33: Chapter 33 The First "Martial Arts Fan": A Student from the Martial Arts Department of a Sports University

Section 1: The Faded Taiji Uniform

In the martial arts hall of Shanghai Physical Education University, the morning mist had not yet fully dissipated. Lin Mo squatted on the floor, his fingers brushing over the frayed edges of his Taiji uniform's cuffs. The character for "Martial" on the fabric had been washed until it was white, looking like a flower on the verge of withering.

"Lin Mo, what are you dazing off for? It's time to practice your routines!" The coach's roar came from the center of the hall, shaking the dust off the beams until it fell in flurries.

He stood up abruptly and grabbed the Taiji Sword from the floor, its metal blade glinting coldly in the morning light. He had practiced this Taiji Sword set for seven years, from a green youth to a junior in college. The tassels on the sword hilt had been worn down and replaced three times, yet every time he entered a competition, the judges always said he was "missing something."

"What am I missing?" Lin Mo thought as he practiced his swordplay, the tip of the blade slicing through the air but failing to carry even a hint of force. Was his turn not smooth enough? Or was his breathing out of sync? It wasn't until he saw Chen Wu's livestream yesterday—when that man used the "Crushing Power" of the Baji Fist to shatter a steel plate—that he suddenly understood: what he lacked wasn't technique, but the "thing" itself.

His phone vibrated in his pocket; it was a message from the Martial Arts Club group: "Big news! Chen Wu is coming to our School for an exchange today! It's at 3:00 PM!"

Lin Mo's hand trembled, and his Taiji Sword almost fell to the floor. He clicked on the livestream preview in the message; next to Chen Wu's photo was written "Discussion on the Fusion of Martial Dao and Modern Sports." The man in the photo was wearing simple training clothes, yet his gaze was sharper than any Great Master he had ever seen, like a sword hidden in its scabbard.

"You want to go see him too?" His roommate leaned in, holding a freshly printed GIF of Chen Wu doing a thousand Weighted Squats. "Don't be silly, his stuff is all special effects. Our department head said, how could real kung fu be so flashy?"

Lin Mo didn't say a word, only gripping his Taiji Sword tighter. He had secretly recorded a video of Chen Wu performing Baji Fist. After slowing it down thirty times, he discovered that every one of the man's movements secretly aligned with the "Upright Posture" mentioned in the "Treatise on Taiji Quan." It was just that his way of exerting force was more direct, like a blunt axe splitting wood—unconcerned with formal rules, yet pulsing with a brutal vitality.

At noon, a long queue had already formed outside the martial arts hall. Lin Mo stood at the very front of the line, clutching a dog-eared copy of the "History of Chinese Martial Arts," the collar of his Taiji uniform wrinkled with sweat. Some passing girls laughed and took photos: "Look at that martial arts student, dressed like an unearthed relic."

He looked down at his clothes and suddenly felt a bit ridiculous. Chen Wu always wore the most ordinary training clothes, yet the punches he threw could shake the earth; meanwhile, he was wrapped in this "orthodox" Taiji uniform, but he couldn't even hold his sword steady.

Section 2: A Trembling Question

Inside the gymnasium at 3:00 PM, every seat was occupied. Lin Mo was squeezed into the first row, the scent of floor wax on the stage reaching his nose. When Chen Wu walked onto the stage, Lin Mo's palms suddenly began to sweat with nervousness—the man was taller than he appeared in the livestream, his shoulders as broad as a mountain. Standing there, the entire stage seemed to tilt toward him.

"...So the core of the Martial Dao is not routines, but the flow of energy," Chen Wu's voice came through the microphone, falling clearly into everyone's ears. "Like water, it is square when in a cup and round when in a bowl, but its essence is always water."

The murmurs from the audience surged like a tide:

"Isn't this metaphysics? Our teacher says martial arts is just scientific force application."

"Look at the calluses on his hands! He's definitely practiced for real."

"I heard the General Administration of Sport of China has even collaborated with him. How could he be bad?"

During the Q&A session, Lin Mo practically jumped up. He held up the "History of Chinese Martial Arts," his fingers turning white from the force of his grip. "Mr. Chen! Do you think the 'Qi' of traditional martial arts and the 'energy' you speak of are the same thing?"

Chen Wu's gaze fell on him, lingering for three seconds. "You practice Taiji?"

Lin Mo was stunned for a moment, then instinctively straightened his back. "Yes! I've practiced for seven years!"

"Come up and try," Chen Wu beckoned to him.

His heart suddenly raced, like a drum beating wildly in his chest. As he walked onto the stage, his knees shook so much he nearly tripped over himself. Standing before him, Chen Wu was even more oppressive than he had imagined; the "Qi" on his body was like an invisible film, making the surrounding air feel thick.

"Show me a Taiji routine," Chen Wu's voice was calm.

Lin Mo took a deep breath—Starting Posture, Cloud Hands, Parting the Wild Horse's Mane... The familiar movements felt exceptionally stiff, especially under the scrutiny of Chen Wu's gaze. He felt like a clown performing a sword dance before a master.

"Stop," Chen Wu said suddenly. "You are imitating the flow of water, but you haven't become the water."

