Chapter 8: Losing All Sense of Shame!

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Fang Xinghe sealed the three essays in an envelope and mailed it out, addressing it to the Bao Fu family with their phone number. Then, slinging his canvas bag over his shoulder and clutching his pager, he set off with a surplus companion.

Yu Duoduo’s accompaniment was unexpected, yet upon reflection, quite natural—because he really was unnecessary at home.

“I want to come with you to broaden my horizons. If I can become an apprentice at Wudang Mountain, I’ll focus on martial arts. I’m definitely not getting into a key high school anyway. Once I’ve mastered some skills, I’ll be your bodyguard and take a bullet for you!”

Looking at Yu Duoduo’s resolute face, Fang Xinghe felt dazed. In his memory, he had never seen such an expression on his friend before.

After a moment of surprise, Fang Xinghe broke into a bright smile. “Alright, good brother, then we’ll go together. Go home and pack your things, then come find me.”

That very night, Yu Duoduo moved over, carrying a snakeskin bag.

The next afternoon, the two young boys boarded a long-distance train bound for Hubei.

Originally, the money was meant for one person, but now it had to cover two, so Fang Xinghe chose the hard-seat option.

Once on board, everything was fresh and new to Yu Duoduo, while Fang Xinghe, though restraining himself, was also curious.

However, that novelty and curiosity quickly wore away after the rattling green train had shaken along for half a day, leaving only boredom and exhaustion.

A full 40 hours—truly unbearable...

And another thing: a green train from ’99 was hardly safe.

A sharp-faced middle-aged man, probably seeing their young ages, came over to chat, but it was unclear what his intentions were.

Yu Duoduo was at a loss, but Fang Xinghe, smiling and observing for a moment, suddenly said, “Duoduo, if he tries to touch you again on purpose, shoot two holes in him and see what kind of demon dog he really is.”

Yu Duoduo immediately slipped his hand into his pocket, gripping the handle of his dagger, his eyes flashing fiercely.

The man quickly raised his hands and backed off, awkwardly smiling. Soon after, he quietly moved away to another seat.

After passing Shenyang, it was 11 PM, and the car gradually grew quiet, though some people began to move about.

Fang Xinghe noticed that when certain people passed by, their glances were wary.

No thieves in this world? Better not provoke me.

His previously reckless courage had actually worked; both he and Yu Duoduo took turns closing their eyes without disturbance.

From then on, the journey went smoothly.

After a grueling 38 hours, the train stopped at Shiyan East Station. The boys stretched as they got off.

Only then, with renewed excitement, did Yu Duoduo ask, “Brother, why exactly Wudang Mountain?”

“Because it has real kung fu.”

Fang Xinghe’s answer was simple, but his mind was swirling with thoughts.

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In his last life, he’d tried every method to survive.

Because the Wudang Sanfeng Sect had a famous Taoist priest named Chen Shixing, renowned worldwide, he personally went up the mountain to seek study.

In a sense, the Wudang wellness class had indeed bought him some extra time.

Meditation, mindfulness, standing postures, exercises, balanced diet...

Though it hadn’t saved him from death, firsthand experience confirmed that their practices were genuine and effective.

Unfortunately, back then, he only learned health preservation exercises and knew nothing of Wudang’s martial arts.

Now given a second chance, he intended to make up for that.

His “Personal Abilities” section was empty—not only unsightly, but a waste of his father’s great strength.

Since he could add points, naturally, the more skills he mastered, the better. Maybe someday they’d come in handy. After all, once initiated, he could push ahead with full energy.

Yu Duoduo tagged along, full of questions: “Brother, how do you know this stuff?”

Fang Xinghe casually replied, “Read more books, read more newspapers.”

Yu Duoduo looked hopeful and asked again, “So, if we learn real Wudang kung fu, can we beat up whoever we want later?”

“What are you thinking?”

Fang Xinghe chuckled.

“Sure, no problem against ordinary folks, but if you meet a professional fighter, better run for your life.”

“Ah?!” Yu Duoduo was disappointed, muttering, “I thought Wudang kung fu was super powerful...”

