122 The Classical Military Fencing Heir in the Hospital

Climbing up two more floors, Du Ruo found himself on the rooftop. A steel door stood half-open, and it was from beyond that door that the sounds he had heard were emanating.

Du Ruo was overcome with curiosity; he wondered what kind of person would be practicing martial arts on a rooftop. He could already make out the rhythm of the breathing and the sharp exhalations, alongside the distinct, consistent whistle of a weapon cutting through the air. It was clearly the work of a seasoned practitioner.

Stepping out onto the roof, he found the setting somewhat cluttered: rusty water towers, tangled iron frames, and damaged air-conditioning ducts. It was not much different from any other rooftop he had seen. However, there was one anomaly: a straight, clear path in the center of the roof. It was a long, narrow strip where the ground showed clear signs of frequent use. Unlike the rough, pebbled concrete elsewhere, this strip—about a meter wide and four or five meters long—had been worn smooth, standing in stark contrast to its surroundings.

As soon as Du Ruo stepped out, he saw a man behind the water tower, engrossed in his practice.

The man appeared to be in his forties, dressed in a black short-sleeved shirt, his back turned toward the rooftop entrance. Despite the sweltering heat, he stood on the roof, indifferent to the scorching temperature of the ground, holding a spear over three meters long, practicing with intense focus.

Du Ruo was immediately captivated by the man's movements and stood rooted to the spot, watching intently.

The man’s routine was simple: a half-squatting horse stance, the long spear held at his waist. With a sharp "Heh!", he would step forward and thrust the spear out, his arm braced against his chest. Then, with a "Ha!", he would step forward again, retracting the spear to his waist. Upon reaching the end of the strip, he would thrust once more, then step backward.

The movements were simple—advancing and retreating in a straight line, thrusting and retracting, clean and decisive, without a single flourish. Yet, the man performed these simple motions with such dedication that Du Ruo couldn't help but be fully engaged.

Du Ruo was himself a master of the spear, no less skilled than he was at boxing. Xingyi Quan, particularly the fundamental Five Elements Fists, emphasized the principle that "when you abandon the spear, it becomes a fist"; one could even apply spear techniques to boxing and vice-versa. Although Du Ruo practiced boxing more often, the principles were interchangeable, and it was only when wielding a long spear that he truly reached the peak of his combat prowess. If it were a head-on confrontation rather than an assassination, his combat ability while wielding a spear far exceeded that of his usual wire weapon.

All spear arts share the same roots: the three fundamental movements—blocking, parrying, and thrusting. Even the most profound techniques are derived from these basics. However, the man before him was different. He was practicing with a spear over three meters long, focusing solely on the thrust, with absolutely no complex footwork—only a stable, solid horse stance. He was neither reckless nor greedy for progress.

Looking at this style, only one term came to Du Ruo’s mind: "Classical Military Spear Art."

It was not a specific school or sect, but rather the most common form of spear training used by soldiers in ancient times. The spear was the most widely used and lethal weapon in history, bar none. It was cheap to produce—a simple wooden pole with a bit of iron, or even just a sharpened end, was enough to create a weapon. Moreover, at a length of over three meters, a formation of ten men could hold off waves of enemies armed with swords or blades.

Because of these advantages, the spear was widely popularized and used on the battlefield. At some point, someone had synthesized these advantages into a system known as "Classical Military Spear Art." Its movements were so simple and singular that even the most inept could learn them, and a skilled practitioner could take down an enemy with a single thrust. It was a set of techniques that allowed men to win honors and change their lives, and so it was passed down through generations, its influence even lingering in the bayonet drills of the anti-Japanese war era.

Still, Du Ruo had not expected to encounter someone still practicing it today.

"Ring-ring—"

As Du Ruo’s mind pondered the history of the art, his eyes fixed on the man, his phone suddenly rang.

"Sorry to disturb you, I need to take this call."

Du Ruo waved his phone and gave a polite smile to the man, who had turned to look at him. The man didn't speak; he just wiped the sweat from his face and walked over to the shade of the eaves while still holding his spear.

"Hello?"

Du Ruo saw it was Yang Chenguang’s number and answered, though he suspected Yang Chenguang shouldn't be in any condition to call.

"Du Ruo, where are you? You need to come to the doctor’s office right away."

It was the voice of Yang Chenguang’s wife. Being acquaintances, Du Ruo was used to calling her Shasha.

"What’s wrong? Is Chenguang getting worse?" Du Ruo asked, sensing the urgency in her voice.

