidance he'd prepared caught in his throat, and he swallowed it back down.

He looked Chen Wujun up and down with open astonishment, then gave a slow nod. "You're right. The key to this stance is the pounce, not the standing."

For a powerful martial artist to spot the essence of this stance at a glance would be entirely unremarkable.

Their experience and insight made it obvious.

But Little Sixteen had only been training for half a year, and he'd grasped the core principle in an instant. That was genuinely rare.

"Watch my movements!" Zhou Qing assumed the Tiger Descending Mountain stance once more and began to explain:

"When you learned Wolf Fist, you should have studied the Five Bows. This stance uses the spine as the bow and the waist and hips as the string, compressing every bone, muscle, and tendon from head to toe into one massive coiled spring."

"Inhaling is 'loading' — pressing the spring to its limit. Exhaling is 'releasing' — but in this stance, you only load, never release. You hold yourself perpetually at the critical point of eruption..."

...

Moments later, Chen Wujun crouched like a tiger, eyes locked intently forward, both hands shaped into tiger claws angled toward the ground.

This time he'd been smart enough to tuck a crystal under his tongue beforehand.

"Power rises from the earth, stores in the back, and releases through the claws — channel all your force into the great bow of the spine!"

"Inhale short and deep. Feel as though you're drawing every ounce of strength and breath into yourself, compressing it between your back and core."

"Exhale slow and thin. Hold yourself at the edge of your limit."

Zhou Qing's instructions poured steadily into his ears. Chen Wujun had been holding the stance for barely five minutes before a dense layer of sweat covered his forehead.

Every muscle in his body was tensed to the breaking point. He could feel them trembling from the strain — thighs, glutes, lower back, all screaming with escalating agony, as though his muscles were being slowly torn apart, fiber by fiber.

Zhou Qing stood to the side, watching Chen Wujun's body quiver with fine, uncontrollable tremors.

He wanted to see how long Chen Wujun could endure on his first attempt.

This stance demanded extraordinary willpower.

Even though martial artists possessed far greater mental fortitude than ordinary people, among all the disciples he'd taught, only two had lasted a full half-hour on their very first try.

Chen Wujun was gritting his teeth, holding on with everything he had.

Even back when he first began training his knees — when his kneecaps were ground raw over and over, healing only to be shredded again, each raise of the knee like driving a blade into his own flesh — even that had not been this excruciating.

This was a pain that seeped from the marrow, a tearing, swelling ache that saturated every inch of his body.

He lost track of time. When Zhou Qing's gaze shifted from scrutiny to admiration, Chen Wujun felt all the strength in his body being forged into a unified whole, surging inside him with overwhelming fullness, as though it could erupt at any moment.

At the same time, a primal, savage bloodlust kept welling up from deep within his heart.

He wanted to tear something apart — yet could only endure, biting down against the urge.

Pain, bloodlust, and restraint — all of it crammed inside his body, forcing low, guttural growls from his throat.

Like a caged tiger, pacing and snarling with ceaseless, agitated fury.

Chen Wujun had long since felt his body hit its absolute limit. His willpower teetered constantly on the edge of collapse. But Zhou Qing hadn't told him to stop, so he clenched his jaw and held the last thread of his sanity together.

He was going to rise above. He was going to escape this reeking cesspit of a Walled City.

He would live in a mansion, drive luxury cars, marry a celebrity.

He would stand above them all!

He had no idea how much time had passed.

"That's enough!"

The instant those words rang out, the last shred of clarity Chen Wujun possessed unleashed all the tension he'd been holding. A roar tore from his throat, and then he collapsed face-first onto the ground, unable to move a muscle.

"Forty-five minutes!" Zhou Qing nodded slowly, his eyes brimming with approval.

Before today, only two people had surpassed thirty minutes on their first attempt at this stance, and only one had reached forty-five.

That person was Shark Jiu.

Shark Jiu wasn't the most talented among his disciples — upper-middle at best — but her willpower was the absolute peak, and she was ruthless enough with herself.

And Little Sixteen... in both talent and willpower, he was the finest disciple Zhou Qing had ever taken.

What made it especially impressive was... he was equally ruthless with himself.

"You may practice Tiger Descending Mountain at most three times per week. Any more than that and your body won't recover in time."

...

"Hah... hah..." Chen Wujun lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for air. His body had completely ceased obeying him.

He couldn't even acknowledge Zhou Qing's departure.

But though his body was immobile, his mind still churned.

'Old Bear Hugging Tree is heaviness. White Crane Exploring Branch is lightness. Tiger Descending Mountain is hardness. Spirit Ape Hanging Beam must be softness... Heavy, light, hard, soft — master all four aspects, and your kung fu is truly complete...'

As control slowly returned to his limbs, Chen Wujun forced himself upright and staggered toward the wooden stake. He threw a vicious punch straight into it.

The physical tension drained away — but the primal, savage bloodlust in his heart refused to dissipate.

He desperately needed to vent.

He pounded the wooden stake for what felt like an eternity, yet the bloodthirsty hunger inside him still wouldn't subside.

He pulled on his clothes, left the warehouse, and the moment he returned to the Walled City, made a beeline for the Hetu Martial Arts Hall.

This was his first time visiting.

The hall covered roughly five thousand square feet, occupying the first and second floors of a building.

The ground floor was packed with equipment. Dozens of muscular foot soldiers pumped iron at various stations, drenched in sweat.

A young man standing about six-foot-three and weighing well over one hundred fifty kilograms was pressing a four-hundred-kilogram barbell overhead while a small crowd gathered to watch.

"Looking for someone or signing up?" Two young men behind a front counter glanced at Chen Wujun as he walked in.

"Where's Cun Bao?" Chen Wujun asked directly.

"Brother Jun?" One of the foot soldiers heard Cun Bao's name and turned to look, instantly recognizing Chen Wujun.

"Brother Cun Bao's on the second floor!"

Chen Wujun nodded and headed straight up the stairs.

Hearing the name, the two young men behind the counter looked confused for a moment before it suddenly hit them who this was.

Shark Jiu's new recruit.

More importantly, the wager between Shark Jiu and Wen Long — that was all anyone had been talking about the past few days.

The second floor held four fighting rings, surrounded by rows of sandbags, wooden stakes, and various pieces of unfamiliar training equipment.

Three of the four rings were currently occupied, fighters going at it.

Chen Wujun swept his gaze across them and noticed they were all using a modern combat system — stylistically similar to the "Cold Steel" fighting technique from Wei, though considerably more simplified.

Watching the fighters exchange blows on the rings, the bloodlust surging through Chen Wujun's veins burned even fiercer. His eyes blazed with the unmistakable itch to step in.