He reached out and held his palm against Lin Mo's shoulder. There was no contact, yet a warm power emanated from it. Lin Mo suddenly felt the Qi and blood in his body being stirred by something; his originally blocked Meridians instantly cleared, and even his breathing became smooth.

"Did you feel it?" Chen Wu withdrew his hand. "This is 'Qi.' It's not metaphysics; it's something that was already in your body. It's just that you've been trapped by routines and forgotten how to use it."

The camera flashes below went wild, and Lin Mo's face turned bright red. He was suddenly struck by a moment of inspiration; discarding all formal Moves, he relied on instinct to perform a Taiji Cloud Hands. This time, his fingertips actually stirred the wind, and the hem of his clothes swayed gently with his movements, like ripples on the surface of water.

"Exactly." A faint smile touched the corners of Chen Wu's mouth. "Taiji isn't dancing; there's no need to pursue being pretty. Look—"

He casually performed a Taiji "Single Whip." The movement was as simple as stretching, yet it caused the stage floor to emit a slight hum. Lin Mo watched in stunned silence—he practiced that Move fifty times a day, but he had never imagined force could be exerted this way, as if the entire earth had become his support.

"This is what 'Leading into Emptiness' truly means," Chen Wu explained. "It's not about leading the opponent's force away; it's about letting their force sink into your 'Qi,' like falling into a quagmire."

Lin Mo suddenly thought back to the matches he had lost. The judges said he was "too stiff," but true Taiji should be like Chen Wu's—seemingly soft, yet hiding a quagmire capable of trapping a tiger.

Section 3: The Handprint on the Taiji Uniform

After the exchange meeting ended, Lin Mo blocked the back door of the gymnasium. Chen Wu was surrounded by a group of reporters, one of whom held up a microphone and pressed, "Do you believe traditional martial arts are more powerful than modern combat sports?"

"No one is more powerful than the other," Chen Wu's voice came through the crowd. "Just like a knife and a sword, any weapon that can kill is a good one."

Lin Mo squeezed through, nearly dropping the "History of Chinese Martial Arts" in his arms. "Mr. Chen!" he shouted, his voice tinged with a sob. "Can I... can I learn 'Qi' from you?"

The people around them laughed. A reporter joked, "Kid, have you been reading too many Wuxia novels?"

Chen Wu stopped, however, looking at his faded Taiji uniform. "When you were practicing Taiji just now, your 'Qi' got stuck at the Shanzhong Point. Do you always feel a tightness in your chest?"

Lin Mo's eyes widened instantly. He had never told anyone this secret; every time he finished practicing with his sword, his chest felt like it was stuffed with a ball of cotton, making it hard to breathe.

"Follow me." Chen Wu pushed past the reporters and led him to a nearby clearing. A row of plane trees grew here, their trunks thick enough to require two people to encircle them.

"Hold a Horse Stance," Chen Wu said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Lin Mo did so immediately, his legs shoulder-width apart and his knees bent. Seven years of martial arts training made his Horse Stance very standard, but after standing for just a minute, his legs began to ache as if they were filled with lead.

"No," Chen Wu reached out and pressed his palm against Lin Mo's lower back. "Don't use your legs to exert force. Use this place."

A warm power flowed from the palm. Lin Mo suddenly felt as if a fire had been lit at his Dantian, a warm current surging through his Meridians toward his limbs. He instinctively adjusted his breathing, inhaling and exhaling through his nose; the tightness in his chest actually vanished!

"This is 'Sinking Qi to the Dantian'," Chen Wu withdrew his hand, his fingertips still carrying a trace of the stagnant "Qi" from the boy's body. "You pursue form too much when practicing Taiji, which holds your 'Qi' back. It's like blowing up a balloon; if you only pull on the opening, there's no air inside, so it will never inflate."

Lin Mo tried to do as he was told and indeed found his Horse Stance much more stable. He could even feel his soles connecting with the earth, like the roots of a tree quietly growing.

"Now try Push Hands," Chen Wu extended his right hand, palm facing him.

Lin Mo hesitated for a moment, then, following the rules of Taiji Push Hands, lightly placed his hand on the other's wrist. He originally wanted to use the "Leading into Emptiness" technique, but as soon as he exerted force, he felt as if he were pushing against cotton; his strength was instantly drained away, and his body leaned forward uncontrollably.

"This is 'Listening Energy'," Chen Wu turned his wrist, and Lin Mo suddenly felt a clever force surge toward him. His feet actually left the ground, and he was gently placed on the grass three meters away. "It's not about listening to the opponent's energy; it's about listening to your own 'Qi'. Wherever it goes, you Move."

Lin Mo stood on the grass, looking at his palm, and suddenly remembered the words from the "Treatise on Taiji Quan": "A feather cannot be added, a fly cannot alight; others know me not, I alone know others." He used to think it was an exaggeration, but now he understood that it wasn't about reaction speed, but the perception of "Qi."

