Chapter 3The Origin of Martial Arts

The world of plains-style martial arts...

At present, the entire plains-style martial arts world is peaceful. However, the martial world is built upon two pillars: blood and blades. When the time comes, the blade will leave its sheath and thirst for blood.

***

**Jianglin City...**

Jianglin City is a town situated at a crossroads. Its location at a major transportation hub makes it prosperous, with many wealthy merchants.

As a key trade route between the east and west, and the north and south of China, the city is always bustling with merchants, martial artists, and convoys of security escorts.

Another unique distinction of Jianglin City is owed to one man—a native son, born and raised there.

He was pure-hearted, kind, and highly skilled in martial arts. He helped others, rejecting the wicked and saving the virtuous.

"Southern Mountain Palm, Thunderous Fury."

Yes, my friend. His name was Southern Mountain Palm, Thunderous Fury. From the age of twenty, he roamed the martial world, and by now, he was around sixty years old.

After forty years in the martial world, he had retired, living peacefully among his disciples.

But one day, the entire city of Jianglin was shocked by a horrific incident. Southern Mountain Palm, Thunderous Fury, was found dead in the flower garden of his own estate.

There were no wounds on his body except for five holes in his head, from which blood slowly trickled. It was a brutal martial technique. The killer's skill was undeniably supreme.

After all, Southern Mountain Palm, Thunderous Fury was no ordinary man. He was a top-tier martial artist, with exceptional internal energy and mastery of the most advanced, hard-style techniques.

For someone like him to be killed so easily—there was no need to question the killer's prowess.

***

**The Kapa Sect...**

The Kapa Sect has always stood at the pinnacle of the martial world. Its reputation rivals that of legends like Shao Lin, Wu Tang, Emei, and Kunlun. Some even regard it as the brightest star in the martial world.

The sect's strength is immense, with branches spread throughout China, each led by highly skilled martial masters.

The sect leader, Gao Yanglie, is exceptionally powerful. His "Ghost-Subduing Forked Fist" is renowned for its intricate and deadly techniques.

One day, all four major branch headquarters of the Kapa Sect in the Jiannan region were destroyed. No survivors were left. Every corpse had five holes in the head.

The Kapa Sect is the most powerful faction in the martial world. Provoking them would be worse than poking a hornet's nest. Yet, the killer had openly challenged them.

Only a madman would dare provoke such a mighty sect. Or perhaps the killer's martial skill surpassed even that of the Shao Lin sect leader?

The Kapa Sect's top fighters, including the sect leader himself, descended into the martial world to investigate.

The entire martial world was in turmoil. The cycle of blood and steel had begun anew. The stench of blood filled the air.

***

**The Reaper of Blades, Shao Sang...**

The Reaper of Blades, Shao Sang, was a top assassin in the dark martial world.

His name alone could silence crying children and make dogs tuck their tails. His motto was: "One swing of the blade, one life taken."

Countless high-level martial artists had fallen to his "Eighteen Deadly Blade Techniques." His moves were ruthless, brutal, and every strike aimed for the kill.

A man whose blade would not rest until it drank blood—yet one evening, he could no longer draw his blade.

Because his head had parted from his body.

His severed head was displayed on the Jade Bridge in Haokan City for all to see. And on that head—five holes.

***

**Time...**

The Chinese sage Fu Jianxian once said, "Time is like a farmer's sickle." Time does not wait. It marches forward relentlessly, does it not?

Hour by hour, day by day, like the sickle cutting through rice stalks, the present becomes the past, and the future becomes the past. Such is the inevitable passage of time.

The world was shrouded in mist. Soon, the sun would rise, timidly peeking through the haze. It was the season when days grew short and nights long.

A young man walked slowly along a forest path, head bowed. His hair was unkempt, strands falling over his shoulders. His clothes were filthy, covered in layers of grime.

He looked like a beggar—or perhaps a madman. His face was ugly, with strange features and unusually long fingers, making him resemble a monkey.

This young man was none other than "Little Monkey" Wu Qiaozhuang. He had been searching for his missing father for months.

But how could he find a man whose face he didn't even know? Searching for a nameless man in the vast expanse of China was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

***

Little Monkey had been wandering for months, never neglecting his internal energy training—the foundational method of the Chuan Jin Sect. A warm energy circulated swiftly within him.

For him, this training was not just discipline—it staved off hunger.

Living hand-to-mouth, hunger was no stranger. But days without food turned starvation into a real problem.

After practicing this method, his hunger would subside, and his energy would replenish. His endurance improved, and walking became easier—perfect for his nomadic life.

Another benefit was heightened hearing. He could now discern distant sounds clearly.

***

Then... he heard a faint groan. The sound was so weak that the person seemed on the verge of death. Little Monkey rushed toward it.

What he saw left him stunned...

Bodies. So many bodies. A clearing filled with the dead, their deaths gruesome.

Some had their heads split open. Others had their bellies torn apart, intestines spilling out. Some had limbs severed.

The strangest detail? Nearly every corpse had five holes in the head. The killer was merciless.

Then, another groan. Little Monkey turned to see an elderly man, blood streaming from his head, barely conscious. The man had the bearing of a leader.

Seeing that the man was still alive, Little Monkey approached.

"Uncle, what happened here?"

Hearing the voice, the man strained to open his eyes. They were already dimming.

"Who... are you, young man?"

"My name is Little Monkey."

The man seemed disappointed.

"Ah... you're not from the martial world."

"That's right. I'm looking for my father. I don't know martial arts."

The man coughed weakly.

"Young man... I am the master of White Horse Fort. In my chest... my martial notes... Take them... Then, please... go to the Shao Lin Temple... Tell them... the Nine Yin Manual has resurfaced..."

Before he could finish, his head slumped forward, and he died.

***

The air reeked of blood. The sun was setting. Soon, the wolves would come, feasting on the corpses.

Little Monkey picked up a discarded shovel and dug a large pit. He gathered the bodies and buried them together.

In time, they would return to the earth. Wealth, status—what did they matter in death? A man's final possession was but six feet of dirt.

His act of kindness had cost him half a day. But it was not in vain—among the dead, he found a considerable sum of money. Enough to continue his journey.

More valuable was the martial notes of the White Horse Fort master. A thorn in his heart—the Kou family estate. To dig it up, to erase it from the martial world, he needed to master martial arts.

His physique was deemed unfit for martial training. He accepted this. But he would not give up. In time, even a thin ox could plow the fields.

After finishing the burial, he left the grove behind.

Above, the moon played among the stars, as if asking: *Where are you going, little human?*

***

**White Horse Fort...**

White Horse Fort was renowned in the martial world. Its lineage boasted powerful, brave, and heroic martial artists.

The fort master, Chang Manyu's "Cloud-Piercing Palm—Twelve Strikes" was a respected technique.

Now, the master of White Horse Fort and his comrades lay dead in an unnamed grove. White Horse Fort had vanished from the martial world.

Little Monkey studied the martial notes as he traveled. They contained the fort master's lifetime of techniques—though only a fraction.

Still, it was better than nothing. Little Monkey mastered the ten unarmed techniques recorded in the notes.

Practice makes perfect. The more sweat, the less bloodshed. Mastering one skill thoroughly was better than dabbling in many.

His only other training was the internal energy method taught by an old man. He practiced it daily without fail.

Now, he had also mastered the ten unarmed techniques from the notes. He could execute them even in his sleep—or if he stumbled. He had drilled them until they were second nature.

As he walked, he practiced. His destination? The Shao Lin Temple—the beacon of the martial world, the source of all martial arts.

***