activa-t Chapter 63 A Lifetime of Guns
Chapter 63 A Lifetime of Guns
Zhou Xing opened his eyes.
The arm jerked, the palm felt empty, and the knuckles loosened. The tremor of the ash branch traveled up the palm, wrist, forearm, and elbow, as subtle as the chirping of insects.
Guo Zhen's unwavering dedication to passing on his legacy, along with fragments of his memories, has come back to life.
Countless dawns and dusks, the sharp whistling of the gun tip piercing the air;
With countless twists and turns, the waist and hips, like a millstone, propelled the booming of the spear.
Thousands of explosions, the force travels through the shaft to the very tip of the spear, causing a tremor...
Those images, sounds, touches, and even the stinging sensation of sweat dripping into his eyes have all become a part of his body.
The gun is working.
No, it was always alive; it was just sleeping before.
At this moment, a new palm, new strength, and new spear intent are poured in, and it awakens from its long slumber, begins to breathe, and begins to pulsate.
The faint hum of the gun gradually transformed from disorder into a unique rhythm, echoing his breath, rising and falling.
Man is gun, gun is man.
Zhou took action.
It wasn't him moving; it was the gun that was making him move.
He stepped out with his left foot, gliding along the ground like a plow breaking through the soil. His waist and hips twisted in response, without any deliberate effort; his breathing led to a natural rise and fall.
The spear moved accordingly, its tip drawing a full arc as it slowly rose from below.
The starting stance of Xingyi spear.
Bengqiang.
The movements were extremely slow, yet as heavy as a mountain. The tip of the spear seemed to be carrying a thousand-pound weight, and every inch of movement was accompanied by sticky resistance.
The waist is the axis.
Breathing is like a bellows.
A gun is an extended arm.
Zhou Xing's entire mind was immersed in this slow, rising posture. His breathing and spear movements were perfectly synchronized; he inhaled as he gathered power in the spear, and exhaled as he released it.
The heat in the waist and abdomen was repeatedly pounded, compressed, and channeled with each breath and twist.
Suddenly, the gunmanship changed.
It slows down to the extreme, then suddenly speeds up!
With a sudden twist of the waist and hips, like a strong bowstring being drawn, the force explodes from the soles of the feet, passes through the spine and shoulders, flows through the arms and fingers, and finally gathers at the tip of the spear!
"laugh!"
The spear tip pierced the air with a sharp whistling sound like tearing silk! A single cold star lingered on the spear tip, trembling incessantly.
Throw the gun!
It thrusts and then retracts, the gun spinning back.
The Zhou Xing footwork follows the spear's movement, with each step drawing circles and arcs. The fluidity of the Bagua body movement naturally blends into the straight advance of the Xingyi spear.
Twisting his waist, turning his hips, turning around, the gun followed his body, another dangerous counter-thrust.
A surprise attack!
This time, the flashes of inspiration during the life-or-death struggle were transformed into something that, after countless trials and tribulations, naturally came to fruition.
The spear intent is purer, the power is more penetrating, but the killing intent is more restrained.
Gunfire flashed, faster and faster.
The five elements of Xingyi Quan—beng, zhuan, pie, pao, heng—are incorporated into spear techniques, sometimes like a giant python emerging from its cave, sometimes like a strange python turning over, and sometimes like a venomous python swaying its tail.
The white waxwood spear seemed to come alive in his hands, sometimes as light and agile as a swallow, sometimes as heavy as a mountain.
The air seemed to be torn apart with a whooshing sound, and dust in the courtyard was swirled up by the gunfire, slowly rotating around.
He forgot the moves, forgot the tradition, and even forgot himself.
Only breathing, the twisting of the waist and hips, and the trembling of the spear are combined into one.
At that very moment, the tip of the gun traced a perfect semicircle, and the waist twisted to its limit...
"Ha!"
Zhou Xing exhaled and made a sound like the first rumble of spring thunder.
The heat that had accumulated to its peak in the waist and abdomen, and between the kidneys, exploded with a roar!
It was as if a dam had burst, and the river was rushing forward. A scorching and concentrated force instantly flowed through the waist and abdomen, penetrated the kidneys, and reached the coccyx!
The hidden strength now reaches the waist and abdomen!
