The Three Axe Strikes

As for Luan Yi and Zhang Fei, they exchanged blows in a test of martial skill, fighting over a dozen rounds. The more Zhang Fei fought, the more exhilarated he became, while Luan Yi grew increasingly alarmed. Gradually, he realized the truth: when he'd sparred with Dian Wei before, Dian Wei had shown him mercy, seeing that he was young, and had used at most seventy percent of his strength. This had led Luan Yi to become overly confident in his own abilities, believing he could stand against any master in the realm. In reality, things were far from so simple.

Take the present for example! All his martial arts had been learned from Dian Wei, and his techniques emphasized overwhelming force—a style meant to subdue skill with sheer strength. This approach had served him well in previous battles, for his opponents could rarely withstand his power, and most were felled within three exchanges. But now he faced Zhang Fei. Zhang Fei, though not as strong as Dian Wei, was still a few degrees stronger than Luan Yi himself, so he could no longer rely on brute force to gain the upper hand. Moreover, Luan Yi’s combat experience was far inferior to Dian Wei’s, while Zhang Fei delighted in ferocious contests and, after years of training, had developed a mature and personally tailored fighting style.

Every move Zhang Fei made was unpredictable, balancing offense and defense, dazzling Luan Yi to the point that, from the fifth round onward, he found himself defending more than attacking. When he finally seized a chance to swing his massive hammer with all his might, it felt as though he’d struck air—Zhang Fei neutralized the blow as easily as if he’d swept aside a wisp of cotton. Luan Yi was left feeling he had strength to spare but nowhere to use it, which left him stifled and frustrated.

Seizing a moment when Zhang Fei stepped back, Luan Yi leapt forward, launching his “Fire Raising to the Sky” technique. Zhang Fei, slippery as an eel, seemed to barely escape, yet in truth, he was in complete control, sidestepping with perfect precision and thrusting his spear straight at Luan Yi’s chest.

Luan Yi blocked with his staff and swung his hammer down.

Zhang Fei circled his long spear around the iron staff, then parried the hammer, simultaneously lifting a foot to kick at Luan Yi’s abdomen.

Luan Yi sprang backward. Zhang Fei pressed in with his spear. Luan Yi raised staff and hammer to parry left, warding off the spear. Using the momentum, Zhang Fei spun around and counterattacked with a reverse thrust. Luan Yi brought both weapons to the right, using his “Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane” to drive Zhang Fei back once more.

“Hold on,” Zhang Fei called, retreating several steps and planting his spear in the ground, looking perplexed. “Why does Ziqi keep using the same three moves? Are you letting me win?”

Luan Yi was mortified, his face flushing red. Stammering, he admitted, “I… I only know these three moves: ‘Fire Raising to the Sky,’ ‘Phoenix Nods its Head,’ and ‘Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane.’”

“What?” Zhang Fei was incredulous, but seeing Luan Yi’s earnest expression, he believed him. “Well, no wonder! But… on the battlefield, knowing only three moves isn’t enough. Why haven’t you learned more?”

With a heavy sigh, Luan Yi shook his head and explained. For years, he had wanted to learn a set of hammer techniques suited to himself, but unfortunately, the only warrior at his side, Dian Wei, specialized in short halberds and knew nothing of hammers. Furthermore, the spiked mace was considered an unorthodox weapon in the Han dynasty, and skilled masters were extremely rare—despite searching, he had found no one proficient to teach him. In the end, he was forced to adapt what he could from Dian Wei’s halberd techniques. Yet, the hammer and halberd were fundamentally different weapons, and after much study, Luan Yi found that only three moves from Dian Wei’s “82 Techniques” could be applied to the hammer. He learned these as his foundation, hoping that one day, fate would grant him a true master to improve his skills.

Zhang Fei immediately understood and burst out laughing. “No matter! Ziqi, you’ve found the right person. Old Zhang just happens to know a set of hammer techniques—I can teach you and we can study together.”

“Really?” Luan Yi was overjoyed and was about to kneel in gratitude.

Zhang Fei hurriedly pulled him up. “Ziqi, we met by fate and are brothers now. Brothers should help each other improve, so there’s no need for such formalities. Besides, I actually prefer the spear—the hammer techniques I know are just the basic forms. As for their true essence, you’ll have to discover that on your own.”

“Then I must thank Brother Yide sincerely.”

Zhang Fei glanced at Luan Yi’s unguarded sincerity and smiled. “In that case… Ziqi, you must give me plenty of Immortal’s Brew in the future, so old Zhang can enjoy himself to his heart’s content.”

Luan Yi laughed aloud. “Then I shall not refuse. From now on, Brother Yide shall have an unlimited supply of Immortal’s Brew—drink as much as you wish!”

“Hahaha, just what I wanted!” Zhang Fei stroked his bristling beard, reminiscing. “Ziqi, you may not know, but the last time old Zhang had Immortal’s Brew was on the sixth day of the New Year at Master Chen’s house. That stingy fellow only allowed each guest one cup—it was hardly enough! I made quite a scene about it.” Smacking his lips at the memory, he suddenly shifted back to the subject of martial arts. “Brother Ziqi, I’ve noticed a flaw in the way you wield your hammer!”