"It’s not him. He’s finished vomiting and is taking activated charcoal now. He just woke up for a moment and said you ate even more than he did—several times as much. You need to come for a check-up immediately so we can treat you if there’s a problem."

Shasha was anxious; she hadn't thought of it earlier, preoccupied with her husband, but Yang Chenguang’s reminder had spurred her into action.

"Oh, don't worry. I already had a check-up; I’m fine. You can rest easy."

Du Ruo had initially intended to leave, but hearing this, he paused. He felt perfectly fine, which meant the toxicity of the mushrooms wasn't potent, and his own internal organs were incredibly resilient. He was certain the toxins had had no effect on him. Moreover, his senses were far sharper than the average person’s; if he had truly been poisoned, he would have noticed the slightest reaction immediately.

After repeated reassurances, Du Ruo finally hung up.

"Mushroom poisoning can be very dangerous. Even if you don't feel a reaction, if your companion is showing symptoms, you really should get checked out," the man resting nearby remarked.

"I’ll go in a bit. Are you a doctor?" Du Ruo asked out of curiosity, his gaze scanning the man. Though he had a buzz cut, his hair was thick, showing no signs of the thinning hair often associated with middle-aged doctors. Combined with his long-term training, he possessed a frame of solid, well-defined muscle.

"Yes. Are you interested in this?" The man nodded and gave his spear a slight shake.

"I am. I just didn't expect anyone to still be practicing this kind of Classical Military Spear Art, so I couldn't help but come over when I heard the commotion." Du Ruo nodded, correctly identifying the style and proving he wasn't just a layman.

"My apologies, I didn't realize. You’re an expert yourself, then. I’m Shi Dong, a doctor at this hospital. What I’m practicing is a family-inherited spear art. You can call it Classical Military Spear Art, or you can call it the Shi Family Great Spear style."

Shi Dong smiled, set his spear aside, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offered one to Du Ruo, and lit one for himself. He sat down on the ground and started to smoke.

"I’m Du Ruo, a villager from Du Family Village. I practice Xingyi. How long have you been practicing this spear style?"

Du Ruo sat down as well, and the two strangers began to chat about martial arts on the hospital rooftop.

"Since I was a child. It’s been nearly thirty years now," Shi Dong replied casually.

"You only practice this one move? I can see your basics are solid, but you don't seem to have practiced anything else. Why not consider boxing or other arts? With thirty years of systematic training, your achievements could be much greater."

Du Ruo was curious. Military spear arts were devastatingly lethal, but because they were so simple and brutal, they didn't condition the entire body like boxing or more comprehensive spear styles. The martial arts Du Ruo practiced all had specific training methods; for instance, the standing meditation of Xingyi and the Five Elements Fists were designed to train the entire essence, energy, and spirit, while the "Three-Body Stance" tempered one's temperament. Other arts like the Ziranmen style had their own specific conditioning. Everything boiled down to training the whole body, inside and out.

"Haha, my family forced me to inherit this at first. Later on, I just got used to it. I don't practice for a career, and I have no desire to become some kind of martial arts master. It’s just a way for me to relax my body and mind after work or study. I really haven't felt the need to learn anything else." Shi Dong laughed, his voice boisterous and hearty.

"That’s a fine mindset. I’m quite curious about this Shi Family Great Spear style. Could you satisfy my curiosity?" Du Ruo asked with a smile. He was genuinely interested in seeing what level thirty years of such specialized practice could achieve.

"Sure. How would you like to see it?" Shi Dong nodded, showing no hesitation. He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, dusted himself off, and picked up his spear. He seemed quite happy to put on a demonstration.

"Let’s do this." Du Ruo rose as well. He looked around and noticed an air-conditioning unit about five meters away. He flicked the half-finished cigarette in his hand with his finger.

*Whoosh.*

The cigarette butt flew like a dart, wedging itself perfectly into a gap in the external air-conditioning unit, its tip still glowing.

"Impressive technique." Shi Dong’s eyes lit up. That single flick was beautiful—the lightness of the movement combined with the speed and precision demonstrated the "fast, accurate, and ruthless" essence of hidden weapons.

Shi Dong offered a word of praise, then his expression turned serious as he braced the spear against his waist.

*Whoosh.*

Before Shi Dong had even made a large movement, the spear thrust forward with a violent burst of speed. He had already moved a meter forward, and the glowing embers of the cigarette butt on the unit scattered into the air. Throughout the motion, only a blurred afterimage of the spear tip was visible, accompanied by a faint whistle in the air. The tip had extinguished the cigarette without even touching the casing of the air conditioner.