His waist was as strong as iron, his abdomen resonated like a drum; the waist was the axis of power, the abdomen the sea of energy. At this moment, his inner strength flowed freely, his entire body's power circulated as one, and his strength doubled!
The pores on his waist and abdomen opened all at once, then suddenly tightened. An invisible wave of energy rippled outwards from him, and dust spread out in a ring on the ground.
Zhou Xing put away his gun and stood at attention.
The spear tip pointed diagonally at the ground, trembling slightly and emitting a clear, melodious hum, like a dragon's soft roar.
He slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, the white vapor shooting out three feet before dissipating.
The courtyard was completely silent.
The disciples kneeling before the spirit tablet had long forgotten to weep; they stared blankly, mouths agape.
They couldn't understand the subtleties involved, but they instinctively felt a powerful and awe-inspiring force.
The master's spear, in the hands of this young man, possessed an inexplicable spirituality and majesty that it held even more than when it was in the master's hands.
Madam Guo, Wang Yun, leaned against the door frame, her fingers tightly gripping her clothes.
She looked at Zhou Xing standing in the courtyard with a gun, at that familiar yet unfamiliar gun shadow, and tears silently streamed down her face again.
But this time, the tears contained not only sorrow, but also an indescribable sense of comfort, as if through the dancing shadows of the gun, she could see her husband's upright and indomitable figure once again.
I saw that fierce and courageous spirit, which has not dissipated, but has been passed down in another way.
Zhou Xing calmed his breathing, walked up to Wang Yun, and handed the gun back to her with both hands.
"Mrs. Guo."
Wang Yun did not answer.
She looked at the large spear, still warm from her body and trembling slightly, then looked up at Zhou Xing, her red and swollen eyes clear and firm.
"This spear,"
She spoke, her voice husky, "It's been with Shoucheng for most of its life, it's drunk blood, seen life and death, protected the caravan, and held the fort. It's not an inanimate object."
She gently shook her head, pushing away Zhou Xing's hand that was offering her the gun:
"It has found its next owner. Master Zhou, you can have it. Shoucheng's spirit in heaven will be happy."
Zhou Xing remained silent.
He looked down at the gun in his hand. The white waxwood shaft was warm and smooth, the spearhead gleaming with a restrained cold light. The slight pulsation of the gun seemed to resonate with his heartbeat.
He could indeed feel that a subtle connection had developed between him and the gun, one that transcended the roles of subject and object.
That is the continuation of Guo Zhen's obsession with passing on his legacy, and also an affirmation of the gun's own spirituality.
"it is good."
Zhou Xing no longer declined, put the gun back at his side, and solemnly said:
"I will take good care of it. I will not disgrace Master Guo's reputation, nor will I fail this spear."
Wang Yun nodded, then turned to an older disciple beside her and said, "Go and bring that piece of blue cloth from the cabinet in the inner room."
The disciple quickly fetched a piece of thick, dark blue cotton cloth.
Wang Yun took it and carefully wrapped the spear from head to tail, finally tying it tightly in the middle with a strip of cloth.
The wrapped strip was still nearly eight feet long.
Zhou Xing took it; it felt solid in his hand.
He held the roll of cloth under one arm, one end pointing diagonally to the ground, the other end higher than his shoulder.
He clasped his hands in greeting to Wang Yun and his disciples again, then turned and left the Guo family's gate.
I walked out of the alley and there was a rickshaw waiting for fares at the entrance. The driver was a thin, dark-skinned man who was squatting by the rickshaw smoking a pipe.
Seeing Zhou Xing emerge, carrying a long roll of cloth, the driver quickly stood up, draped a towel over his arm, and asked solicitously:
"Sir, where are we going?"
"In the French Concession, Lao west ran the police station."
Zhou Xing got into the carriage. The driver picked up the handlebars, glanced at the long roll of cloth beside him, and muttered:
"Sir, what kind of equipment are you carrying? This piece of cloth looks quite heavy; I'm afraid it will be difficult for my cart to carry. Please bear with me."
Zhou Xing leaned against the back of the car, his gun held at an angle, gazing at the hazy sky in the distance, and said calmly:
"The life of a martial artist."
The driver was taken aback, scratched his head, didn't understand, and chuckled:
"Wow, your life has been quite long and arduous! Hold on tight!"
He didn't ask any more questions, and started jogging with the cart.
The wheels made a clattering sound as they rolled over the bluestone pavement.