“Oh?” asked Luan Yi. “Is it a matter of technique? I imagine that after learning your hammer forms, my skills will improve greatly.”

“Not entirely. In my opinion, it’s not just technique but also method.”

“Is that so?” Luan Yi was intrigued. “Please explain.”

“You rely too much on raw force. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being forceful, but the key in martial arts is to know when to exert strength and when to hold back. If you always use brute force—granted, you have the strength to do so—but the stronger you are, the faster you tire. In this, people are no different from oxen or warhorses. Haven’t you noticed that the fastest horses can’t run far? That’s the principle. In duels between masters or in the chaos of battle, endurance often determines victory. The one who lasts longer has the greater chance to win. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Without waiting for Luan Yi to respond, Zhang Fei continued, “So, if you want to improve further, you must first learn how to use your strength properly and conserve your energy.”

“Ah…” Luan Yi suddenly understood. The saying, ‘Overfull will spill, too rigid will break,’ perfectly embodied Zhang Fei’s meaning. If a battle or a war were like a football match and he were a player, then he would be the one always sprinting at full speed. As everyone knows, even the greatest footballer, with the best training and diet, couldn’t maintain a full sprint for ninety minutes, much less someone like him. The solution was clear—he needed to manage his stamina as wisely as an athlete.

Yet, this was easier said than done. How to preserve one’s life, defeat the enemy, and conserve strength all at once was a puzzle he couldn’t unravel.

Respectfully, he asked Zhang Fei, “How does one balance exertion and restraint to maintain strength throughout a fight? I beg you to teach me, Brother Yide!”

Zhang Fei stroked his beard and smiled, “It’s both simple and difficult—it all depends on mastering subtle strength. Don’t underestimate these words. This isn’t something a master can teach, nor a student simply learn; it’s a matter of enlightenment. Some practice a lifetime without grasping it, while others understand at a touch. Do you see?”

Luan Yi nodded in confusion. “Subtle strength?”

“Exactly. Subtle strength. Come attack me, and I’ll demonstrate.” Zhang Fei planted his feet and took his stance.

“Then forgive my offense.” Luan Yi raised hammer and staff, charging forward with long strides, launching the familiar “Fire Raising to the Sky.”

“Watch closely!” Zhang Fei shouted, blocking with his spear as before. Their weapons clashed with a thunderous sound, yet this time, Luan Yi was not sent stumbling back. Instead, he felt a strange force acting on his left shoulder, shifting his balance and sending him stumbling forward and to the left. If not for Zhang Fei’s spear shaft catching him, he would have fallen.

“Ah?” Luan Yi exclaimed, recognizing that he’d learned something, yet when he tried to recall the details, it was all a blur—he could not grasp the essence.

“Did you see clearly?” Zhang Fei asked.

Luan Yi shook his head honestly.

“Then let’s try again.” Zhang Fei didn’t attack, but again assumed his familiar stance.

Luan Yi stepped back a few paces and once more raised his hammer—for this attempt, he focused his attention on Zhang Fei’s hands. As the lotus hammer crashed onto the spear, the veins on Zhang Fei’s hands bulged—he was using immense force to hold the shaft. After the impact, Zhang Fei’s right hand suddenly pushed the shaft, then relaxed, while his left wrist twisted, tilting the spear—raising the left end, lowering the right. As the shaft slanted, the lotus hammer naturally slid toward the lower side. When the spear pointed downward, Zhang Fei’s right hand gripped it, and his left briefly let go, then swiftly grabbed again as the hammer slid past.

In this way, Luan Yi’s staff and hammer were skillfully drawn to Zhang Fei’s right side—an efficient and effortless maneuver! And the force that nearly toppled Luan Yi wasn’t from Zhang Fei, but from Luan Yi himself.

“So it’s using the opponent’s strength!” Luan Yi was dumbfounded.

“Using the opponent’s strength?” Zhang Fei pondered, nodding in agreement. “That’s a good way to put it, but in the martial world, we call it using subtle strength.”

“So that’s it! Subtle strength, borrowing force… Why didn’t I think of this? Ha! How foolish I’ve been…” He laughed at himself, then lapsed into deep thought, hands clasped before his abdomen, thumbs twining together.

In moments, Luan Yi alternated between excitement and stamping his feet in frustration, then fell silent. Seeing this, Zhang Fei and Dian Wei exchanged uncertain glances. “Ziqi hasn’t lost his mind, has he?”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Dian Wei retorted. “Ziqi is a genius, a messenger sent by the Holy Mother herself—how could he go mad?”

Zhang Fei asked curiously, “What’s the Holy Mother?”

Dian Wei hesitated—he’d said too much. To cover, he replied, “You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

“How can I understand if you don’t explain?” Zhang Fei pouted. “Tell me!”

“Shh! Ziqi is in meditation; don’t disturb him.” Dian Wei mimicked Luan Yi’s habitual gesture, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Meditating? So soon?” Zhang Fei was astonished. He knew that one only entered such a state upon gaining true insight into martial arts. But Luan Yi—after only two exchanges—was already enlightened? That was miraculous indeed!