Iron Fist and Loyal Heart

Chapter 7 Standing Posture Practice for 12 Days

On the day he completed 100 days of standing meditation, Su Xinpei drew a circle on his calendar.

It wasn't a celebration. It was a marker—he needed to know how much time he'd spent on this. The calendar was a convenient one issued by the neighborhood committee at the end of the year, one page per month, printed with the statutory holidays of the Southern Alliance and the weather forecast for Ironthorn City. Su Xinpei wrote a number in red pen in each day's square, representing the number of minutes he'd spent standing meditation that day. For the first ten days, the number fluctuated between five and fifteen. For the second ten days, the number stabilized at around thirty. By the third month, the red number in the square jumped to sixty. Now, a hundred days had passed, and he'd tallied it up—the cumulative standing meditation time was about two hundred and twenty hours, averaging a little over two hours per day.

On the panel, the progress bar for the Hunyuan stance had already crossed the threshold of the proficiency level. It took more than a month to go from beginner to proficient, and another two months to go from proficient to master. Every day he went to work, practiced stance, ate, and slept. His days passed like a taut conveyor belt, without any waves, only a continuous and steady forward movement.

Su Xinpei put down his red pen and stretched his shoulders. The cold front had arrived tonight, and the temperature had dropped faster than the weather forecast predicted; he was even wearing an old sweater indoors. His shoulder blades had been bothering him lately, not from practicing standing meditation, but from adding an extra five kilograms during a deadlift at the gym last week. He felt fine at the time, but the next morning he was grimacing as he turned over. Aunt He, passing by his workstation, remarked that he "walks like a crab" and then placed a pack of plasters on his desk.

He stood up from the table, walked to the center of the room, pushed the chair to the corner, and stood in the stance.

Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, hips back, spine straight, head slightly lifted, and hands clasped in front of your chest. These movements no longer need to be mentally rehearsed. The body automatically finds the correct joint angles the moment you stand still—the heel engages slightly to the outside first, then smoothly transitions to the entire foot, knees aligned with toes, tailbone slightly tucked, chest slightly concave but not collapsed. The muscles have formed a memory, moving faster than conscious thought.

He closed his eyes.

Within the first minute, his fingertips began to tingle. It wasn't from the cold weather—it was a sensation of qi. Now he could distinguish between the two types of numbness: the numbness from the cold weather was superficial, like needle pricks; the numbness from qi seeped out from the bone, carrying a slight warmth, moving from the fingertips along the back of the hand to the wrist. Now, with his standing meditation, the appearance of qi no longer required waiting; he could almost perceive it within a few breaths with his eyes closed—like turning on a faucet, the water flowed out steadily, reminding him of Aunt He's daily morning routine of wiping her desk: wringing out the cloth, from left to right, neither fast nor slow.

Around the tenth minute, the heat started to spread from the Yongquan acupoint down to the ankle, then up the inner side of the calf to the knee. Previously, it would take forty or fifty minutes for the heat to build up from standing meditation to the point where the feet felt warm; now, that time had been reduced to around fifteen minutes. This wasn't due to a significant increase in skill, but rather because the body's blood and energy pathways had adapted to this rhythm after repeated stimulation. He could feel the warm current linger briefly at his knee, then ascend along the meridians of his inner thigh, converging at the Guanyuan acupoint. All the warmth rising from the extremities eventually settled there, while he simply stood quietly, like an observer.

Sometimes he would recall the "standard warm-up routine" taught by his instructor in high school biochemistry class—high knees, jumping jacks, dynamic stretching—requiring his heart rate to reach 60% of his maximum heart rate within five minutes. Back then, he thought that was the whole truth of exercise physiology. Now, as he practices standing meditation in the dark, his heart rate slowly decreases from about 70 beats per minute to around 60, yet his perceived body temperature rises—this isn't the cause-and-effect law taught in biochemistry class. The logic of biochemistry is to accelerate metabolism to generate heat; the logic of standing meditation is the opposite: slowing down metabolism and calming the body allows heat to rise from deeper within.

