I didn’t use fists a lot, but I did rely solely on them in my last childhood. They protected me from bandits, wolves, and my bullies. Even when the blade was in my hands, I still carried these fists with power.
My fingers hook into the collar of the image. I intended to make a throw but the image tears away the fabric that I grabbed. Truly… At least, I can be comforted to know that their perception isn’t anywhere near me. The mechanism appears to have only analysed Dong Yun An’s qi and body, then filled up the rest using a rule of thumb. They can do many things except being able to perceive more than they can react as I do.
My punch moves forth, breaking an image’s guard. As I knock it back, the backlash in the form of pain vibrates through my hand. It reminds me that my hands still hurt. Amidst the pain, another feeling, one that used to be so familiar, resurfaces. It is returning. The memory of it pulsed in my old body is renewed in Dong Yun An’s body.
The next uppercut is a miss, but its power is visible through the disturbance of the surrounding air. I had polished my fists. As I came closer to the end of my quest, the pinnacle of fist came into view for me.
I crash a fist into another image’s guard. It was too late in its evasion. If the image has bones, I surmise this punch broke at least one. Pain transmitted through my knuckles across my entire arm again. This, I understand. The pinnacle of fist to me are movement with the most efficiency and form that allows the best use of my strength. I haven’t been able to reproduce them reliably, but whenever I did I caused enough damage to hurt my injured body.
Geniuses of the fist can teach others the pinnacle with words. I am not a genius nor a savant of the fist. I can’t even tell my own body how to do it. I had to resolve to a feeling, like a wanderer stumbled into the road to the peak but rejected, then had to recall the path again by piecing the clues along the way together. This feeling is the path to the summit. This path that I was not interested in the past. This time, I will intrude further into the high abode.
Pressure from another attack slams the image against the wall. To capitalise on my opponent’s precarious situation, I ready the next, only to have my arms restrained by the other images, one on each side.
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As they lock my arms, I latch onto them. Shifting qi from my feet up to my hands, I lift them into the air. Among the moves that I can do, this is one that doesn’t need friction under my feet for a full-strength attack.
A squishing sound signals the deed as they were smashed together. The knuckles go right through their bodies crashing against each other. From nothing, they came into existence. To nothing, they returned.
The one remaining has got up. Without interference, this will be straightforward. As if reading my mind and desiring to disprove it, this image enters a new stance. For the next five minutes, it persists. My punches were redirected. It would lean onto my motion and bend the trajectory of my attacks. It’s correct to say this image used its strength to wrestle with the direction of my attacks instead of impeding the power head on. Even when I hit, there was no resistance. It would jump backward or sideway depending on the movement of my fists.
In the world of martial arts, there are hardness and softness. Every martial art’s style carries a different ratio of these paired properties. The soft compromises with the flow. The hard stands against the current. Softness is characterised by flexibility, mediation, and fluidity. The defensive style of this image is this softness. Instead of confronting the raging river, it digs a channel that would leave the water away. Using softness to win against hardness. This works against the martial art of Shadowless sect. Techniques of the sect favour accuracy, speed, and burst of power. Lightning slash, Invisible sword, Ten directions footwork, and even Soundless palm were designed around these points. Its goal is to dispatch the enemy quickly, denying any chance of escape or retaliation. They are mostly hardness.
My fighting style is also the hard style. The only difference between mine and the sect is crudeness vs accuracy. If the sect’s sword technique is multiple layers of blade perfectly stacked into oneness, then my sword would be akin to the explosiveness of blackpowder, screaming at everything in its vicinity even against itself. Hence, I wonder which direction will the image try to move along when everything will be in disharmony.
I clench my fist and worsen the fractured arm in the next move.
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