Fang Xinghe, fearing he might give up, patiently explained: “Taoist techniques aim at health preservation as the foundation—coordinating body and mind, relaxing tendons, improving circulation, nourishing the organs. Only a tiny fraction of weapon techniques have combat ideas.

Smart Chinese people never had a tradition of fighting barehanded, nor do they endorse it.

In ancient times, real fighting skills were mastery of bow and horse, swords, shields, and spears.

Fist techniques are just basic training to stretch muscles and bones, coordinate hands, eyes, body, and steps.

If you train well, you’ll definitely be better than ordinary people, but that’s no reason to challenge professional fighters.

Most of those qigong charlatans just hype up fists and skills to make money.

There’s really nothing supernatural about it.

Believe in science—and science says flesh can’t clash with iron.

Train well: be flexible, strong, sharp-eyed, and healthy. That’s better than anything.”

Fang Xinghe, a coward afraid of death, was truly obsessed with health—even at thirteen, worrying about living to 103.

But he was speaking hard truths, as a Wudang priest had plainly explained to their class.

The priest was frank, clarifying: “The essence of martial arts lies in weapons, but those are outdated. Our Wudang Tai Chi is both fist and method, but not fighting technique. We discourage high-intensity training to trigger hidden potential. You must cultivate a clear mind and righteous intent, practicing to nourish your essence, energy, and spirit.”

He said it clearly: fists aren’t for fighting, weapons aren’t taught for combat, health preservation is the true path.

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So Fang Xinghe never trusted those martial arts frauds. His main reason for going to Wudang was another benefit of learning martial arts—

In coming years, actors skilled in martial arts would have an edge over those who weren’t.

First, because “voice, stage presence, and appearance” all benefit greatly from good physical training.

Second, there were more and better opportunities in martial arts films and dramas.

Trained fighters look cool and graceful on wide shots, while later clumsy newcomers relied on close-ups, slow-motion, and chaotic editing to fool the audience.

If you fool the audience, they’ll vote with their feet and send you packing.

In 2023, Fang Xinghe once took on a marketing campaign for Huanrui Century, praising Cheng Yi’s fight scenes—it was the easiest job he ever had.

He could brag freely because no rivals dared mock him; they had to hold their noses and stay quiet.

In that era, Cheng Yi was truly the foremost, even the only, new-generation male actor.

Third, Fang Xinghe harbored an ambition—

To become a truly versatile actor excelling in every aspect.

Some domestic productions had great concepts and themes but faltered because actors lacked skill, fight scenes were weak, or producers cut corners on budget.

In short, good material was ruined, leaving viewers lamenting.

Fang Xinghe never intended to be a hype-driven star.

He wanted to see what kind of impact the combination of top-tier looks, Best Actor talent, emperor-level martial arts, national master-level aesthetics, Yu Hua’s literary genius, and more could bring to the world.

A person’s life needs a glorious, splendid chapter.

And what Fang Xinghe wanted wasn’t just one, two, or three moments of brilliance—

He wanted unending glory.

...

Half a day later, on January 15, Fang Xinghe and Yu Duoduo arrived at Wudang Mountain. Near the Purple Cloud Palace, they found the Sanfeng Sect Martial Arts Academy, still called the “Wudang Taoist Martial Arts Institute.”

The master receiving them saw they were very young and asked many detailed questions.

After the usual inquiries, he asked again, “Why travel all this way to Wudang Mountain?”

Fang Xinghe glanced at the faintly visible inner hall, raised his voice, and replied with passion: “I want to be a kung fu superstar like Jet Li, to promote the glory of Chinese martial arts. But I don’t want to learn at Shaolin Temple—Buddhism is a foreign religion that just talks big. I believe our Taoism has real kung fu, and it’s even stronger!”

Inside the hall, a lean Taoist priest hosting guests couldn’t help but smile at the corner of his mouth.

Realizing this wasn’t quite the ethereal demeanor expected, Master Zhong quickly composed himself—but it was hard to suppress the smile.

Meanwhile, two senior monks present as guests exchanged glances—one smiled wryly, the other shook his head.

When their eyes met, they thought to themselves: Where did these little brats come from? For the sake of apprenticeship, they’ve lost all shame!