Fortunately, Jason Luo's waist and leg Strength had been systematically enhanced. One way or another, he managed to hold out until Master Liu finished cooking.
When Liu Jiguang set the dishes on the table, he didn't even look back. "Alright, eat."
With a loud thud, Jason dropped the stone in relief and wobbled to the table. Seeing the tofu and vegetables before him, he couldn't help but praise, "Master, this smells amazing. Just looking at it makes me hungry."
Erhu, that dog, merely shook his head again and walked away disdainfully.
Liu Jiguang said nothing. Jason didn't bother waiting either—he filled his own bowl with rice, picked up a big mouthful of vegetables, and took a bite.
The moment the food touched his tongue, though, his expression froze. It was undercooked and overly salty. How was anyone supposed to eat this?
No wonder Erhu had that look earlier—apparently, Master Liu's cooking had always been like this.
But what could he do?
Jason was starving, so he forced himself to eat anyway.
Liu Jiguang, on the other hand, barely touched his own food. Instead, he spoke slowly. "Kung fu isn't as mysterious as people think. When someone dedicates time and effort to something over the long term, they naturally accumulate skill and experience. There's nothing strange about that."
"A chef in a restaurant can cut noodles evenly with his eyes closed. A butcher like Old Deng can slice perfect portions without using a scale. That's kung fu too. That's why people say learning martial arts means practicing kung fu—because kung fu is cultivated through repetition."
Jason paused mid-bite, listening intently. Liu Jiguang pointed at the food on the table. "But that's not the whole truth. I've been cooking for years, and my food is still barely edible. Why do you think that is?"
Jason blinked. Was he really supposed to answer that?
"There are many reasons," Liu went on, "but the most important one is that I never put my heart into it—and I never had a teacher. Do you understand what I mean?"
Jason nodded quickly. "I do. You're saying that to master kung fu, it's not just about perseverance—you also need focus and proper guidance."
Liu Jiguang nodded approvingly. "Teaching is important. I can point you in the right direction quickly, but most of the time, you have to rely on your own comprehension. Much of this is something you feel rather than understand through words. Martial artists like us often lack the eloquence to explain it clearly, so you must find that feeling yourself. That's why we say, 'A master leads you to the door—cultivation is up to you.'"
He continued, "That little test earlier wasn't bad. You used a bit of technique, which is good—knowing how to adapt is key. From what I saw, your arm Strength surpasses your leg Strength, and your leg Strength exceeds your core Strength. Still, the foundation is decent. We can start proper training."
Jason's face lit up. "That's great, Master! What should we begin with?"
"Don't call me Master. I don't take disciples, and you don't meet the requirements anyway. In three days, I'll only teach you waist-horse training methods and power generation techniques—nothing else. So this won't count as traditional instruction. True martial learning begins with moral discipline. Unless you're willing to stay here as an apprentice for three years so I can truly understand your character, there's nothing more to discuss."
"Uh…" Jason fell silent. No wonder real kung fu was dying out. Just that condition alone would drive most people away. Looks like there was no way for him to stay that long.
Liu didn't seem to expect him to, either. "Eat up. After this, I'll show you what waist-horse Technique really means."
The moment Jason heard that, he shoveled down the rest of his rice in a few quick bites—though he left the vegetables alone.
Without another word, Liu led him up the back mountain.
Halfway up was a flat, man-made training ground. It was clear this was where Master Liu practiced daily.
He began by chopping down four fresh bamboo stalks, each as thick as a bowl. Two of them he fixed into wooden stakes embedded in the ground, anchoring their ends firmly.
"Watch carefully."
Liu Jiguang stood before the stakes in a solid horse stance, clamping the bamboo near the ends with his legs. With a loud shout, he tightened his stance—and the bamboo creaked and twisted under pressure until it suddenly snapped clean in two.
Jason inhaled sharply.
That was real kung fu!
Fresh bamboo had incredible flexibility, especially at that thickness. The force needed to break it like that was unimaginable.
Master Liu's face was flushed from the exertion. "See clearly? Your turn."
He replaced the bamboo and had Jason stand near the thinner end, where the stalks were only about two fingers thick. Jason closed his legs slowly. At first, there was little resistance, but as his legs drew closer—about the width of two fists apart—the elastic force kicked in, doubling with every inch.
When he reached a fist-and-a-half distance, the resistance was almost equal to his own Strength.
The bamboo creaked loudly, and Jason's feet began to slip outward under the force. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Good. Hold it right there. Stay steady. Adjust your breathing. Feel it out. If it's too much, move a little closer to the tip. Take your time."
With that, Liu turned and walked down the mountain.
Jason was left struggling. Bamboo had endless resilience, while his Strength was limited. In less than five minutes, his legs had been forced open to a two-fist gap.
He was furious. They were both human—how could Liu snap bamboo so easily while he couldn't even close it at the thinnest end?
Determined, he gritted his teeth and forced his legs together again to that one-and-a-half-fist distance—but he couldn't hold it. Within seconds, he lost control, and the bamboo sprang back open.
The inside of his thighs burned and trembled, completely exhausted. He couldn't keep it up any longer and had to shift a few inches closer to the tip. Just that small adjustment made the strain drop sharply, giving his legs some relief.
He looked back at where Liu had broken the bamboo. The difference in position was nearly two meters. Damn—that was a massive gap.
Liu had told him to "feel it out," but what was there to feel?
It seemed simple enough—his Strength just wasn't enough!
But that couldn't be the whole story. Even if Liu was stronger, he was still human. Could his leg Strength really be ten times Jason's?
Jason didn't quite believe it—but the broken bamboo was right there in front of him, undeniable. There had to be some hidden trick.
He kept experimenting, resting between attempts, but after half an hour, he still hadn't figured anything out.
Then Liu appeared, carrying two blocks of tofu. He set them on a stone table and walked over. "Well? Any insights?"
Jason shook his head, dejected.
Liu chuckled. He tightened his legs around the bamboo again, motioning for Jason to step aside. Then he pulled two large iron nails from his pocket and, without a hammer, drove them straight into the ground with his fists, pinning the bamboo in place.
"Now, do you see it?"
Jason's eyes lit up—he almost understood, but couldn't quite put it into words. He circled the nails several times, feeling on the verge of something but unable to grasp it fully.
Liu didn't press him. "The bamboo bends outward while you squeeze inward. The two forces cancel each other horizontally—that's brute force. But when a nail anchors the bamboo to the earth, its downward force redirects the bamboo's tension. That's finesse. Human Strength is limited, but finesse is boundless. That's the true essence of kung fu."
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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