066 Xingyi Boxing versus Karate

Du Ruo stood about ten meters from the two men. The moment the blond man’s hand struck out in a lateral chop and his body began to shift sideways, Du Ruo had already sensed his intentions. She saw that after the man barely dodged, sidestepping to protect his throat, he no longer retreated but adopted the mantis fist’s bow stance, one hand poised to gouge, the other lifting slightly. Du Ruo immediately understood—he was gambling everything on a single desperate chance.

Traditional martial arts often focus on catching an opponent off guard, forcing them into a defensive position. If you attack me with a knife-hand chop, I’ll go for your eyes. If you dodge or defend, you lose the initiative to continue your attack. It’s a gamble, a contest of nerve and timing. The man was willing to take that risk—Du Ruo was not.

Having recognized the warning signs and understood the man’s strategy, Du Ruo sprang into action. If she waited until the moves actually landed, there’d be no point in intervening.

Ten meters vanished in two strides; with a twisting leap, Du Ruo landed between them. Her left leg swung up, knee bent and blocking to the side, body tilted right. Her fingers pinched together and jabbed at the mantis hand’s wrist acupoint, forming the classic crane’s beak—a fundamental move in martial arts, used to strike pressure points or attack the eyes.

A pair of sharp sounds rang out—one as the blond man’s forearm chopped against Du Ruo’s shin, the other as her crane’s beak struck the man’s wrist.

The three now stood close, arms extended; Du Ruo was at the very center.

She felt uneasy standing so close to the man, so she drove her raised leg upward—an adaptation of the “Wind Shakes the Lotus Leaf” kicking technique, but instead of using the side of her foot, she jabbed forward with her toe. This was half of the “Skyward Point Kick” from Bagua Palm, though that move typically strikes up from the ground to the opponent’s throat, intended to kill with a single blow. Here, Du Ruo’s foot was already partway raised, the force much less, and she aimed not for the throat but the blond man’s armpit.

Simultaneously, as her toe jabbed forward, Du Ruo leaned back, retracted her crane’s beak, letting it glide along the man’s arm, and then twisted to deliver a backward elbow strike—again to the man’s armpit.

Both men were struck at once. Du Ruo balanced on one foot, face upturned, one leg jabbing forward, body arched back with an elbow thrust, channeling all her core strength into the movements.

Seeing both men clutch their arms and retreat, Du Ruo calmly drew back her foot and elbow, standing straight once more.

Beneath the armpit lies the Jiquan point—lightly tapping it can strengthen the heart, but it’s also one of the 108 vital points. A heavy blow won’t kill, but it sends searing pain down the arm, leaving it useless for a while.

“Damn!”

“Six hits!”

Only now did the surrounding onlookers react. They clearly knew nothing of martial arts, oblivious to how close the two men had skirted disaster. All they saw was a fierce fight, then in a blink, Du Ruo appeared between the combatants and, in a single motion, sent both reeling apart. The man’s friend shouted in shock, while the foreign companions of the blond man echoed the exclamation, obviously stunned.

“If you want to fight to the death outside, that’s none of my business. But this is my guesthouse. If you get crippled or killed here, it’ll ruin my business. So—are you still planning to fight? If you insist, pay for the damage, check out, and take it outside the village.”

Du Ruo surveyed the two men, then gestured to the section of fence that had been broken, though she wasn’t sure by whom.

The sword-carrying man said nothing. He’d been in a fury just now, driven to use a mutually destructive move. Now, sobered and sweating, he realized Du Ruo was a true master. Clutching his arm, he retreated two steps, indicating his intent to stand down.

Seeing this, Du Ruo ignored him and turned to the blond man.

“Heh, I didn’t get my fill just now. Now that you’re here, it’s the perfect chance.”

The blond man shook out his hand, rolled his shoulders, and grinned at Du Ruo. Clearly, her toe jab hadn’t sapped his fighting spirit—he was eager to cross hands.

“You sure? You must realize he was holding back. Otherwise, your eyes would have been gouged out. And I don’t practice Mantis Fist.”

Du Ruo, noting his stance, was quietly impressed. Despite using only half her strength, her Skyward Point Kick should have left a normal man’s arm useless for ages. Yet the blond man seemed almost recovered. What’s more, his speech was precise, his forceful delivery akin to the methods used in Tongbei Fist—clearly, he was no foreigner to Chinese martial arts. Du Ruo saw no need for courtesy.

“I know. That’s why I held back too. Now, are you ready?”

The blond man turned sideways into a horse stance, both hands shaped as knives—one forward, one overhead, body half-crouched. If he’d been barefoot, his toes would be seen gripping the ground—classic hard-style karate, with its philosophy of a single decisive blow. Knife-hands and open palms in this school have destructive power, their basic training involving breaking stones or ice with a single chop—enough to shatter bone.

Du Ruo had just clashed shin to forearm with him; had she met his knife-hand directly, she might not have managed her follow-up attack. Of course, with “Qi” to protect her, even his most powerful strikes wouldn’t do any real harm.

“Troublesome,” Du Ruo muttered, but her body naturally slipped into a ready stance. No true martial artist can resist the urge to test themselves—such a fine human training post is a rare opportunity, and the experience gained from real combat is worth more than years of solitary practice.

Against the wide, open attacks of karate, if you’re weaker, Bagua Palm is best. If you’re bigger and stronger, Tongbei Fist will do, allowing you to crush your opponent with ease.

But Du Ruo chose Xingyi Fist—not just because it was her strongest and most familiar art, but because she wanted to teach her opponent a lesson without leaving visible injuries that could later be grounds for complaint.

Her Xingyi Eagle-Claw opening shifted into the San Ti stance. It resembled the “asking hand” of Wing Chun above the waist, but the lower half was completely different—Wing Chun stands in the two-character goat-clamping stance, but Du Ruo stood on “chicken leg” (San Ti).

Her San Ti stance wasn’t strictly orthodox, nor was it particularly elegant—at least, that’s how it appeared to Qiangzi, who’d also trained in Xingyi but had followed up to watch. He didn’t realize that fighting form is not the same as practice form—it must be tailored to one’s own power generation habits.

“Hya!”

The blond man, seeing Du Ruo ready, lunged forward with an arrow-like kick aimed at her face—a modern fighting kick, distinct from any traditional martial arts technique.

With his body driving forward, channeling all his force and momentum, the strike was like a flying arrow. This was the “Arrow Step Kill.”