Late that night, when most of Gaojia Village had sunk into peaceful sleep—save for two drowsy sentries circling the ramparts—Li Daoxuan suddenly remembered something he had downloaded ages ago: a giant archive of "military close-combat techniques," tens of gigabytes of it, all begged from a military-history forum.
He never found a good chance to introduce any of it. These days, Cheng Xu was hammering the militia with tight schedules—formations, spear walls, crossbows, camp discipline, marching routines, drills, more drills—and whenever there was a spare moment, he'd bark at them to practice Guanzhong Red Fist until their arms shook.
Honestly, the lesson plan was bursting.
The militiamen were exhausted every evening. So Daoxuan had set the new material aside, thinking: Let them breathe first, then we add more.
But now, after watching Flat-Rabbit pace around with that pathetic little longing for "secret manuals," he began to reconsider.
Maybe I'm the one who thinks they're tired. Maybe they'd happily crawl back for seconds if I gave them the chance.
Well then… provide the material, let them decide for themselves. Those who fear soreness can skip it; those who crave more can chase it. Adults choosing their own path.
But… how to deliver it?
The most straightforward method: give it to Cheng Xu, let the man digest everything, then teach it down the chain.
But that was boring.
And Li Daoxuan wasn't feeling like "Responsible Babysitter Tianzun" tonight.
He was feeling like "Mischief-Maker Tianzun."
A certain mischievous glint surfaced.
Didn't Master Jin Yong write something like this? The legendary Mysterious Jade Cliff in Wuliang Mountain—where, under the moonlight, lucky wanderers could see a giant immortal practicing sword on the cliff wall…
He grinned.
Perfect.
Time to borrow that idea and mess with people.
Moonlit Night — Operation "Scare the Rabbit" Begins
Flat-Rabbit, dead tired from a day of formations, Red Fist, and ideological education, collapsed into bed. But he was in a good mood.
Becoming a real warrior had always been his dream. Until recently, life had mocked that dream; he hadn't even managed to find the right door to knock on.
Now he had joined the militia. He learned daily from Instructor He. His dream finally felt close enough to grab.
He threw a triumphant punch at the ceiling.
"Hey!"
That was a clean one. Rabbit-style Red Fist! Hah!
Too bad he couldn't obtain a higher-level manual. Red Fist was good, but way too common. Even if he mastered it, how strong could he truly be?
If only I could find a real secret manual…
Just then—
"Tonk."
Something tapped his window.
Flat-Rabbit shot upright. "Who!?"
Silence.
He rushed to the window, cracked it open—nothing but the quiet short-term-labor village. His housing privileges weren't approved yet, so he still lived in a little plastic hut on the outskirts.
Probably a bird. Or a clumsy bat.
He climbed back into bed.
"Tonk."
Again.
He jumped up, grabbed his ancestral longsword, and stormed to the window.
Nothing.
Just as he was about to curse the heavens, something slid across the roofline—fast, shadowy, just at the corner of his eye.
"Who's there!?"
He lunged out the window, ready to yell an alarm—then hesitated.
If he shouted, woke everyone, and it turned out to be nothing… they'd beat him up for wasting their time. Again.
Better confirm.
He crept forward.
Then, in the distance, he caught another flicker of shadow—sliding toward the valley.
"Hey? That valley… isn't that the place Daozhang Ma said immortals fought demons?"
He bolted after it.
Valley of Immortal Punches
He reached the valley, panting.
Nothing.
Quiet. Empty.
Great. I'm hallucinating. Am I that tired?
Then—
He froze.
On the cliff wall, a massive silhouette appeared. Towering. Colossal. The size of a mountain.
It moved.
Punch.
Kick.
Sweep.
The shadow's movements were clean, explosive, lethal—none of the rhythmic, earthy style of Guanzhong Red Fist. This was different. Sharp. Efficient. Devastating.
A heavenly being's style.
"Whoaaa…"
Flat-Rabbit's jaw dropped.
"This… this is an immortal's martial art! A true celestial technique! I… I have to learn it!"
He mimicked two punches—then abruptly stopped.
No. I can't hog this alone. If I keep it for myself, I'd betray my brothers. No Jianghu honor in that.
But if he ran back to call everyone… the immortal might finish before he returned.
The greatest dilemma of his life.
His little rabbit soul writhed.
You! Are you a real man!?
"Kuh…"
He collapsed dramatically to the ground in despair.
Then sprang back up like a bouncing hare.
"Immortal! Please wait for this humble Rabbit! I'll be right back!"
He sprinted like his life depended on it—dust trailing behind him—toward Gaojia Fortress.
He crashed into the gate, pounding with both fists:
"Open the gate! Hurry! I need Instructor He! Gao Chuwu! Zheng Daniu! All the militia brothers—fast! No time! No time!!"
On a distant rooftop, Li Daoxuan watched, arms crossed, lips curved.
Good rabbit. You actually thought of the others.
Don't worry. Even if you hadn't, I would've set up a second prank to teach them all anyway.
But this? This earned him a new level of respect.
Footnotes
Immortal shadow boxing trope — Inspired by classical wuxia scenes where "immortal sword shadows" appear on cliffs, most famously in a certain major wuxia novel. Historically, such scenes reflect how ancient martial practitioners often learned by copying silhouettes or shadows cast by torchlight.
Guanzhong Red Fist — A real northern Chinese martial tradition, known historically for straightforward strikes and battlefield practicality. In the story's period, rural militias often learned simplified versions.
Militia ideological lessons — A tongue-in-cheek nod to how late-dynastic or early-republic community groups often mixed martial drills with "lecturing sessions" to maintain morale and discipline.
"Secret manuals" culture — Historically, most martial knowledge was passed orally. Written manuals existed, but not as magical as novels made them. The fascination with "forbidden scrolls" is a very modern wuxia trope—and this chapter pokes fun at it.