"This book is for you," Chen Wu handed over a thread-bound book. On the cover was written "Commonalities Between Baji Fist and Taiji Quan," the handwriting bold and powerful. "Don't be trapped by Schools. Taiji can neutralize force, and Baji can exert force; both are essentially about playing with 'Qi.' Why separate them so strictly?"

Lin Mo took the book, his fingertips touching Chen Wu's hand. The calluses on the man's palm were so hard they were painful to the touch. Those were the marks left by years of practicing punches, more convincing than any certificate.

Section 4: New Moves in the Hall

In the martial arts hall at dusk, the setting sun cast long patches of light on the floor through the high windows. Lin Mo, wearing his faded Taiji uniform, began practicing the "Cross Fist" of Baji Fist. His movements were unrefined, yet they carried a sense of ruthlessness.

"Are you crazy? Practicing Baji instead of Taiji?" His roommate passed by with a basketball, nearly getting hit by a swinging fist.

Lin Mo didn't stop, the wind from his punches stirring the air enough to Move the Taiji Sword on the floor. He suddenly understood Chen Wu's words—martial arts isn't a specimen in a museum; it's a living thing that should flow like water, going around stones and rushing through gaps.

His phone vibrated; it was a notification for Chen Wu's livestream: "Tonight at 8:00, I'll teach everyone how to use 'Qi' to adjust breathing."

He opened the livestream. Chen Wu was in the courtyard of the Public Welfare Foundation, with Zhao Mengmeng standing nearby holding a rabbit plushie. "Many people have asked me if they can practice 'Qi' without a foundation," Chen Wu's voice was gentle. "Actually, it's very simple, just like what student Lin Mo did today—don't think too much, just let your body remember that feeling."

The screen suddenly cut to a clip of Lin Mo practicing, secretly filmed by Chen Wu's assistant. The comments section instantly exploded:

"Isn't this the Taiji kid who asked the question this afternoon?"

"The Baji Fist he's practicing is so awkward, hahaha, but it's more powerful than his Taiji earlier."

"8 million online! Is this the Fusion Brother Wu was talking about?"

"My grandpa practices Taiji, and he says this kid's breathing is right!"

Lin Mo's face turned red, but he set his phone on the sword rack and began practicing along with the livestream. When Chen Wu spoke about the "circulation of Qi," Lin Mo tried to guide it using the Taiji "Cloud Hands" and found that his originally stagnant "Qi" actually became smooth, like a river that had been cleared.

"Lin Mo, the coach is calling you!" someone shouted from the doorway.

When he ran to the office, the coach was fuming at the computer. On the screen was news of Chen Wu's collaboration with the General Administration of Sport of China. "Look at this! People nowadays actually believe this stuff!" The coach slammed the mouse onto the desk. "Is the Taiji passed down by our ancestors going to be replaced by those flashy tricks in your generation?"

Lin Mo suddenly straightened his back and pulled his Taiji uniform's collar even wider. "Coach, Chen Wu is right." He walked to the center of the office and performed a set that fused Taiji's neutralizing force with Baji's explosive force. "Look, isn't this more powerful?"

The coach was stunned as he watched the movements, which were both smooth and fierce, as if he were seeing something unbelievable. The sunset outside the window reflected on Lin Mo's face; he suddenly felt that after seven years of practicing martial arts, he had only truly entered the threshold today.

At 10:00 PM, Lin Mo posted a video in the Martial Arts Club group—he used the Taiji "Grasping the Sparrow's Tail" to catch his roommate's heavy punch, then used a Baji "Elbow Strike" to gently push him away. The movements were as fluid as flowing water. The caption had only three words: "This is fun."

The group chat exploded; some cursed him for "betraying tradition," while others asked "how did you practice that?" Lin Mo didn't reply; he simply followed Chen Wu's livestream and wrote in the notes: "The first student."

Moonlight shone through the martial arts hall windows onto the copy of "Commonalities Between Baji Fist and Taiji Quan." The pages fluttered in the wind, stopping at a page with Chen Wu's annotation: "The Martial Dao is not a single path, but a forest. Some walk on the left, some on the right, but the destination is actually the same."

Lin Mo picked up his Taiji Sword. The tip of the blade traced a circle in the moonlight before suddenly thrusting forward like a flower in sudden bloom. He knew that from today on, what filled this faded Taiji uniform was no longer rigid routines, but the living "thing"—that "Qi" which could make steel plates tremble, turn flowing water into words, and make ordinary people no longer ordinary.

In the distant gymnasium, people were still practicing ball games, their shouts drifting over with the wind. Lin Mo gripped his sword, suddenly wanting to try the "Weighted Squats" Chen Wu had mentioned tomorrow. Perhaps true martial arts were hidden within these clumsy attempts, like a seed buried in the soil—with a little sunlight and rain, it would eventually sprout.

His phone screen was still lit, and Chen Wu's livestream was still going. The comments were full of messages from all over the world, different languages saying the same thing: "I want to try it too."

Lin Mo smiled and bowed slightly toward the screen. He knew he wasn't the first "Martial Fan," and he wouldn't be the last. When Chen Wu revealed the secret of "Qi," it was like lighting a lamp in the dark; someone would always follow the light, bringing their own stories to walk their own path in the forest of the Martial Dao.