The warmest spot is the Guanyuan acupoint. A retired veteran once told him that in Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation), one should sink their Qi to the Dantian, which is three finger-widths below the Guanyuan acupoint. At the time, Su Xinpei considered this a kind of mystical practice for health preservation in the elderly. Now, after standing in Zhan Zhuang for twenty minutes, the area below his lower abdomen feels like a slowly heating charcoal—not hot, but warm, like the lingering warmth you feel after rubbing your hands together for a long time. He can now replicate this feeling every day, without needing to cultivate Qi or visualize; he just needs to stand in the correct posture and wait for his body to naturally assume the position.

He plans to stand for an hour today, then rest. His left shoulder is still a bit uncomfortable—the muscle strain from the last deadlift hasn't completely healed, and his shoulder isn't relaxed enough during standing meditation, so it aches slightly after standing for a while.

Then he saw a line of text pop up on the panel.

[Standing meditation experience +3]

Not every time he practices standing meditation, his experience points jump. He had long since figured out the pattern: focus. If he was thinking about work while practicing, his experience points would jump less or not at all; if he focused on his breathing and bodily sensations, his experience points would increase steadily, with an efficiency difference of nearly three times. The experience points that jumped just now were very stable, indicating that his focus was good at that moment.

He silently made a mental note—standing meditation plus a shoulder injury for one night—and then continued standing.

After standing for a few more minutes, he noticed that the Qi sensation wasn't flowing smoothly along his opposite shoulder blade. Previously, during standing meditation, the Qi would travel evenly upwards along the entire Du meridian, but tonight there was a noticeable stagnation in his left shoulder blade area, like water encountering a dam—not completely blocked, but forced to detour. He knew this was because the shoulder muscle injury hadn't fully healed, causing stagnation as the Qi passed through. In the past, he would have only perceived this as some kind of "ache or numbness," but now he had learned a more subtle perception—the stagnation itself was also a form of Qi sensation, revealed not through stillness or pain, but rather more pronounced.

He didn't stop practicing. He tried to relax his shoulders by half an inch, then readjusted his breathing. Relaxation wasn't about loosening up, but about slightly lowering his shoulder blades so that the area around the Jianjing acupoint was no longer tense. This fine-tuning took about five minutes, during which time his experience points didn't jump—his focus was entirely on the sensations in his shoulder joints, and he wasn't counting them on the panel. The stiffness began to subside around the sixth minute; it wasn't that the blockage was cleared, but rather that it bypassed it. The sensation of Qi found an alternative pathway along the edge of his left shoulder blade, bypassing the adhered muscle fibers.

He continued maintaining the stance. He'd probably exceeded the allotted time for the standing meditation, but he didn't seem to care. His breathing became slower and more subtle. Previously, he had to consciously control his breathing rhythm during standing meditation—inhale for four seconds, hold for two seconds, exhale for six seconds—but now he didn't need to; his body had found its own rhythm. The boundary between inhalation and exhalation became increasingly blurred, and the sensation of breath entering and exiting his nasal cavity became fainter, like the ebb and flow of the tide in a distant place.

Just as he almost forgot he was still practicing standing meditation, a surge of heat rose from his Guanyuan acupoint, ascended along the Ren meridian, passed through his chest, descended along the bladder meridian on both sides of his spine, and then returned to converge at his Dantian. The entire circulation route was completed naturally in about two breaths, and the temperature points formed a line.

It's not the sensation of Qi. It's the circulation of Qi throughout the body.

Finally, beyond accumulating experience points, he touched upon the "Small Heavenly Circuit" that Old Iron Head had mentioned once—not through active circulation, but through passive perception. This feeling was unlike any other Qi sensation he had experienced before. Previously, Qi sensations were localized and scattered—numbness in the fingertips, warmth in the soles of the feet, and warmth in the dantian. This time, it was throughout his entire body; all the previously scattered hot spots suddenly connected into a pathway, like a closed heat ring slowly rotating within his body. The heat was even, neither hurried nor agitated, neither surging upwards nor sinking downwards, but resting in the very center of his body, steadily circulating around his dantian.

Su Xinpei stood steadily until the exercise was complete. He slowly opened his eyes, and everything in the room looked exactly the same as before he started practicing the stance—the old television, the box of instant rice noodles, the coat hanging on the back of the chair. But he felt that the room was quieter than it had been an hour ago. Not in terms of sound, but in terms of the depth of his ability to remain still. The feel of the air, the pressure of his collar brushing against his neck, the faint hum of the fluorescent light—everything was still there, but he was no longer being pushed around by anything.

