Chapter 061: Cultivating the Self Begins with Cultivating the Mind

Chapter 061: Cultivating the Body Begins with Cultivating the Heart

At dawn, on the summit of Yangping Mountain, Zhao Yun, his hair and beard streaked with white, stood in a martial outfit at the edge of a massive overhanging rock, hands clasped behind his back. The morning breeze fluttered the hem of his clothes, giving him the air of an immortal.

Wei Ba stood beside him, but lacked Zhao Yun’s calm demeanor. Just half a step forward would send him over the cliff. Though not a sheer drop of ten thousand feet, a fall from here would still shatter him to pieces. He had no idea why Zhao Yun had chosen such a precarious place for their first lesson. It was hard enough just to keep his footing here; how could one possibly practice with a spear?

Zhao Yun glanced at the pale-faced Wei Ba and smiled faintly. “Ziyu, do you know the difference between recklessness and courage?”

Wei Ba forced himself to calm his pounding heart and pondered for a moment. “Courage is knowing the danger and facing it head-on; recklessness is charging forward without even realizing the peril.”

Zhao Yun nodded in approval. “Well said. A true hero, even if a million stand in his way, will press on regardless. If a thing must be done, no matter how difficult or dangerous, he advances without fear—even if it means his own destruction. You’re already grown, your bones have set; rebuilding your foundation is nearly impossible. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You can abandon the vain hope of becoming a dueling warrior and instead dedicate yourself to becoming a great general. For a general, it is the heart that must be courageous, not only the body.”

If not for his past life’s experiences and recent soul-searching, if he hadn’t grasped the meaning of “he who conquers himself is strong,” Wei Ba would have thought Zhao Yun was simply spouting platitudes. But now, he had the depth to understand these words. Though he felt a twinge of regret at not being able to become an invincible warrior, the prospect of becoming a great general stirred his heart.

“So, I do not intend to teach you spear techniques. Mounted spear, foot spear—I will teach you neither. I will only teach you boxing. Boxing is spearplay; if you master your fists, if your heart and hands truly move as one, then should you ever take up the spear, whether on foot or horseback, it will be but an extension of your arm—one skill will suffice for all. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“This is where you will practice your boxing.” Zhao Yun stamped his foot; though it didn’t look like he used much force, the massive rock beneath them trembled slightly, making Wei Ba’s heart skip a beat. “You may begin at the farthest edge, gradually narrowing your range until you reach the spot by the cliff called ‘the Cow’s Rest.’ When you can stand at the brink and box as if you were on level ground, you will have succeeded.”

Wei Ba glanced down and stuck out his tongue. Good heavens, it was nerve-wracking just to stand here, let alone move as if on solid ground. What if he slipped?

“Watch closely,” Zhao Yun called, spreading his arms as he began to demonstrate. His movements were slow, without any ornamentation—just a step and a punch, so simple that Wei Ba couldn’t help but wonder if Zhao Yun was toying with him.

“Did you see clearly?” Zhao Yun finished, smoothing his sleeves and asking calmly as the mountain wind teased his beard.

“I did,” Wei Ba replied, suppressing his doubts and taking a stance, stepping forward with a punch. As soon as his fist shot out, Zhao Yun suddenly spoke.

“Wait!”

Wei Ba looked at him in confusion. Zhao Yun walked over and locked eyes with him. “Where is your enemy?”

“My enemy?” Wei Ba was baffled. It was just the two of them here—what enemy?

“If there is no enemy, why strike?” Zhao Yun gently pushed him, and Wei Ba involuntarily took a step back. “Without an enemy, the most exquisite technique is meaningless. Your eyes may see no opponent, but in your heart there must be one—an enemy to the death. If this punch does not fell your foe, you may be the one struck down.”

Zhao Yun fixed Wei Ba with a penetrating gaze and spoke each word with deliberation. “You have only one chance—put forth your entire strength and kill with a single blow.”

A thunderclap went off in Wei Ba’s mind. Suddenly, he understood why Zhao Yun had demonstrated only a single punch, and why boxing was spearplay. Zhao Yun wasn’t being evasive; he was teaching the true essence of boxing and spearwork. On the battlefield, life and death are decided in the blink of an eye—there’s no second chance, especially in cavalry charges where the clash lasts but a heartbeat, and that instant determines who lives and who dies.

