HNYWEF -Chapter 25 Morning Training

Ever since the day Li Shimin left, Zhou Yi’s life had changed.

Before, he used to sleep until he woke naturally, then get up to help his father tend the fire, work the bellows, and hand over tools. In the afternoons, when there was nothing to do, he would squat by the doorway and scratch at the ground with tree branches.

Now, he was being dragged out of bed before dawn.

The first time Zhou Yi was pulled awake, he was completely dazed. Outside was pitch-black; even the roosters had not crowed yet. His father stood beside the kang bed without saying a word, simply staring at him.

Rubbing his eyes, still half asleep, he muttered,

“Dad… what’s wrong?”

Zhou Xiong did not answer.

He turned and walked outside.

Zhou Yi sat there blankly for a moment before climbing up and following after him.

In the courtyard, his father was already standing in position.

There was a wooden staff in his hand.

Zhou Yi’s sleepiness vanished instantly.

“Dad?!”

Zhou Xiong planted the stick against the ground.

“Stand straight.”

Zhou Yi immediately straightened up.

Zhou Xiong looked him over from head to toe.

Then he spoke.

“Starting today, every morning at this hour, you train with me.”

Zhou Yi opened his mouth, wanting to ask what they were training.

But the look in his father’s eyes made him swallow the question back down.

So he simply stood there and waited.

Zhou Xiong began teaching.

First came stance training.

Feet apart. Knees slightly bent. Back straight. Eyes forward. How to place the hands, how to sink the waist, how to settle the breath downward.

After standing for fifteen minutes, Zhou Yi’s legs started trembling.

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He only watched him.

Grinding his teeth, Zhou Yi kept standing.

He did not know how long he stood there. He only knew that eventually his legs began to ache, as though ants were crawling all over them.

Then his father spoke.

“Rest.”

Just one word.

Zhou Yi dropped onto the ground with a thud, gasping for air.

Zhou Xiong glanced at him.

Still without speaking.

Then he turned and went back inside.

The next day, it was the same hour again.

The third day, still the same.

By the fourth day, Zhou Yi had started getting used to waking up at that hour.

On the fifth day, he stood longer than he had on the first.

On the sixth day, Zhou Xiong began teaching him other things.

Simple moves. Nothing flashy. Just a few basic motions—straight punches, blocks, sidesteps, footwork. Repeated over and over until they could be done without thought.

Zhou Yi did not know what use any of this had.

But he did not ask.

If his father taught, then he learned.

Every morning before dawn, while the alley was still empty, sounds would already be coming from that small courtyard.

Footsteps. Breathing. And occasionally Zhou Xiong’s voice speaking a sentence or two.

“Spread your legs wider.”

“Sink your waist lower.”

“Faster.”

“Again.”

Over and over, Zhou Yi practiced in the courtyard while Zhou Xiong stood nearby watching.

Most of the time, he stayed silent.

Just watching.

His gaze followed every movement.

Occasionally, when Zhou Yi’s form was wrong, that wooden stick would extend out and lightly tap his leg or waist, showing him where the mistake was.

It did not hurt.

But Zhou Yi understood what it meant.

It was meant to make him remember.

The next time Cheng Yaojin came by was on the seventeenth day of the ninth month.

He arrived early that day. Dawn had only just begun to break, and the alley was still shrouded in thin mist. After tying his horse to the old locust tree, he was about to knock when he heard movement inside the courtyard.

He froze for a moment.

Then he peered through the crack in the door.

Inside the courtyard, Zhou Yi was practicing punches.

One strike.

Another.

And another.

Zhou Xiong stood beside him holding that same wooden stick, his eyes following the movement of the boy’s fists.

After watching for a while, Cheng Yaojin pushed the door open and entered.

“Well now, training, are we?”

Hearing his voice, Zhou Yi did not stop moving.

Neither did Zhou Xiong speak.

Cheng Yaojin walked over and stood beside Zhou Xiong, watching Zhou Yi practice.

After a while, he scratched his head.

“What’re you doing? Teaching him boxing?”

Zhou Xiong remained silent.

Cheng Yaojin watched a little longer.

Zhou Yi was training seriously. Sweat had already formed on his face, yet his movements remained steady.

Suddenly, Cheng Yaojin laughed.

Something came to mind.

More than ten years ago, back at Wagang Fortress.

Those new recruits, when they first arrived, had trained exactly like this.