He glanced at the panel.

[Standing meditation experience +5] [Progress in mastering Hunyuan stance +1%]

His total experience points from Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation) jumped significantly. He had noticed this some time ago; each time he sensed the circadian rhythm, there would be an unusually large jump, as if a whole week of ordinary practice was compressed into a single high-quality state of tranquility. Tonight's jump made up for the stagnation that had accumulated over the past two weeks in one go.

[Basic physical fitness proficiency level 71%]

[Arm strength beginner level 14%]

[Running beginner level 28%]

He hasn't been specifically training his basic physical fitness lately. But since he started practicing Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation), his basic physical fitness progress has been slowly increasing, as if he's being pushed along by an invisible conveyor belt. His running experience was accumulated through walking and climbing stairs to and from work, while Zhan Zhuang simultaneously improved various homeostatic indicators of his body, without requiring additional specific training—this is completely different from the progressive overload principle in the gym, but he's already used to no longer explaining Zhan Zhuang using exercise physiology textbooks.

After finishing his work, Su Xinpei went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. While drinking, he leaned against the kitchen counter, took out his notepad, and wrote a few lines while standing.

I've completed 100 days of standing meditation. Tonight, for the first time, I didn't feel "where the Qi is," but rather "the Qi throughout my body is circulating." It's not being pushed along; it's circulating on its own. Like hot water finding a fixed channel in cold water. This might be what my master meant by the circulation of Qi throughout the body.

Anomaly Log Appendix:

Today, while practicing Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation), I still felt stiffness in my left shoulder; the muscle strain and bruising hadn't subsided. The Qi sensation circulated around my shoulder blade, and after about five minutes, I found an alternative pathway. I'm recording this for future reference in case of future injury recovery.

Next training log:

Tomorrow we'll add leg strength training after stance training. Wu Xiong started practicing standing long jump half a month ago; he's a beginner in tendon strengthening, and his explosive power is progressing much faster than mine. This morning he and Lao Tietou were sparring in the courtyard; you could really hear a soft, muffled thud when they stepped off the ground. I heard he used to deliver water near the martial arts school, carrying forty or fifty buckets a day, never using the elevator to go up or down the stairs. When he came, he already had a solid foundation in tendon strengthening; now he's just slowly working on other aspects.

Standing meditation is one thing, but I still need to train my thighs. Otherwise, if he catches up with me, I'll have to say a few more words to him when I eat at the restaurant next to the martial arts gym.

He closed the notepad and turned off the kitchen light. Rain started falling outside the window, the raindrops hitting the air conditioner unit, making a sound like someone banging a tin drum in the distance.

The next afternoon, Su Xinpei finished practicing his stance at the Iron Bone Hall. Just as he finished, Old Iron Head stood up from his rattan chair, walked to the door of the storeroom, and kicked it open. A musty smell wafted from the storeroom—probably because the roof had leaked again after the rain a couple of days ago. He bent down and rummaged around for a while, finally pulling out a long, dusty canvas bag.

"Here you go." He placed the bag at Su Xinpei's feet.

Su Xinpei unzipped the zipper. Inside were two pairs of old leg sandbags, the canvas surface worn and frayed, the straps fuzzy from repeated washing.

"These are old tools from my fellow disciples. Now that you can hold your stance for most of the time, add weighted stance training every three days, with sandbags strapped to your calves. After you finish, remove the sandbags and stand with your legs free for an extra half hour. Remember the order: weighted first, then free. If you do it the other way around, your legs will feel too light afterward, and you won't be able to control the energy flow." After saying this, Old Iron Head turned around and went back to boil water, adding from behind, "Don't rush it. Standing with too much weight can easily cause injury."

Su Xinpei picked up the sandbags, weighed them in his hand, and found each set weighed about three kilograms. He strapped the sandbags to his calves and straightened his stance. The added six kilograms of weight immediately changed the force distribution on his knees—previously, the force line in his stance was a straight line from his feet through his knees to his hips; now, with the added weight on his calves, the force line curved around his knees, requiring a slight adjustment to the tension difference between his tibialis anterior and quadriceps muscles to regain balance. This adjustment was beneficial: a slight stiffness remained in his left shoulder from the previous deadlift, but the extra weight effectively diverted attention from his shoulder, making his stance more even.

