062 Health Cultivation Techniques? I Don’t Know Any!

“Boss Du, please, could you help us? Money is not an issue. My cousin and her husband are both locals, the kind who own several buildings and live off the rent.”

Li Qiyao didn’t want to comment too much on her cousin. She simply had immense faith in Du Ruo, believing him to be truly skilled. She wanted him to guide her cousin, which was why she’d hurried over as soon as the forging of the Coiling Dragon Silk was complete.

“It’s not impossible, but learning martial arts isn’t something achieved in a day or two. Plus, there’s quite a distance between us. How about this: Let your cousin work on her physical fitness first. Once she’s built that foundation and has time to visit, I’ll teach her some techniques. That should be more than enough for self-defense,” Du Ruo replied after some thought. He wasn’t keen on taking on students, but he didn’t mind sharing a few fighting techniques.

“Thank you, thank you, Boss Du.” Li Qiyao thanked him repeatedly, then stepped aside to call her cousin. Unless one experienced it firsthand, it was hard to understand the inner turmoil and pain her cousin was going through.

“Boss Du, could you teach me too? I’ve been feeling pretty unwell lately. Is there any martial art specifically for boosting health?” Xiang Yuanyuan joined in, slapping her shoulder and neck as she spoke.

“No. In true traditional martial arts, there’s no skill solely for improving health. Your poor health is probably due to long-term drinking and an unhealthy diet. I suggest you see a doctor,” Du Ruo replied bluntly, glancing at her.

“Fine, if you won’t teach, then forget it. Qiqi, let’s go. We’re not staying at his guesthouse. We’ll go to my place.” Xiang Yuanyuan wasn’t upset—she knew her own situation well. Du Ruo was right on every count, though being exposed like this made her a bit embarrassed.

Watching them leave, Du Ruo continued to caress the Coiling Dragon Silk bracelet, reluctant to put it down.

After a while, he took it out again and began practicing in the courtyard. He even infused it with “Qi,” and to his surprise, he discovered that by focusing his mind, he could make the thrown dragon tail subtly change direction. This single discovery was enough to keep him researching for a long time.

Du Ruo hadn’t lied to Xiang Yuanyuan earlier—traditional martial arts never had a practice solely for strengthening the body.

Martial training, from ancient times, was always for defeating enemies, to kill more efficiently. Physical fitness was a byproduct, not the goal. From the outset, there were no skills designed purely for longevity or healing. (There were things like the Five Animal Frolics and the Huangdi Neijing, but these are exceptions.)

The first to extract the health-improving elements from traditional skills were the Buddhists and Daoists, mainly to cater to those in power. (This is fictional; any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.)

Once people achieved power and status, their biggest fear was their health failing, or sudden illness robbing them of the chance to enjoy life. They spent fortunes searching for methods or secrets to improve their health.

Thus, the influential Buddhist and Daoist sects took the lead. Soon after, a variety of health practices and elixirs emerged.

These methods became quite popular, mainly because anyone could practice them, and no harm came to those who did. Put nicely, they were “balanced and harmonious.”

Some sects would share them with the “fortunate,” others with those who had “destiny.” In any case, as more people practiced, those who died young were considered unlucky, while those who lived long were credited to the greatness of the method. Thus, many of these skills were passed down in this way.

As to whether they actually worked, Du Ruo could only say: exercise is always good, and sticking with it does bring some benefit, but it’s nothing compared to genuine martial skills.

By the late Qing dynasty, when martial arts were in vogue and the world was in turmoil, many scions of the elite began seeking to apprentice themselves to the great masters—perhaps to curry favor, perhaps for other reasons. The most renowned at the time was the Taiji master, Yang Luchan.

Yang Luchan lived in the capital, and everyone from princes and nobles to commoners wanted him as their teacher.

Ordinary people rarely met Yang Luchan, but it was hard to refuse the nobility. Yang’s son, Yang Jianhou, came up with an idea.

At that time, all martial arts required grueling foundational training from childhood before learning actual techniques, and many styles only had a few simple moves.

Yang Jianhou distilled the techniques of Taiji into a set routine. This routine looked elegant, didn’t require a strong foundation, and, with a robust body and a little guidance, one could handle a few ordinary people. With regular practice, it even had health benefits. Thus, this routine spread among the aristocracy, becoming known as the Small Frame of Taiji.

With the Taiji master Yang Luchan’s endorsement, those who excelled were praised as Taiji prodigies; those who didn’t were simply lacking in aptitude. This way, the nobles kept their dignity, and Yang’s family gained both fame and tuition. Later, they even introduced the Medium Frame and Large Frame, allowing Taiji to spread even further—so much so that even elderly folks could practice it with style.

However, the true core—fundamental training, herbal wines, medicinal meals and baths, breathing methods, and mental focus—never spread.

Seeing this, other sects followed suit, creating their own sets and routines, and traditional martial arts enjoyed a final flourish.

Decades passed, the generation of grandmasters died off, and as the world grew peaceful and prosperous, self-proclaimed martial arts masters popped up everywhere. Many had studied under true masters, formally apprenticed, and started to accept disciples in droves, earning fortunes.

Until the day of reckoning came. When exposed, it turned out these so-called masters were all show, having practiced routines for decades without ever drilling the basics. Crucially, these people’s credentials were unimpeachable, making it impossible to spot the fraud. Thus, the reputation of traditional martial arts crumbled.

Only the various health exercises remained widespread. These were impossible to verify—after all, if someone practiced a health method, who could challenge them?

For example, the core breathing and mental training paired with standing exercises in Baguazhang, one of the three great internal styles, were thus lost.

None of this mattered to Du Ruo. He trained using the knowledge and martial skills extracted from the game, each with a complete lineage: fundamentals, methods, techniques, even routines—everything was perfectly complete, with no risk of error.

Du Ruo trained until nearly ten at night before going to bed. The next morning, as soon as he woke, he took out the Coiling Dragon Silk and resumed practicing in the courtyard.

Even when Xiang Yuanyuan and Li Qiyao invited him to explore the ancient city of Huizhou, Du Ruo simply refused.

Honestly, what fun could compare to playing with the Coiling Dragon Silk at home?

Ding—

His phone buzzed on the table—a message. Du Ruo paused, checked his phone.

“Boss, that Xingyi Qiangzi—no, he’s now called Iron Palm Qiangzi—has arrived at the guesthouse. First thing he did was ask where you are.”

“Huh? Are today’s college students really this persistent?” With a wry smile, Du Ruo replied to Yang Ling’s message, then opened his interface. Just now, his hidden weapon skill had leveled up, granting him another chance to spin the prize wheel. This was what he looked forward to most these days.