Li Chao, styled Kuiwu, came from the western outskirts of Zichuan. He was open-handed and loved to give. One day a monk came to his door with an alms bowl, and Li fed him until he was full. The monk was deeply grateful and said, "I come from Shaolin. I have a little skill, and I'd like to teach it to you." Delighted, Li lodged him in the guest quarters, provided for him generously, and trained with him morning and night. After three months his technique had become quite polished, and he was very pleased with himself. The monk asked, "Have you improved?" "I have," said Li. "Everything you can do, I can now do too." The monk smiled and told him to show what he had learned. Li stripped off his coat, spat on his palms, and went at it, leaping like a monkey, swooping down like a bird, springing about for a good while before he stood there, chest out, preening. The monk smiled again. "Very good. Since you've mastered everything I know, let's see which of us comes out on top." Li gladly agreed, and the two squared off. They parried and blocked, Li constantly probing for an opening; then the monk's foot flew up, and Li landed flat on his back more than ten feet away. The monk clapped his hands. "You haven't quite mastered everything I know!" Li pushed himself up off the ground with his palms and, ashamed and crestfallen, begged to be taught more. A few days later the monk took his leave.
From then on Li was famous for his fighting. He roamed north and south and never met his match. Once, passing through Jinan, he came upon a young nun performing martial feats in an open square, with spectators packed all around. The nun called to the crowd, "Tumbling about by myself is awfully dull. If anyone fancies it, come down and have a friendly bout with me." She said it three times. People glanced at one another; no one took her up. Li, standing by, felt his fists itching, and stepped forward full of spirit. The nun smiled and pressed her palms together in greeting. They had barely touched hands when she called a halt. "This is the Shaolin school," she said, and asked, "Who is your master?" At first Li wouldn't say. When she pressed him, he told her about the monk. The nun cupped her hands. "So the Simple Monk is your teacher? In that case there's no need to trade blows. I concede." Li asked again and again, but she refused. The crowd egged her on, and at last she said, "Well, since you're a disciple of the Simple Master, we're of the same family. A little sport won't hurt, so long as we both know when to stop." Li agreed. But because she looked so delicate, he took her lightly; and being young and eager to win, he wanted to beat her and make a name for himself that day. They were locked in an even match when the nun abruptly stopped. Li asked why; she only smiled and said nothing. Thinking she had lost her nerve, he insisted on another round.
So the nun rose. A moment later Li launched a kick. The nun brought her five fingers together and chopped down at his thigh; Li felt as if an axe had struck him below the knee, and he crashed to the ground and couldn't get up. The nun smiled and apologized: "Forgive me for being so rough with a guest!" Li was carried home and took more than a month to recover. A year or so later the monk came back, and Li told him what had happened. The monk was aghast. "You reckless fool! Why on earth did you provoke her? Lucky you gave her my name first, or your leg would have been broken clean through!"