He thanked the old man, but the old man didn't reply; he was filling the kettle with hot water. Steam rose from the kettle. The afternoon storytelling program on the radio had reached its final segment. The storyteller drawled out the line, "The greatest truths are the simplest—it's a stake, not wood," and then the gong sounded, ending the program.

On the evening of the third day, Wu Xiong arrived carrying two bags of braised vegetables and a bag of steamed buns. He spread the plastic bags out on the bench in the front courtyard; oil from the braised pig's trotters seeped through the seams of the newspaper, and the smell of chili peppers was overwhelming. Old Tie Tou came out from the inner room, sniffed, and said, "Wu Xiong, who are you trying to kill with all this spice?" Wu Xiong said, "Master, aren't you supposed to be able to handle spicy food?" Old Tie Tou glanced at him and said, "I can handle spicy food, so why did you buy such spicy food? Did I ever say I couldn't live without spicy food?" Wu Xiong scratched his head, speechless. Su Xinpei grabbed two bowls from the kitchen, went out and bought a can of cheap liquor, and they made do with a meal in the courtyard.

After finishing his meal, Wu Xiong left. After Su Xinpei finished washing the dishes, Lao Tietou suddenly beckoned him over.

"You've been practicing standing meditation for almost four months now," Old Tie Tou said.

"It's been more than 120 days." Su Xinpei went through the calendar in his mind.

Old Ironhead nodded and gestured with his chin to the wooden human-shaped stake in the corner of the yard: "Starting tomorrow, after the standing meditation, there will be an additional half hour of boxing form. It's the Iron Bone Hall's introductory boxing form, the 'Eighteen Hands.' Your standing meditation foundation is good enough; if you don't learn the boxing form, it's a waste of time. I'll teach you the second hand first."

Su Xinpei rolled up the sandbag and put it back in the storage room, waiting for Lao Tietou to continue. Lao Tietou didn't continue. He sat down in the rattan chair, crossed his legs, and said, "I'll be there on time tomorrow afternoon." Then he closed his eyes.

That was the entire lesson. There was no explanation, no Q&A, not even a demonstration. Su Xinpei didn't find out what the "first-hand" lesson actually was until the afternoon of the next day.

"First move. Opening ceremony."

Old Tietou stood in the center of the courtyard, feet shoulder-width apart, arms hanging naturally at his sides. Then, he slowly raised his arms, turning his palms outwards so they faced forward, as if pushing open two invisible doors. The movement was extremely slow, but every muscle was engaged—from the deltoids in his shoulders to the flexor carpi ulnaris in his forearms, each muscle working in turn, the force flowing from his shoulders all the way to his fingertips. The entire movement took more than two minutes, finally ending with his hands in front of him, fingers slightly spread, palms facing slightly outwards.

"You give it a try." Old Ironhead stepped aside.

Su Xinpei did as instructed. He raised his hand, pushed his palm forward, and stopped.

Old Tie Tou circled him once, then said, "Your shoulders are too stiff. You're pushing the door, not opening it. Pushing uses brute force, opening uses looseness—the door isn't knocked down, you turn the hinges all the way, and the door stops there by itself." He kicked Su Xinpei's heel. "Shift your weight forward another finger's width. Don't straighten your back; if you straighten your back, your chest tightens, and if your chest tightens, your arms become stiff. If your arms are stiff, how can you open a door? You'll get trapped in it first."

Su Xinpei adjusted his stance three times, and on the fourth time, he finally felt his shoulders loosen up a bit. The feeling was exactly the same as the "relaxed yet slack" feeling in Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation). No—not exactly the same, but the same thing. The relaxation and sinking feeling from Zhan Zhuang directly transferred to the boxing stance; he didn't need to learn it again. He slowly pushed his hands out, and when he reached the end, his palms felt slightly warm. It wasn't a sensation of Qi, but a sign that his thumbs had been slightly strained.

[Boxing stance experience +3]

A new skill entry popped up on the panel: [Fist Stance (Iron Bone Hall Eighteen Hands) Unskilled 3/100].

