There Is a Martial Arts Practitioner in the Village

Thirty-year-old Chen Mo was spat out by Beijing. I had no house, no car, no savings, and except for the habit of staying up late, I had nothing saved. He dragged his old suitcase back to Chenjia'ao. He just wanted to take a breath. But in my grandfather's old wooden box, I found a yellowed volume of "Xingyiquan Pu" and a crooked note: "The grandson of Chen Deshun, if he is willing, he can learn this skill. If not, don't force it." From then on, before the rooster crows, there is a shadow of a standing stake in the fog in the backyard. There are no flying eaves and walls, no dantian glow. Only the sweat hits the soil drop by drop, and with each breath, a person who has been evacuated by the city is coming back to life inch by inch. Master said: Boxing is not for hitting people, it is for training the mind. The land does not lie. How much effort you put in, how much harvest it will give you.