Jinshi Liver and Gallbladder

In 1931, the wind on the North Shandong Plain carried the muddy smell of the Yellow River and the bitter taste of the saline soil. Inside the Gu family blacksmith shop in Leling, the furnace was glowing red.

Seventeen-year-old Gu Tieshan stood shirtless, his bronze-colored spine bulging with muscles, sweat dripping down the nascent lines of his muscular back, slapping against the anvil with a sharp, cracking sound. His hammering movements didn't resemble blacksmithing, but rather the practice of an ancient martial art, his waist and stance perfectly coordinated, his power immense. With each strike, sparks flew, the stubborn iron groaned and deformed in his hands, ultimately transforming into a gleaming, cold-blooded waist knife.

"stop."

A voice, though not loud, carried an undeniable authority. Shang Yunxiang had appeared at the shop entrance at some point, his figure thin, wearing a faded blue cloth robe, his hands behind his back, his eyes as calm as two deep wells.

Gu Tieshan immediately put away his hammer, stood with his hands at his sides, and respectfully said, "Master."

Shang Yunxiang stepped forward, extended two fingers, and gently flicked the still-warm knife blank.

"Buzz—"

A clear, resonant tremolo lingered for a long time.

"Tieshan," Shang Yunxiang looked at him, "do you know why my Xingyi school requires you to learn blacksmithing for three years first?"

Gu Tieshan replied without hesitation: "My master said that the power of a fist is like iron, which is forged into steel through a hundred temperings. Without forging iron, one cannot know what 'wholeness' and 'penetration' mean."

"Only half right." Shang Yunxiang shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the waist knife before looking at the vast expanse of sky and earth outside the door. "When forging iron, you must understand what 'form' and 'intention' are. This iron is your opponent. The direction, force, and heat of your hammer strikes constitute your 'form'; while what kind of weapon you want to forge it into, and what kind of sharpness it will possess after completion, constitutes your 'intention.' In the end, Xingyi Quan is not about practicing the fist, but about cultivating this intention of 'killing the enemy and protecting the country'!"

Before he finished speaking, he casually made a stroke on the corner of the heavy jujube wood chopping board with his right hand, fingers pointing like a sword.

With a soft "snap," a corner of the cutting board fell off, leaving a smooth, mirror-like cut.

Gu Tieshan's pupils contracted sharply. He knew his master was skilled, but he didn't know he had reached such a level that even a plucked leaf or a flying flower could be deadly.

"The Shandong region is about to descend into chaos." Shang Yunxiang said gravely, "Foreigners' guns and cannons are faster than your fists and sharper than your swords. But we Chinese cannot lose our backbone! Song Zheyuan has raised the banner of the 29th Army in Beiping. He is your fellow townsman and a true man. Your skills should not be buried in this small blacksmith shop."

Gu Tieshan suddenly looked up, a fire burning in his eyes.

...

Three months later, in Ji County, Hebei Province, at the barracks of the 29th Army.

The drill ground was filled with the sounds of battle cries. Soldiers, bayonets fixed, were practicing the most basic thrusting maneuvers. On the high platform, Commander Song Zheyuan, dressed in a simple gray military uniform, looked solemnly at the group of mostly emaciated soldiers below.

"Tieshan," Song Zheyuan said to Gu Tieshan, who was standing beside him, his tone warm with a local accent, "look at our soldiers. Their guns are the ones that Yan Xishan discarded; their artillery is so poor that a division can't even muster ten pieces. But look at the look in their eyes!"

Gu Tieshan followed his gaze and saw that there was no fear in the eyes of those soldiers, only a fierce determination honed by poverty and humiliation, and a resolute willingness to risk their lives.

"Our 29th Army may be poor, but we are not cowards!" Song Zheyuan's voice rose, booming like a bell. "The Japanese have occupied the three northeastern provinces, and now they've extended their claws to the Great Wall! Xifengkou is the gateway to our Beiping! If the gateway is lost, the bandits will be able to break into our homes and ravage our parents and sisters! Do you agree to this?"