Su Xinpei glanced at the panel; the newly added boxing stance experience points were right below the standing meditation progress bar. He noticed something: the speed of gaining boxing stance experience was directly linked to the standing meditation level—the boxing stance practice just a few minutes had already gained three experience points, while his initial standing meditation experience gain was calculated in hours. This high efficiency wasn't due to talent, but because he had already established a solid foundation of relaxation and stability in standing meditation. The higher the standing meditation level, the faster he could learn new boxing forms. This perfectly aligned with the first lesson the panel had taught him: focus determines efficiency, and fundamentals determine the upper limit.

He thought to himself: After four months of laying the foundation, I can finally start building the walls.

In the days that followed, he practiced standing meditation for an hour and boxing for half an hour every afternoon. When he got home in the evening, he would spend another half an hour practicing light standing meditation to finish his practice, but he would not box—this was his master's requirement: boxing forms should not be practiced overnight, because when physical strength declines at night, movements are easily distorted, and once incorrect muscle memory is formed, the cost of correction is far greater than the extra half hour of practice.

On the evening after teaching the eighteenth move, the "closing posture," Su Xinpei practiced all eighteen moves from beginning to end. From the opening posture to the closing posture, it took fifteen minutes. After finishing, he was soaked in sweat, unable to lift his arms, and his boxing experience level jumped from ninety-three to ninety-seven.

Old Tietou sat in a wicker chair, a can of cheap liquor on his lap, but he didn't drink it. The afterglow of the setting sun spread across the courtyard, casting a long shadow of the old elm tree in the corner.

"One hundred and twenty days of standing meditation, plus half a month of boxing form practice," Old Tie Tou said, his voice softer than usual. "You've mastered the basics. Starting tomorrow, your lessons will change; the focus will be on strengthening your tendons. But you can't neglect the boxing form; practice it at least once a day."

Su Xinpei wiped his sweat and nodded.

"We'll talk about tendon training tomorrow. Come in tonight."

Old Tie Tou got up and went into the house, Su Xinpei following behind. The room was dark. Old Tie Tou opened the bottom drawer of the tin cabinet and took out something wrapped in an old cloth. He lifted the cloth, revealing a pair of leg sandbags—different from the previous pair, these were covered in blackened bloodstains, with patches sewn on them by rough stitches, the stitches crooked but deep. He placed them neatly on the table, his voice low, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"These were tied by your great-great-grandfather himself. The old madman ran all night in the Northern Alliance's position with these sandbags tied to him, and when he came back, the sandbags were three times heavier—because they were soaked with mud and water. When he was alive, he was reckless and fearless, and when he died, he left me this pile of old stuff. I'm giving you these sandbags not so that you can learn from him, but so that you know—someone risked their life to practice what you're doing before."

Su Xinpei didn't touch the sandbag. He stood in front of the table, looking at the mottled stains on the old cloth, without saying a word.

Old Tietou folded the sandbags into an old cloth bag, stuffed it back into the drawer, then sat back in his rattan chair, picked up the wine jug, and with his back to Su Xinpei, suddenly became more talkative. He said that the old madman feared nothing and no one, except for his extreme hatred of the Fa Cult, saying that they were using their ancestors' money to pretend to be gods and ghosts. One day, he had a falling out with the Fa Cult members and almost demolished half a street. He himself refused to sign any contracts in his entire life, not even the honorary certificate that the military region asked him to sign.

Su Xinpei listened silently until the end, then went home. He sat down at his table, opened his notepad, thought for a moment, and wrote a few words: "Grandmaster refuses to sign any contracts." He circled this line and added two smaller lines next to it: "Disciples of the Dharma can perform the ritual in just a few minutes; the cost will be borne by the Grandmaster and his troops, and is non-negotiable, non-reducible, and non-transferable." Those who would rather gamble their lives than sign are not in the same situation as most people.

He put down his pen and cracked the window open. A cold draft rushed in, turning the pages of the notepad on the table. He remembered something Old Tie Tou had casually mentioned when he first taught him Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation): "Old martial arts aren't afraid of being slow, they're afraid of being fake. If you refuse to be fake, it will be genuine."

He closed the window, sat back down at the table, and wrote down his plans for tomorrow in his notepad.

Tomorrow's training: one hour of standing meditation, one round of boxing form, the first lesson in tendon strengthening. Go to bed early.