Chapter 1: Farmer’s Kung Fu—Every Hoe and Turn Is Kung Fu

“Ouch.”

James Carter put down the hoe, his hands covered in blisters.

He tried to straighten up and catch his breath, but his back and waist ached so much he couldn’t stretch at all.

As a city student, working in the fields was novel at first, but after half a day of hoeing, both arms felt as heavy as lead, as if ants were gnawing at his bones. Even worse were the blisters on his hands from the hoe handle—just a touch sent a sharp pain through him.

James Carter had already been at this “Minglun Martial Arts School” for two days.

He had signed up for a short-term summer martial arts training camp.

The martial arts coach, William Clark, hadn’t taught them any martial arts moves. On the very first day, he took the whole class straight to the countryside, handed them hoes, and had them help elderly villagers who had lost their labor force with farm work.

For two whole days, all James Carter learned was how to swing a hoe, dig, turn the soil, and break up clods, making the hard earth loose and breathable, suitable for planting.

He never imagined farm work could be so exhausting. Only now did he truly understand the poem: “Hoeing grain at noon, sweat drips onto the soil beneath the crops.”

“I’ll never waste food again. Swinging the hoe, digging and turning the earth—this is a real skill…”

These past two days, he’d been closely observing Coach William Clark’s hoeing technique.

Every time William Clark hoed, he’d step down, his body moving like a lever, barely using any force, yet the heavy hoe would rise lightly, then drop swiftly, biting deep into the hardened soil. With each motion, it was as if he was tossing a big fish out of water.

Large clods of earth would be turned up, and with a follow-up strike, the soil would shatter into pieces, becoming as soft as freshly steamed cake.

Watching Coach William Clark hoe and turn the soil looked effortless, almost like an art form.

At first, James Carter couldn’t use the hoe at all. Even with all his strength, he couldn’t dig deep. But by observing, learning, and practicing, he finally picked up Coach William Clark’s technique, and things became much easier.

“When you dig, twist your waist and follow through with your shoulders. Use your core strength. As you lift the hoe, lean your body forward slightly, like a cat pouncing on a mouse, pressing down with your whole body. That’s how you drive the hoe deep into the soil. When turning the earth, use both skill and strength—step down first, dig in, then flip the soil up…”

Coach William Clark explained in great detail, even teaching the students hands-on how to dig.

The sun blazed overhead, and everyone was sunburned and peeling.

Although no one knew what digging and turning soil had to do with martial arts, James Carter still studied diligently.

But he still couldn’t master the relaxed, elastic movements of Coach William Clark.

Every move William Clark made was full of springy energy, as if his body was filled with steel wires and springs. He didn’t seem tired at all from the farm work.

There must be some secret techniques behind this.

James Carter thought to himself.

“Hey, James Carter, are you tired? Want some water?”

James Carter wasn’t the only one with blistered hands. Next to him was a foreigner named Scott Miller.

Scott Miller was a tall white man in his twenties, British, with a muscular build—clearly a regular at the gym. He was also carefully observing Coach William Clark’s digging and soil-turning technique, studying hard, his every move precise, and he worked much faster than James Carter.

Scott Miller had come here specifically to learn Chinese kung fu. Just two days ago, he and James Carter had joined this short-term summer martial arts class and were assigned to the same dorm.

City D is known as the hometown of martial arts, with martial arts schools everywhere. Minglun Martial Arts School is one of the most famous, having produced many fighting champions, elite bodyguards, and kung fu stars over the years.

The martial arts atmosphere here is strong, attracting many foreigners from across the seas to study.

Minglun Martial Arts School is located on the outskirts of the county, next to a lively town where you can always spot foreign tourists with backpacks.

Scott Miller’s Chinese was terrible, but he was a huge fan of Chinese kung fu and knew many of its terms—no one knew where he’d learned them.

Scott Miller had studied many fighting styles: he was skilled in judo, Muay Thai, Krav Maga, Filipino stick fighting, Russian Sambo, and was best at Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do. But he still felt none of these were the strongest, so he came to China to learn real kung fu.

It’s worth mentioning that Scott Miller’s current look was quite odd: a shaved head, a gray monk’s robe, and a yellow silk sash at his waist—he looked just like a foreign monk who had taken vows long ago.

“Thanks.” Taking the water Scott Miller handed over, James Carter took a big gulp and felt much better. He asked Scott Miller in fluent English, “Scott Miller, why are you always dressed like a Shaolin monk?”