"No way!" came the thunderous response.

"Good!" Song Zheyuan slammed his fist on the table. "If guns don't work, and cannons don't work, we still have the broadswords passed down from our ancestors! Starting tomorrow, the entire army will practice with broadswords! Let the little devils taste how sharp the swords of us Chinese men are!"

Gu Tieshan felt his blood boiling. He had been kept by Song Zheyuan as a stable boy, but he spent his days on the training ground, teaching his comrades the Xingyi "Five Elements Saber" technique passed down by Shang Yunxiang without reservation. He transformed the power of the chopping fist into a cleaving saber, the cunning of the drilling fist into a bayonet, and the explosive force of the collapsing fist into a sweeping attack… The otherwise monotonous saber technique seemed to be infused with a soul in his hands, becoming brimming with murderous intent.

On this day, he was practicing the "Eighteen Blocking Blades" technique from the Chuojiao Fanziquan (a style of Chinese martial arts). His figure moved swiftly, advancing and retreating with the agility of a cat. The large blade in his hand sometimes swayed like a willow in a whirlwind, and sometimes moved like a python emerging from its cave. The blade's light enveloped his body, impenetrable even to water. This drew cheers from the surrounding soldiers.

"Excellent! What a brilliant 'Eighteen Blocks of the Foot Flip'!"

A loud voice rang out. Gu Tieshan sheathed his sword and looked over, only to see a tall, rugged-looking officer striding towards him; his shoulder insignia indicated that he was a battalion commander.

"Zhao Dengyu." The officer reached out and patted Gu Tieshan's shoulder forcefully, his eyes burning. "I've heard from the commander that he has a master swordsman by his side. Seeing him today, I can confirm his reputation is well-deserved! Your swordsmanship is impressive! Interested in joining my broadsword team?"

Gu Tieshan looked at Song Zheyuan, who smiled and nodded.

"I am willing to follow Battalion Commander Zhao and fight the enemy to serve my country!" Gu Tieshan clasped his hands in a fist salute, his voice as firm as metal.

Zhao Dengyu laughed heartily: "Good! That's great! From now on, you'll be the swordsmanship instructor for my Big Sword Team! Let all the brothers learn your real skills!"

The night was as dark as ink. In his barracks, by the dim light of an oil lamp, Gu Tieshan rubbed a cold object on his left wrist. It was a dusty, snake-shaped bracelet, neither copper nor iron, which he had found by chance at the ruins of an ancient Great Wall in the Northwest while serving with the army. It was heavy in his hand, unmarked by a knife, and uncolored by fire. He always felt that there was something strange about this bracelet, and unconsciously twisted his fingers at the seemingly seamless "snake tail."

"Click".

With a very slight click of the mechanism, the "snake tail" sprang open and separated from the bracelet, forming a pen-shaped object about eight inches long with a slightly blunt tip!

Gu Tieshan was shocked and brought the pen closer to the light for a closer look. The pen was made of the same material as the bracelet and felt cool to the touch. He tried aligning it with a groove on the bracelet and twisted it forcefully again.

"Click".

The pen and bracelet fit together perfectly, forming a straight, sturdy short rod about nine inches long, resembling a featherless short arrow!

"Judge's Pen... Short Arrow..." Gu Tieshan suddenly understood. The Judge's Pen was the secret technique of the Chuojiao Fanziquan and Zhizimen schools he had been taught! This strange object was simply a divine weapon bestowed by heaven!

He named it "Dragon Scale Thorn".

Outside the window, the north wind howled, whipping up sand and dust from beyond the Great Wall, which lashed against the windowpanes. Gu Tieshan held the restored dragon scale dagger tightly in his hand; its icy touch seemed to echo the ever-burning flame of patriotism within him.

He knew a great battle was about to begin. And the knife in his hand and the dagger on his wrist were itching for a fight.