That person had stood at the front holding a stick, watching them practice.

Whenever someone’s movement was wrong, the stick would point over immediately. Few words, but every sentence struck the heart of the matter.

Watching the scene before him now, Cheng Yaojin suddenly felt a little dazed.

The same posture.

The same eyes.

The same way of standing nearby with a stick in hand, watching silently.

The only difference was—

This time, the one training was his son.

Cheng Yaojin watched Zhou Yi throw punch after punch. He watched the sweat on the child’s face, watched the way he gritted his teeth and persevered.

Suddenly, he frowned.

“Alright, alright, stop.”

Zhou Yi froze for a moment, then stopped and looked at him.

Cheng Yaojin didn’t look at him.

He looked at Zhou Xiong instead.

“Come here.”

Zhou Xiong glanced at him but didn’t move.

Cheng Yaojin strode over, grabbed his arm, and dragged him into the corner of the courtyard.

Zhou Yi stood there in the yard, watching them, not knowing what was happening.

Cheng Yaojin lowered his voice, but he couldn’t suppress the anger in it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him without speaking.

Cheng Yaojin pointed at Zhou Yi.

“That’s your son! Not some new recruit! Look at him, drenched in sweat—what are you trying to do? You’re training him like a fresh soldier?”

Zhou Xiong still said nothing.

Cheng Yaojin stepped closer.

“I know you’ve got things weighing on your mind. I know these past years haven’t been easy for you. But that child is only eleven! You think he can handle this kind of training?”

At last, Zhou Xiong spoke.

“He can handle it.”

Cheng Yaojin stared at him.

“What did you say?”

Zhou Xiong looked back at him. His eyes were still the same—empty-looking, yet with something hidden deep inside.

“My son. I know him.”

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Zhou Xiong didn’t look at him again.

He turned and walked back to the middle of the courtyard.

Zhou Yi stood there watching him.

Zhou Xiong stopped in front of him, bent down, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Tired?”

Zhou Yi blanked for a moment.

His father rarely asked him things like that.

He shook his head.

“Not tired.”

Zhou Xiong nodded.

Then he stood up and looked at Cheng Yaojin.

“See?”

Just two words.

Cheng Yaojin stood there, staring at Zhou Yi.

The child still had sweat on his face, and his chest was still rising and falling, but his eyes were shining brightly.

Not the kind of brightness from forcing himself to endure.

It was more like—

Cheng Yaojin couldn’t quite describe it.

Just now, when Zhou Xiong had pressed a hand to the child’s shoulder, Zhou Yi hadn’t flinched away.

Not only had he not avoided it, he had even leaned forward slightly to meet it.

Just a tiny bit.

But Cheng Yaojin saw it.

He scratched his head.

“You…”

Zhou Xiong looked at him and suddenly said an unusually long sentence.

So long that even Cheng Yaojin was stunned for a second.

“What ‘you’? These are just the basics. I know my limits.”

Cheng Yaojin blinked.

“Huh?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t explain further.

He turned and headed back toward the house.

After taking two steps, he stopped.

Without turning around, he said:

“Rest for fifteen minutes. Then practice stance training.”

That was directed at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi answered immediately.

“Got it, Dad.”

Zhou Xiong went inside.

Cheng Yaojin remained standing in the courtyard, looking first at the curtain over the doorway, then at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi was wiping sweat off his face with his sleeve.

Cheng Yaojin walked over and crouched in front of him.

“Kid, does your dad usually train you like this?”

Zhou Yi nodded.

Cheng Yaojin asked again, “You’re not tired?”

Zhou Yi thought for a moment.

“Tired.”

Cheng Yaojin froze.

“If you’re tired, why keep training?”

Zhou Yi looked at him and suddenly smiled.

“If Dad teaches me, then I learn. Dad wouldn’t harm me, would he?”

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth.

He looked at this child, at that little face that looked so much like hers, at those bright sparkling eyes.

He stood up and scratched his head, not knowing what to say.

Then he smiled.

A very soft smile.

He turned and walked toward the gate.

When he reached it, he looked back at Zhou Yi.

“Kid, if your dad trains you too hard, come find Uncle Cheng. Uncle Cheng’ll help you scold him.”

Zhou Yi laughed.

“Okay.”

Cheng Yaojin laughed too.

He pushed open the gate and walked out.

Outside, the morning fog had dispersed, and the sun had risen, shining across the blue stone pavement.