Plum Blossom Praying Mantis Fist

Du Ruo rose to his feet and stepped onto the balcony, gazing down. Wang Lang stood at the courtyard gate, holding something in his hand, craning his neck to peer inside. Since Du Ruo had left the kitchen light on and the main door wide open, it was impossible to tell if anyone was home.

“Looks like we have a guest. You all keep drinking—I’ll go have a word with him,” Du Ruo said to the three inside.

The trio knew nothing of the morning’s events, nor did they recognize Wang Lang. But since Du Ruo referred to him as a guest, they held their tongues.

“Boss Du!” Wang Lang called out, hearing the voice from above. Spotting Du Ruo, he quickly greeted him.

Du Ruo didn’t bother with the stairs. He placed his hands on the balcony railing and vaulted down. Landing as lightly as a feline, his toes touched ground and his legs bent only slightly, barely making a sound. He walked up to Wang Lang and, while swinging open the courtyard gate, gestured him inside. “My apologies, Brother Wang. I was just having dinner with some friends. Please, come in.”

“When did he get so skilled? Doesn’t even need stairs anymore?” Yang Chenguang, having set aside his earlier concerns about the mouse, couldn’t help but question Xiang Yuanyuan as he watched Du Ruo descend in a flash.

Xiang Yuanyuan merely glanced at him in silence, her look implying, “You two are so close and you don’t know? Why ask me?”

“Boss Du, I hope my visit isn’t too abrupt. Sorry to intrude,” Wang Lang said, abandoning any pretense of formality. Even he seemed unused to it. He set two bottles of wine on the table and, standing upright, clasped his fists in salute to Du Ruo.

“No need for all that. Please, have a seat,” Du Ruo replied with equal courtesy, inviting him to sit and setting water to boil for tea.

“Thank you for stepping in this morning, Boss Du. If not for you, I might have…” Wang Lang began to express his gratitude, but Du Ruo interrupted him before he could finish.

“No, no—don’t thank me. I didn’t intervene for your sake. If it hadn’t happened at the inn, and you weren’t both registered guests, I’m not sure I would’ve stepped in at all,” Du Ruo said bluntly, clearly uninterested in the details of their conflict. To him, such matters were of no consequence.

Wang Lang faltered, unsure how to proceed. His plan had been to thank Du Ruo, recount the dispute with the blond man, and paint the foreigner’s words as so offensive as to unite everyone against him. Then, perhaps, he could use the opportunity to seek guidance—if not to learn some secrets, at least to forge a connection.

But Du Ruo didn’t play along; his directness closed off the conversation.

“Here, have some tea. How long have you studied Praying Mantis Fist? Is it a family tradition?” Du Ruo poured the tea and changed the subject, not out of ignorance of social niceties, but because, after years of martial practice, he’d grown straightforward in both thought and word.

His knowledge of other martial arts stemmed from what he’d gleaned in his mind—every time he acquired a new skill, his understanding of foundational martial arts deepened. Though called “foundational,” this body of knowledge was vast. For instance, in Xingyi Quan, there’s a move called “Civet Cat Climbs the Tree.” Upon learning it, Du Ruo would recall related techniques, such as similar maneuvers in Northern Footwork. The more skills he mastered, the richer his understanding became, though it was always just fragments. Still, it was more than enough for his purposes.

However, Du Ruo’s knowledge was limited to the theory; he knew nothing of how these arts survived in the real world. He’d heard of Northern Plum Blossom Praying Mantis, but whether its lineage still existed, or how skilled its current practitioners were, he had no idea.

Meeting Wang Lang, he hoped to glean, indirectly, the current state of traditional martial arts in the real world.

“Mm, it’s a family tradition, though there aren’t many in the Wang family who practice it now—there’s been a break in the lineage. Young people are more interested these days, maybe because they watched martial arts on TV growing up and life is a bit more prosperous. A few have stuck with it. My father’s generation all gave it up, found it too grueling, and saw no future in it. My grandfather said that among his dozen or so brothers, only the eldest truly mastered it, but he left home to seek his fortune forty years ago, and was never heard from again,” Wang Lang replied, candid and unguarded. Du Ruo had only needed to open the subject, and Wang Lang spoke freely.

“That makes sense. Their generation gave everything to the country. Without them, we wouldn’t have the resources to practice martial arts today,” Du Ruo nodded in understanding. He didn’t know much about martial arts lineages, but from Wang Lang’s account, it sounded like the previous generation was active from the seventies to the nineties, an era of economic development and construction—especially in the north, with its forests, mines, steelworks, and heavy industry. They contributed greatly to the nation’s progress. In those days, people barely had enough to eat, and the conditions were hardly suited for martial practice.

“How do you train the fundamentals of Praying Mantis Fist? I’m curious,” Du Ruo asked, shifting the topic to what truly interested him: whether these martial families followed tradition or adopted modern scientific methods.

“I can’t speak for other schools, but with Plum Blossom Praying Mantis, we start around thirteen or fourteen. For fundamentals, first comes stance training, then finger strength—speed, accuracy, and force are key. The basic drills are picking green beans, pressing ants, and picking chestnuts from the fire,” Wang Lang explained. These basics could be practiced by anyone, though the real test was persistence and a bit of technique—nothing too secret.

“So you still follow tradition,” Du Ruo said, nodding in understanding. Wang Lang made it sound easy, but only those who practiced knew the pain involved.

“Picking green beans” meant mixing red and green beans in a basin and, within a set time, using the Mantis Hook Hand to pick out all the green beans, gradually reducing the time allowed. “Pressing ants” was simply sitting on the ground, luring ants with honey, and using the Mantis Hook to crush them one by one. “Picking chestnuts from the fire” required tossing chestnuts into hot coals, then snatching them out barehanded with the Mantis Hook.

These drills were simple and direct, their purpose clear: to achieve speed and accuracy. With thousands of repetitions daily, an arm would become incredibly strong, and the Mantis Hook would develop muscle memory. After a few years, even an ordinary person could, in a fight, easily use the Mantis Hook to attack the eyes.

“I’ve seen your Praying Mantis Fist in action. Even under restrictions, it’s impressive. That sword on your back—must be the two-handed longsword, right? The Double-Handed Mantis Sword has long been renowned. Do you practice it?” Du Ruo’s gaze shifted to the weapon on Wang Lang’s back, his curiosity piqued.

“My swordsmanship isn’t on par with my great-uncle’s, but I’ve been at it over ten years. Boss Du, you’re a master of Xingyi—your spear techniques must be formidable, too. How about we have a friendly match?” Wang Lang’s eyes shone with anticipation.