Second Young Master Yang of Nanyang County was a renowned figure throughout the region along the grain transport canal. Born with extraordinary strength, he had once encountered a grain boat that had run aground on a shoal. Even a water buffalo, straining until foam gathered around its mouth, could not pull it free. Second Young Master Yang simply braced his shoulder beneath the hull and, with a tremendous heave, forced the massive wooden grain boat back into the water.
His martial arts skills were equally formidable. On another occasion, several hundred Green Standard soldiers guarding the grain transports thrust sharpened bamboo poles at him. Yet as soon as the pointed ends pressed against his flesh, the poles began splitting apart inch by inch. With abilities such as these, Second Young Master Yang commanded respect wherever he went.
One spring, he traveled with a group of disciples to Changzhou Prefecture to establish a martial arts school. Whenever he demonstrated spear and staff techniques on the training grounds, people came from all over the city to watch. The spectators packed the grounds shoulder to shoulder.
Second Young Master Yang wielded a great spear so swiftly that it seemed to leave flashing shadows in the air, while the crowd’s cheers nearly lifted the roof off nearby buildings.
One day, however, an old garlic seller squeezed his way through the crowd.
He was stooped with age, his back bent almost like a shrimp, and he carried a bamboo basket of garlic in his arms. He coughed with nearly every step. After craning his neck and watching Second Young Master Yang for a while, the old man spat to one side and muttered a few mocking words under his breath.
The people standing nearby were horrified. They hurriedly tugged at his sleeve, trying to silence him, but it was too late. His words had already reached the training ground.
Second Young Master Yang’s face darkened at once.
He and his disciples surrounded the old man. Second Young Master Yang cast a sidelong glance at the frail, shriveled figure, gave a cold snort, and walked over to a brick wall at the edge of the grounds.
Drawing a deep breath, he sank his strength, twisted at the waist, and drove his fist forward.
Bang!
His knuckles and wrist plunged nearly a foot into the wall.
Second Young Master Yang pulled his hand free, brushed off the dust, and looked arrogantly at the old man.
“Old man, can you do that?”
The garlic seller could hardly be bothered to raise his eyelids. He set his basket on the ground and replied slowly:
“You know how to strike a wall, but you do not know how to strike a man.”
Second Young Master Yang had never endured such an insult.
“You old fool!” he roared. “Do you think those brittle bones of yours could withstand a single punch from me? If I kill you, don’t blame me for it!”
The old man let out a long sigh, though a trace of amusement appeared in his eyes.
“At my age, I have lived long enough. If this worn-out life of mine can add to Second Young Master Yang’s reputation today, what complaint could I have about dying?”
The old man was no fool. On the spot, he asked several merchants to serve as witnesses, and a formal life-and-death agreement was drawn up stating that Second Young Master Yang would not be held responsible should the old man die.
After the document had been signed, the garlic seller looked at Second Young Master Yang and said:
“You used a good deal of strength striking that wall just now. I will not take advantage of you. Go home and rest for three days. Then come back here and find me.”
Three days later, the training grounds were packed so tightly that there was hardly room to move.
The old garlic seller arrived early. He found a thick tree trunk and asked someone to bind him to it with hemp rope. With trembling hands, he opened his coarse cloth jacket, exposing a belly covered in loose, withered flesh.
Then he called into the distance:
“Yang the Second, come!”
Second Young Master Yang had spent three days nursing his anger. Now dressed in a neat, close-fitting martial arts outfit, he walked to a spot 10 paces from the old man and drew a deep breath. His joints cracked throughout his body.
This time, he meant business.
He intended to kill the old man with a single punch.
With a forceful shout, Second Young Master Yang stamped against the ground so hard that his foot left a hollow in the mud. His entire body shot forward like a cannonball. Carried by the momentum, his hammer-like fist tore through the air and slammed viciously into the old man’s unprotected belly.
Several spectators were so frightened that they shut their eyes.
But no cry of pain came.
Nor was there the sickening sound they had feared.
When they dared to look again, the old garlic seller was still tied to the tree exactly as before. His expression had not changed. Not even his beard had trembled.
Then the crowd looked at Second Young Master Yang.
The 7-foot-tall martial artist suddenly dropped to both knees with a heavy thud.
His face was deathly pale, and large beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead. He began kowtowing desperately, his voice shaking as he begged:
“This junior knows his error… Senior, spare my life…”
Second Young Master Yang tried to withdraw his fist, only to discover that his right hand seemed to have been welded into a solid block of iron.
The old man’s belly looked soft and loose, yet the moment Second Young Master Yang’s fist struck it, his hand seemed to sink into a bottomless mass of cotton. Then came a powerful suction, like an incoming tide, locking Second Young Master Yang’s inner strength firmly in place.
The harder he tried to pull away, the more violently the returning force bored into his bones. The agony seemed to penetrate his entire body, until his internal organs felt as though they were being tossed about in a raging sea.
All of Second Young Master Yang’s earlier arrogance vanished.
He remained on his knees, pleading bitterly for mercy for as long as it took a stick of incense to burn.
At last, the old man looked down at him and sighed.
“Young man, do not be a frog at the bottom of a well, thinking the patch of sky above you is all there is.”
With that, the old man suddenly thrust out his belly.
There was a muffled bang.
Second Young Master Yang screamed as his body flew backward through the air. He somersaulted twice before crashing into a muddy patch beneath a stone bridge outside the training grounds, landing filthy and disheveled.
His disciples rushed frantically toward the bridge to pull him out.
By then, however, the old garlic seller had already loosened the ropes binding him to the tree.
He dusted off his clothes, picked up his basket of garlic, and made his way through the stunned crowd. Slightly hunched, he shuffled toward the city gate as though nothing remarkable had happened.
People called after him, asking his name.
He never gave it.
A few moments later, the mysterious old man disappeared into the bustle of Changzhou’s streets.
Translated by Chua BC
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