Wild Boar

Hearing the sound, Du Ruo temporarily set aside his study of “Essence, Qi, and Spirit” and ran in the direction from which it came. His recent experiment had felt like opening the door to an entirely new world.

Since his breakthrough in “Essence, Qi, and Spirit,” changes had taken place within Du Ruo. For instance, his lower dantian was now occupied by “Essence,” which burned like a constant, unmoving fire. He couldn’t control it directly; only after drinking medicinal wine or consuming large amounts of beef would this fire help him absorb and digest food rapidly.

His middle dantian was filled with “Qi,” formless and shapeless like mist, yet easily manipulated. Whatever Du Ruo wished to do—whether to infuse it into hidden weapons or blades, or to strengthen a part of his body—it would respond as he desired.

His upper dantian was home to “Spirit,” which lingered there lazily like water. Only when Du Ruo focused his entire mind would a trickle of clear current disperse through his body, then vanish without a trace.

Though these three seemed unrelated, in truth they were intricately connected: the fire of “Essence” would produce “Qi” as it rose; the activity and expenditure of “Qi” would condense “Spirit” into water; that water would then flow out to nourish and replenish the body, in turn fueling the fire of “Essence” like kindling. Of course, at present, the tangible “Essence, Qi, and Spirit” within Du Ruo was not abundant—he would need to train and cultivate further to strengthen them, and was still exploring their uses.

Du Ruo moved quickly, undeterred by trees or rocks. After running more than a hundred meters into the woods, he finally caught sight of the clouded leopard and its adversary locked in battle.

“The spot where they’re fighting must be nearly two hundred meters from the boulder I was just at. The clouded leopard’s voice isn’t loud, but I could faintly hear it from that far away. Even accounting for the wind, that’s just incredible,” he thought.

Watching the scene, Du Ruo saw the clouded leopard circling a pair of wild boars, one large and one small. From time to time, it would emit a growl, perhaps to intimidate its opponent—the larger boar, which must have weighed more than three hundred jin.

Seeing the clouded leopard wasn’t in immediate danger, Du Ruo relaxed and observed the standoff, mentally measuring the distance from which he’d heard the sound. Hearing is a vague sense—there’s a difference between hearing something and hearing it clearly, and the volume of the source matters, too. But the growls of a clouded leopard and a wild boar aren’t especially deep or resonant, so for Du Ruo to have heard them from nearly two hundred meters away was already testament enough to the abnormal acuity of his hearing. And his “Essence, Qi, and Spirit” were not yet at their peak—they could be strengthened even further in the future.

The large wild boar stomped its hooves, keeping its patterned piglet behind it and brandishing its tusks at the clouded leopard. The piglet, still marked with stripes, couldn’t have weighed more than ten jin. It crouched on the ground, a trail of fresh blood behind it. At this, Du Ruo immediately understood what must have happened.

It must have been that several wild boars were foraging together when the clouded leopard seized its chance to ambush the piglet. Either it slipped up or failed to kill the piglet instantly, which caught the attention of the big boar. The leopard couldn’t take its prey away or carry it up a tree, and neither side was willing to back down—the stalemate ensued.

Yawning with boredom, Du Ruo watched from a short distance away. Neither the clouded leopard nor the wild boar could do anything to the other. The leopard, not being a tiger, weighed at most forty jin—a far cry from being able to subdue a thick-skinned, three- or four-hundred-jin wild boar. Meanwhile, the boar was helpless against the agile, tree-climbing leopard.

The wild boar didn’t attack, but instead nosed at the piglet on the ground. With its help, the piglet slowly got to its feet. The big boar snorted twice at the clouded leopard, urging the piglet to stay beneath its legs, and prepared to leave together.

The clouded leopard, unwilling to let its prey escape, feinted several pounces, only to be met by the boar’s long, gleaming tusks. Fortunately, the leopard was nimble and dodged aside, but couldn’t find another opening. At last, it gave up, letting the two boars go, though it trailed behind at a cautious distance, clearly still hoping for another chance.

“I can’t let this leopard follow the boars off into the wild. If they run, it’ll be at least a few kilometers, and if it gets caught, the wildlife protection institute might set up cameras along the route,” Du Ruo thought. He decided he couldn’t just stand by. He would intervene and bring down the wild boar—after all, he’d be helping a first-class protected animal find food, and the wild boar itself wasn’t protected anymore. While hunting it wasn’t strictly permitted, he could justify stepping in on the grounds of concern for the leopard’s safety.

Well, Du Ruo would admit it—he was itching to test his own newfound strength, and he also wanted to pet the big cat.

He hung the sack of beef on a nearby tree, tensed his hips, and sprang forward like a tiger.

In terms of explosive speed, the Xingyi Tiger Form was second to none.

He crossed dozens of meters in the blink of an eye.

The clouded leopard, startled by Du Ruo’s sudden appearance, sprang with a push of its paws up into a pine tree. Realizing Du Ruo wasn’t after it, it relaxed and watched from a branch.

The wild boar, slowed by the piglet beneath its belly, was quickly overtaken. Hearing the commotion, it turned and, as before, swung its head and thrust its long tusks upward at Du Ruo.

Eager to test himself, Du Ruo neither dodged nor evaded. In mid-pounce, his hand formed a dragon palm and chopped down hard at the boar’s skull.

The Xingyi style was known for its ferocity—a direct, unyielding approach, much like Bajiquan, but with crucial differences. Du Ruo’s chopping fist collided with the boar’s hardest spot, its head, producing a dull thud.

That blow didn’t inflict real harm, but Du Ruo wasn’t finished. Instantly, he turned his hand into a claw and grabbed the boar’s ear, while his other hand delivered a sweeping punch to the boar’s neck with such force that it staggered sideways.

As his punch landed, the hand gripping the ear withdrew and shifted to an eagle’s talon, driving a drilling fist into the boar’s ribs.

The Bajiquan’s signature was its imposing, heavy strikes; Xingyi, too, started like a steel file and landed like a grappling hook. As just now, “rising” like a file, the attack was steady and powerful, with focused force even in apparent relaxation; “falling” brought a hook-like curve, not just a straight line, and every move was followed by a host of variations. That was exactly how Du Ruo fought—one move bringing forth a cascade of follow-ups.

Alas, against a boar weighing three or four hundred jin, with its thick hide and dense flesh, Du Ruo’s attacks, though fierce, were not immediately fatal.

Beaten back a few steps, the wild boar snorted, breathing heavily, eyes reddening. Stamping twice, it lowered its head and charged at Du Ruo, heedless of the piglet—now desperate, its own life was at stake.