To kill with a single strike—this was the essence of Zhao Yun’s boxing. Either do not strike, or strike with all one’s might.

“Master, I understand.” Ashamed, Wei Ba lowered his head, refocused his mind, and imagined a life-or-death foe standing before him, their gleaming blade raised high—he had only one chance, and he must give it his all.

With a shout, Wei Ba tensed his whole body, suddenly stepped forward, and punched with all his might.

“Well done!” Zhao Yun praised, drawing Wei Ba back from his trance. Only then did Wei Ba realize he had unknowingly moved right to the edge of the cliff; a step further and he might have fallen. His face blanched, and he hurriedly stepped back.

Zhao Yun stroked his beard, smiling without a word. “Were you afraid?”

Wei Ba gave an awkward laugh. “I was.”

“Will you try again?”

He hesitated, surveyed the ground, and calculated that as long as he didn’t step too far, he’d be safe. Only then did he nod. “I will!”

“Good, then do it again!”

Wei Ba began to concentrate once more, but his mind kept drifting back to the danger before him. His eyes kept darting to the edge, instinctively calculating whether he might overstep or lose his footing and fall. Zhao Yun stood silently by, watching. Only after a long time did Wei Ba manage to focus, imagining an enemy before him, life and death hanging in the balance, and then, with all his strength, he struck out with his fist.

After the punch, he didn’t immediately withdraw his stance, but glanced at his feet. Seeing he was still safe, he breathed a sigh of relief, then felt embarrassed at his own timidity in front of his master.

“Um… Master…”

Before Wei Ba could finish, Zhao Yun spoke again. “Once more.”

Wei Ba had no choice but to resume his stance and start again.

All morning, he practiced a single movement: bow stance and punch, one hundred times. Though not a large number, each punch was delivered with full force, and combined with the pressure of such a dangerous location, both the physical and mental strain left him drenched in sweat, nearly exhausted.

Zhao Yun took a towel from the pale-faced Peng Xiaoyu and walked over to the trembling Wei Ba, handing him the cloth and patting his shoulder. “That’s enough for today. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

Wei Ba wiped his sweat and nodded.

“At first, don’t strive for speed—the slower, the better. It’s easy to learn a form, but hard to change it. Once the movement becomes instinctive, speed will come naturally.” Zhao Yun nodded with satisfaction. “You can stay here and get familiar with the place. In war, one chooses the battlefield one knows best. Practicing is the same—if you can move here blindfolded and know every rock and blade of grass, then this place is yours, and who could defeat you?”

With that, Zhao Yun clasped his hands behind his back and left with easy steps. Wei Ba blinked speechlessly, thinking, “Will he really make me box blindfolded here? That’s terrifying.”

“Young General, isn’t this too dangerous?” Peng Xiaoyu, clearly thinking the same, was as pale as a sheet, the large bruise on her face even more pronounced.

“Who says it isn’t?” Wei Ba crept to the edge, peered down at the jagged rocks below, and shivered. Falling from here would leave nothing but a smear. Just standing here was nerve-wracking—boxing blindfolded? Unthinkable.

Peng Xiaoyu followed, but she was even more timid, not daring to get close. She stretched her neck as far as she could, but kept a full ten feet from the edge. Her voice trembled. “When will you ever be like Old General Zhao, standing at the brink as if it were level ground?”

Wei Ba rolled his eyes, recalling how Zhao Yun had just stood at the edge, hands behind his back, half a foot over the precipice, calm and unruffled as he boxed—truly, standing at the brink as if on solid earth. Yet Zhao Yun was seventy, and he was only eighteen—even counting his past life, barely forty. How could he compare with a veteran who had spent his life on the battlefield?

Still, to achieve such composure would indeed be impressive. If anyone challenged him, he’d just pick a spot like this. No need to even fight—the other would be scared out of their wits, while he remained unflappable, just like his master. What a sight that would be.

To cultivate the body, one must first cultivate the heart. I may never become the fiercest warrior, but I can forge an indomitable spirit. The human heart is dangerous—everywhere is a perilous place. In these chaotic times, brute strength alone isn’t enough to survive; more important is inner strength. Take Zhuge Liang, for instance, or Sima Yi, who would found the Jin dynasty. No one ever said they had exceptional martial skill.

To be a general with brains, not just brawn—that’s the way. The great Chancellor Zhuge once said, “Young men must keep lofty ambitions.”

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