Chapter 232: Chapter 112: Senior Sister’s Strangeness, Touching Huajin
The two brushed past each other. Xu Hong watched Yang Jing walk into the inner courtyard, sighed softly, and turned to head for the front courtyard.
...
Yang Jing walked into the inner courtyard but didn’t see his master, Sun Yong. Instead, he saw Sun Ningxiang sitting under the courtyard’s crabapple tree. She was holding a small branch, lost in thought.
One moment her brows would furrow slightly, and the next she’d secretly pout. Her fingers toyed unconsciously with a strand of dark hair that fell to her chest, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. She was like a completely different person from the sweet, gentle Senior Sister he was used to.
It was the first time Yang Jing had ever seen her like this, and he couldn’t help but feel a little puzzled. ’What’s wrong with Senior Sister?’
He lightened his steps as he approached and asked softly, "Senior Sister Ning Xiang, is Master here? I’ve come for our sparring session."
"Ah!"
Startled by the sudden voice, Sun Ningxiang jumped, and the branch in her hand clattered to the ground.
She whipped her head around to see Yang Jing standing before her. The blush on her face instantly deepened to a fiery red, as if she’d applied rouge.
"Y-Yang... Yang Jing."
She hastily lowered her head, her gaze darting away, not daring to look at him. Her voice was as quiet as a mosquito’s buzz, and her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her clothes.
Remembering what her father had said that morning, her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her throat. Under Yang Jing’s clear gaze, her cheeks burned, and even the tips of her ears turned beet red.
"My... My father should be in the study." After saying this, Sun Ningxiang shot to her feet and practically bolted into her room, slamming the door shut as if something was chasing her.
Yang Jing stood where he was, staring at the closed door, his face a mask of confusion.
’Senior Sister seems... a little strange today, doesn’t she?’
He scratched his head, unable to figure out what was wrong.
Yang Jing raised a hand to his cheek, his fingertips touching the thin layer of sweat left over from his earlier practice.
He considered his own looks. While not top-tier, they were certainly handsome enough. Elder Yang had been a renowned handsome youth in the surrounding villages, and his parents were good-looking too. He had inherited their refined features and a straight nose. The only thing was that years of martial arts had given him a healthy tan, adding a rugged edge to his appearance.
"Did I not wipe off my sweat properly? Do I look like a mess?"
He muttered to himself, shook his head, and pushed the confusing thought to the back of his mind.
’Senior Sister must have something on her mind. The sparring session with Master is more important right now.’
He had just turned and taken two steps toward the study when he saw Sun Yong push open the door and walk out.
He was wearing a set of loose-fitting training clothes and was leisurely rotating two glossy, polished iron balls in his hand. His gaze landed on Yang Jing, carrying a hint of appraisal.
"You’re here?" Sun Yong smiled, his tone casual. "Perfect. Let me see what you’re made of. You’ve reached the Anjin stage with two different martial arts. With a little more time to consolidate your skills, the sheer volume of your Inner Strength could probably rival a Martial Artist who has just broken through to the Huajin realm."
He paused, then his tone shifted. "Of course, that’s just a comparison in quantity. In terms of quality, you’re still a long way off. Huajin-level Inner Strength can temper the physical body and inflict penetrating, high-intensity damage on an enemy. It’s not something Anjin can compare to."
Yang Jing’s heart skipped a beat, but this was immediately followed by a surge of strong anticipation.
This was his first time facing a Huajin Powerhouse. He immediately cleared his mind of stray thoughts and said in a deep voice, "Please guide me, Master."
Sun Yong walked to the center of the inner courtyard, pocketed the iron balls, and flexed his wrists. "No need to be reserved. Attack me with your full strength. Don’t worry, it’s not that I’m looking down on you, but your current skills aren’t enough to hurt these old bones of mine."
Yang Jing took a deep breath, spread his feet slightly, and took the opening stance of the Mountain-Shattering Fist.
He looked at his master’s composed appearance and still felt some apprehension. ’Master is getting old, after all. What if I lose control and...’
Hesitantly, he took the first step, his right fist enveloped in Anjin as he struck toward Sun Yong’s shoulder.
He held back in this punch, using only seventy percent of his power.
Seeing this, Sun Yong didn’t dodge or evade. He simply raised his right palm casually, meeting the force of the punch with a seemingly light and airy block.
BAM!
As fist met palm, Yang Jing felt a seemingly gentle but incredibly resilient force surge toward him. It was as if his punch had struck cotton; the fierce power of his Anjin was instantly neutralized, and the remaining force was cleverly diverted, causing his fist to whistle past Sun Yong’s shoulder.
"Not enough power. You’re holding back," Sun Yong said faintly, not retracting his palm. "Again."
Yang Jing was shaken to the core.
That palm strike just now had seemed unremarkable, but it contained an indescribable profundity.
The moment his master’s palm touched his fist, he could clearly feel a subtle force circulating in the palm, coiling and guiding like a current of water, easily neutralizing his Anjin.
’This isn’t brute force at all, but the ultimate form of control over one’s strength. So this is Huajin?’
He finally understood that he had underestimated the strength of a Huajin Powerhouse, let alone an old veteran of the Jianghu like his master, who had been immersed in Huajin for many years.
"Then I’ll stop holding back!"
Yang Jing no longer held back. A sharp glint flashed in his eyes, and his movements suddenly accelerated.
The ferocity of the Mountain-Shattering Fist and the swiftness of the Startling Wave Kicks wove together in his form. One moment, the force of his fists was like a mighty peak; the next, the shadows of his legs were a crashing tide. A massive amount of Anjin erupted from him without reservation, whipping up the slushy snow on the ground as he unleashed a furious assault on Sun Yong.
Sun Yong remained where he stood, defending with only a single palm.
No matter how fast or fierce Yang Jing’s fists and kicks were, his master’s palm would always appear in the most crucial spot at just the right moment—patting, pressing, or deflecting—to neutralize each and every attack.
It was as if an invisible layer of Qi Force surrounded his palm wherever it moved, preventing Yang Jing’s Anjin from even getting close.
The more Yang Jing fought, the more shocked he became, and yet, the more excited he grew.
He could clearly sense the profound mysteries of Huajin within his master’s palm techniques. It was a state where one’s Inner Strength was circulated to its absolute limit—seemingly gentle, but in reality, indestructible. Every single touch deepened his understanding of how to apply his strength.
The snow in the inner courtyard was whipped into a frenzy by the force of their fists and the shadows of their kicks. One attacked while the other defended, their figures weaving through the white flurry, creating a striking scene.
Yang Jing’s attacks grew increasingly sharp, but Sun Yong remained perfectly calm and composed, as if guiding him, step by step, toward the threshold of Huajin.
