Martin Parker smiled slightly and said, “The Dao says: one begets two, two begets three, three begets all things. Martial arts are the same. One begets two is the foundation—you’ve already passed this stage. Next is two begets three. Let’s see if you can break through in a year or two. Actually, there are further subdivisions within two begets three, but I’ll tell you about those gradually in the future.”

“Uncle, why do you want me to practice martial arts?”

Adam Thompson pondered for a moment and asked, “Is it because our family practices martial arts?”

“It’s somewhat related to the family, but that’s not all!”

Martin Parker said slowly, “Many signs in the Great Tang are becoming more and more off. All kinds of crises are deepening. I feel we’re at a turning point, and chaos may be coming soon. We must be prepared. It’s not just us—many noble families I know are also preparing in secret.”

“Preparing for what?” Adam Thompson pressed.

“All kinds of preparations: food, wealth, weapons, training the younger generation. But for us as individuals, mastering powerful martial skills is the most practical and useful thing. Only then can we survive in troubled times and protect our families.”

Adam Thompson nodded silently. Just like animals often sense earthquakes or tsunamis before they happen, wars are the same—there are always signs beforehand. Those families that have lasted a thousand years are usually the first to sense them.

Martin Parker was born into the renowned Wenxi Pei clan, one of the great families of the world. He must have received warnings from his family as well.

“Where do I start?” Adam Thompson refocused his mind.

Martin Parker pointed at the well.

Adam Thompson glanced at the well, a bit puzzled. “You want me to go down the well?”

Martin Parker smiled slightly. “Back then, I trained at the bottom of the river in Chang’an. If you don’t mind the dirty river water here, you can practice at the riverbed.”

The river water, with things floating in it, was out of the question. Adam Thompson thought of Martin Parker’s sword move that seemed to come from beyond the heavens, and of the impending An Lushan Rebellion. His blood boiled. He took off his outer clothes, stripped to the waist, and said, “How should I practice?”

“Jump to the bottom of the well. The bottom is quite spacious, about the size of your room. Practice swinging your polo stick at the bottom. When you can’t hold your breath anymore, come up for air. Practice for an hour every night. When you can swing as fast and accurately as you do on land, you’ll have succeeded.”

“Will I be able to use that ‘Sword from Beyond the Heavens’ move of yours, Uncle?”

Martin Parker nodded with a smile. “Once you reach that level, you’ll realize that move isn’t actually that hard!”

……

Adam Thompson leapt into the well. It was the tail end of spring’s chill, and the icy water nearly froze him solid in an instant. The effects of the medicinal baths he’d taken since childhood kicked in, helping him withstand the extreme cold.

His body slowly sank. The water was about four or five meters deep. His feet finally touched the fine sand at the bottom, and he stood up carefully. He suddenly noticed two stone locks at the bottom—probably left by his uncle—to be fastened to his feet so his body wouldn’t float up.

Only now did he realize that practicing polo at the bottom of a well was no easy task. The stick kept floating upward, and he had to force it down, struggling to swing it at the bottom. It was pitch black all around; he couldn’t see a thing, let alone hit the small stones at the bottom.

No wonder the training was done underwater. It was a completely different world. All the strength, speed, precision, and sharpness he had on land were gone. He had to start from scratch, and it was even harder.

Adam Thompson’s previous self was as stubborn as an ox—once he set his mind to something, no one could change it. Now, though not as stubborn as before, Adam Thompson still had a tenacious spirit and would never give up easily.

He knew it would take two or three years of hard training; there was no way to succeed overnight. He had to persevere, letting small streams gather into a mighty river.

With each swing, every muscle in his body was engaged. After just two or three swings, his arms were already sore. Gritting his teeth, he managed two more swings. When he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he pushed off with his feet and floated up.

His head broke the surface, and Adam Thompson gulped in air. Martin Parker called down from above, “How many swings?”

“Five!”

“Not enough! You must swing seven times at the start. Get back down there. You must dive fifteen times today!”

Adam Thompson took a deep breath and dove down again. He reached the bottom, grabbed the stone locks, fastened them to his feet, drew out his polo stick from his waist, and continued swinging.

But after just four swings, he couldn’t go on. He was almost out of breath. Gritting his teeth, he managed one more swing—five. Two more to go. His chest felt like it was about to explode.

Summoning all his strength, he swung the last two times, gulped down a mouthful of water, and nearly choked. Kicking off with his feet, he shot to the surface just before losing consciousness, gasping for air.

That was only the second time—thirteen more to go. The thought alone was terrifying. Adam Thompson felt he couldn’t possibly keep going. He looked up at the mouth of the well; it was pitch black above.

“Uncle! Uncle!” he shouted twice.

There was no response from above. Everything that needed to be said had been said; Martin Parker had most likely already left.

“How am I supposed to get out later?”

Both sides of the well were covered in slippery moss, offering no grip at all. Adam Thompson began to feel afraid.

Just then, a dark object suddenly appeared above and came hurtling down toward his head. Adam Thompson dodged, and—thud!—it hit the water. It turned out to be a bucket with a rope attached.

“The third time, hurry up!” Martin Parker shouted sternly from above.