Chapter Forty-One: The Affairs of the World Are Achieved Through Attention to Detail

Luo Zongwen must have notified them in advance, for the guards did not impede him in the slightest.

Du Huaishan was about to head upstairs to the study on the second floor when a young adjutant in the inner hall called out to him, “Elder Luo is waiting for you in the lounge on the third floor. Go on up.”

“Alright.”

He walked straight to the third floor, where there were two rooms.

Du Huaishan knocked on the wooden door to the left, which bore a sign reading “Lounge.”

“Come in.”

Within, Luo Zongwen’s deep, resonant voice was unmistakable.

He opened the door to find a modest, tranquil room. Two massage beds stood inside, and on a wooden shelf against the wall were arranged various bottles and jars exuding a medicinal fragrance.

“Hello, Instructor Luo,” Du Huaishan greeted politely.

“You’re here. Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed,” Luo Zongwen said, still dressed all in black, gazing out the window at the commanders’ training ground.

Following instructions, Du Huaishan removed all his outer garments, keeping only his white underwear, and lay down on the massage bed.

Moments later, Luo Zongwen approached with a tin of what seemed to be medicated liniment, its pungent aroma filling the air. He poured some into his hands, rubbed them warm, and began to massage Du Huaishan’s waist, back, arms, legs, shoulders, soles, every joint, and stretched each muscle and tendon.

His technique was leagues beyond what Tan Hai could offer. Not only did he employ familiar styles—pressing, kneading, pointing, grasping—but also less common methods: tapping, shaking, vibrating, and levering.

Du Huaishan had only experienced such intricate skills when he served as a demonstration subject in sports rehabilitation class.

But Luo Zongwen was clearly superior even to the rehabilitation instructor—perhaps it was a matter of strength.

Each of Luo’s presses drove the medicinal properties of the liniment deep into the body, as if the essence seeped through the pores with every squeeze.

But it hurt! Truly, it hurt!

In no time at all, Du Huaishan felt as if his whole body were slathered with chili water—burning and prickling. Yet once he endured the sensation, an inexplicable coolness flooded him.

Crack!

“You’ve misaligned a vertebra again today. I’ve just set it right,” Luo Zongwen announced abruptly, pressing heavily on Du Huaishan’s spine. The pain nearly made him cry out. “Alright. Now close your eyes, tense all your muscles, stretch your limbs out forcefully, press your pelvis down, then slowly release.”

Du Huaishan had no idea what this was about. Isn’t a massage supposed to end with relaxation?

“Repeat three or four times. Deep breaths. Relax and lie flat,” Luo instructed.

Du Huaishan complied with every step.

Soon, he caught the faint scent of incense—a gentle, refreshing fragrance that slipped into his lungs, soothing his spirit, making him feel so at ease he could hardly keep from drifting off.

Clang!

A clear, pleasant chime rang out.

Du Huaishan startled awake to find Luo Zongwen standing before him, a brass bell in hand. “Take a shower, get dressed, and go downstairs for your meal.”

“How long was I asleep, Instructor Luo?”

Rubbing his eyelids, Du Huaishan could scarcely believe he’d fallen asleep so quickly and deeply in such an unfamiliar place.

“About half a stick of incense,” Luo Zongwen replied.

Looking over, Du Huaishan indeed saw an incense stick burned to its end on the stone platform by the window.

Incredible. A mere fifteen minutes of shallow sleep, yet it felt more restorative than several hours of deep rest. Not only had his fatigue vanished, but he was brimming with energy.

Was it the liniment, the massage, or the incense?

No, there was something else! Suddenly, he recalled the self-relaxation method Luo Zongwen had just taught him. “It was the spine!”

A flash of light flickered in Luo Zongwen’s four odd-colored eyes. “Correct. That technique is one form of Tiger Form Relaxation from Xingyi—modeled after a tiger’s stretch, fully extending the spine. It’s much like our own instinctive stretching, but applied after medicinal massage, it quickly restores energy and even lengthens the spine—a great benefit for someone your age who’s still growing.”

No wonder Luo Zongwen, despite his advanced years, appeared more robust than ever, unbowed by age. Besides the vitality from his guardian spirit, surely this Tiger Form Relaxation played a part.

Du Huaishan recalled that his rehabilitation teacher had once discussed a medical concept: endplate reflow, where spinal decompression leads to rapid relaxation and energy recovery.

