Chapter 90: Chopping Wood

Even at his young age, Chen Hao understood perfectly well what an extraordinary feat it was to use a sheet of floral ink-painted rice paper for chopping firewood. What kind of equipment could possibly allow this... No, not equipment, but what profound martial mastery was required to accomplish such a thing?

But the surprises for Chen Hao were far from over. After the old abbot split several logs with the rice paper, the sheet was already damaged. It wasn’t because the abbot had mishandled it or applied excessive force and broken the paper. Rather, the speed at which he chopped the wood was so great that the friction between the rice paper and the wood generated intense heat, causing the paper to catch fire.

Naturally, the rice paper could no longer be used.

Even so, Chen Hao was astonished. Just as he thought the abbot would stop or reach for another sheet of rice paper, the old monk produced something even more unexpected.

He walked over to a willow tree in the courtyard, plucked a slender leaf from its branches. Anyone who has seen a willow knows its leaves are long, thin, and exceedingly soft, and their cross section is much smaller than rice paper. It seemed even more improbable to chop wood with such a tool.

Watching the monk’s actions, Chen Hao guessed he might be about to use the willow leaf to chop wood. He glanced at his father, perhaps hoping to see his reaction. Yet his father, Chen Ding’an, remained calm, likely having witnessed such scenes before. He showed no sign of surprise.

When Chen Hao looked to him, Chen Ding’an didn’t even turn his head, merely said in a low voice, “Watch closely. Don’t speak.”

Young as he was, Chen Hao couldn’t fully grasp his father’s meaning. Watch? Watch what? To see how he chopped wood? Though it was an impressive martial accomplishment, what could he, at his current level, possibly learn or comprehend? It was as if a grade schooler were asked to watch a university student solve advanced problems—utterly out of reach, like a novice monk trying to read scriptures.

Still, since his father insisted, Chen Hao didn’t argue, but quietly watched. The child he was then was not like the person he would become; back then, he obeyed his father without question.

Though he didn’t understand what he was meant to see, Chen Hao settled down and fixed his gaze once more on the abbot. In that brief moment, the old abbot had already chopped several logs with the willow leaf.

This time, Chen Hao observed more carefully. He had focused on the logs at first, watching how the wood and the abbot’s tool interacted. Yet his earlier observations revealed nothing. So now, he shifted his attention to the abbot’s wrist.

Chen Hao wondered if the secret to using such improbable tools lay in the way the abbot applied force with his wrist. As for whether the abbot had tampered with the wood, that possibility never even occurred to him.

He thought his father wouldn’t be so foolish as to bring him to watch a magician perform tricks. Since the abbot was the head of the martial hall at Shaolin, he must be a master of extraordinary skill.

His father surely wanted him to learn something from this encounter.

Chen Hao’s general idea wasn’t wrong, but he overestimated himself a little. He was, after all, a child who’d only studied martial arts for a few years. No matter how gifted he might be, when facing a master whose skill far surpassed his own—and even his father’s—he could hardly hope to truly learn the secrets.

It was the same as a grade schooler trying to study university-level courses. Still, martial arts differ from academics; even if he couldn’t comprehend the method, Chen Hao could glean something from the abbot’s way of applying force, the direction and manner of his movements. This was precisely why Chen Ding’an had brought him.

When Chen Hao concentrated entirely on the abbot’s hands, he finally noticed something. At the moment the abbot’s tool struck the wood, his wrist gave a subtle twitch. If Chen Hao hadn’t been watching closely, he would never have noticed.

But when Chen Hao saw it for the first time, he couldn’t be sure that this strange motion was truly the key to splitting wood with such a soft object.

So he heightened his attention, waiting for the abbot’s next strike.

As expected, the abbot’s wrist did indeed give that slight twitch again. Now, Chen Hao felt he had discovered the secret. Was it this tiny movement that allowed him to accomplish the impossible?

Was it akin to the “inch power” of Wing Chun? Chen Hao, familiar with Wing Chun, knew that “inch power” was a technique where, at the moment of contact, one’s muscles tense and internal energy explodes outward, causing tremendous impact.

Perhaps the abbot was using a similar technique.

Thinking he had found the answer, Chen Hao looked again to his father. Though Chen Ding’an appeared not to be watching him, he noticed his son’s every move—even Chen Hao’s focus on the abbot’s wrist.

He knew what his son was pondering; now, Chen Hao was seeking confirmation from him.

Yet, to Chen Hao’s disappointment, his father shook his head, “It’s not as simple as you think. If it were merely a matter of wrist force, the tool would break upon impact with the wood. If the force were great enough, perhaps the top of the wood would be damaged, but you could never split a log in half with a soft tool.

You need to keep observing.”

With that, Chen Ding’an took a sip of bitter tea from the table and fell silent.

Chen Hao scratched his head, still bewildered. Was his observation not careful enough? Why couldn’t his father just tell him the answer? Wouldn’t that be more straightforward? Or perhaps his father didn’t know the abbot’s secret either, and was simply feigning wisdom?

As if he had anticipated his son’s thoughts, Chen Ding’an, after setting down his tea, spoke again without turning, “Many times, being told the answer is not as valuable as discovering it yourself through observation.

What others tell you is never truly your own discovery. It may seem the same on the surface, but let’s consider another angle.

If you face an opponent, or spar with someone, there will be no one by your side to explain anything. You must rely on your own reactions to spot your opponent’s flaws and techniques.

No one will guide you; your adversary certainly won’t reveal his skills. Everything depends on you.

Life will be the same. Now you’re young, with your parents to care for you. But when you grow up, who will look after you? Only yourself. Not just yourself—you’ll need to care for your family and children. You must learn to observe, to experience, to discover for yourself.

Enough talk. Watch closely! Opportunities like this are rare. The abbot does not display his skills lightly. If it weren’t for your grandfather’s reputation, we would never have met him today.”

Now, Chen Ding’an truly fell silent, and focused on watching. Though he already understood how the abbot was doing it, there was much to learn from someone whose martial mastery eclipsed his own. Though his main purpose was to give Chen Hao a glimpse of such skill, he himself was also here to learn.

Chen Hao listened, confused; matters of the future seemed far away. How could a child understand so much? He understood only that his father refused to explain, and that the abbot was not relying solely on the twitch of his wrist.

What else had he missed?

As Chen Hao pondered, the abbot changed his approach.

No—not changed, but abandoned the use of any tools.

This time, he picked up a log and set it on the chopping block, but did not take anything in hand. He simply stood quietly before the wood.

What did this mean? Chen Hao was bewildered again. Was he going to chop wood with his bare hands?

But compared to using soft objects to chop wood, bare-handed chopping seemed less... impressive.

Many people could split logs with their bare hands; Chen Hao had witnessed it more than once. To be honest, he didn’t find it remarkable.

Those he’d seen relied on brute force and hard bones, smashing the wood into two pieces. The split wood was always jagged and uneven inside, quite different from the neat appearance of wood chopped with a blade or tool. Even his own father could do it.

Chen Hao felt a twinge of disappointment, his attention wandering, his spirits flagging.

Yet this very lapse became his greatest regret during his visit to Shaolin.

For the abbot’s method was nothing like Chen Hao imagined. Though he used his hand to split the wood, the resulting pieces were absolutely smooth and even.

Moreover, at no point did his palm touch the log. He simply raised his hand, slid it lightly down one side of the wood, and the log split cleanly into two...