This Instructor Luo was truly remarkable.

He hadn’t expected Luo Zongwen to praise him as well: “Your master has taught you well. Few can enter the state so quickly, even after experiencing my methods.”

Du Huaishan grinned sheepishly.

His “masters” were not just one individual but the accumulated wisdom of modern science, developed over generations.

After his shower, Du Huaishan felt refreshed—except for his ravenous hunger.

In the dining hall, he wondered if he’d stepped into another world.

Staring at the lavish spread—platters of beef shank, gleaming, oil-slicked stir-fries, a steaming cauldron of savory broth, multigrain rice, and fruit—Du Huaishan’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

Compared to the recruits’ mess, this was a feast fit for kings.

“Eat up. Diet is the most crucial part of martial training. Chew slowly, digest well. Don’t overeat, or you’ll harm your body during the next round of training,” Luo Zongwen said, taking up a large beef shank and biting into it with relish—an appetite hardly befitting a man of his age.

Considering Luo’s burly, white-bearded frame, it was clear his meals could not be meager.

Du Huaishan, starving, could no longer restrain himself. He grabbed a hefty piece of beef and popped it in his mouth.

With Luo Zongwen’s status, the private chef’s skills were beyond question.

Yet it was the broth that surprised him. On tasting it, he detected a hint of medicinal herbs—it was a medicinal stew!

He could taste slices of ginseng and white atractylodes, a potent tonic for those who trained hard every day.

There was high-quality protein, vitamins, and herbal supplements to replenish vitality.

With such a regimen over time, how could the body fail to grow strong?

Du Huaishan finally understood why Luo Zongwen was so formidable. Never mind his mastery of martial arts or his integration of supernatural power; his attention to the minutest details of training alone set him far above ordinary men.

After the meal, Luo Zongwen reclined in a chair, eyes closed, massaging his upper abdomen. “Four inches above and two inches beside the navel are Zhongwan and Liangmen; three inches below the kneecap, a finger’s width outside the shinbone, is Zusanli. Pressing these points stimulates the stomach and aids digestion.”

These were acupressure techniques from traditional medicine.

They promoted digestion.

Like the martial arts, traditional medicine was often ridiculed online. Modern science had yet to prove the existence of meridians and channels.

Yet Du Huaishan felt that anything surviving so many centuries must hold some truth. Tui na, massage, acupuncture—he’d personally benefited from them.

Perhaps “medicine and martial arts are one” was true after all.

Just as modern fighters need both trainers and recovery specialists, the martial artists of old China were often half-doctors themselves.

But Luo Zongwen did not rely solely on traditional methods.

Traditional medicine warns, “Do not exert yourself after eating.” But sports science advocates the “pre-training meal,” because exercising on an empty stomach can result in poor performance, low blood sugar, nausea, or even fainting.

“It’s about time for training,” Luo Zongwen said, opening his eyes and rising to his feet.

Du Huaishan nodded. He had chewed thoroughly, eaten in moderation, and massaged his acupoints; by now, most of the food in his stomach was already digested.

Back to the third floor.

But this time, to the room opposite the lounge.

He opened the door to a massive rectangular chamber, over three hundred square meters in size. Along the left wall hung an array of cold weapons, suits of armor, and metal training stakes. On the right, heavy chains hung from the wall beside a machine.

“Well, my boy, how are you adapting to my methods so far?” Luo Zongwen asked with a rare smile as they entered the training room.

“I’m adapting well. Your training pays meticulous attention to detail, Instructor Luo!”

This was no flattery. Luo Zongwen’s methods were scientifically sound—emphasizing stretching, rest, and nutrition.

Muscle growth, after all, comes from training-induced microtears, rest and repair, and protein synthesis.

Thus, seasoned trainers always stress: hard work is important, but rest and diet are more so.

At the mention of “details,” Luo Zongwen nodded in satisfaction. “Your powers of observation and comprehension are among the highest I’ve seen in all my years of martial practice.”

Du Huaishan had no idea the weight of these words. Had a third person been present to witness such praise from Elder Luo, they would have been astounded.

“Indeed, even the greatest affairs are accomplished by tending to the smallest details.”

As he spoke, Luo Zongwen led Du Huaishan to the wall and fastened the iron chains around his neck, arms, and ankles. “Spinal adjustment and abdominal massage strengthen you from within. Now, my next training method works from without. It may… hurt a little.”