The young man’s name was Qiu Tianyou. He had come here with the construction crew to assist in rebuilding efforts. By chance, he discovered some business opportunities and started operating a small venture, which unexpectedly became wildly popular and booming.

“I opened a restaurant here, and next to it I set up a few old-style projectors to play classic films. People came to watch movies. In just one year, I made several million,” Qiu Tianyou was chatting with Su Jie, Zhang Manman, and Zhang Jinchuan. While speaking, he gestured toward a cluster of makeshift shelters in the distance — temporary prefab units. Next to them were many stoves and burners, where cooks were busy preparing food. A constant stream of soldiers and civilians came to eat.

Some military armored vehicles — even tanks — were parked nearby, with soldiers constantly climbing down to eat.

Even soldiers from opposing sides, who were clearly not on good terms, queued up in peace.

Next to the dining area was an open lot with a large hanging screen. Far off behind it, an old-style projector was playing a film — a classic from the “Wong Fei-hung” series.

As the rousing, heroic music kicked in and Wong Fei-hung made his entrance with his shadowless kicks and dynamic moves, the crowd burst into cheers.

“Martial Art films are the most popular here — every screening is packed,” Qiu Tianyou said. “Whenever there’s a showing, soldiers from distant cities even drive hundreds of miles in military vehicles just to watch. They really lack entertainment. Last time, a bunch of soldiers even grabbed me and begged me to teach them Chinese Martial Art. But I don’t know any! They just wouldn’t believe it.”

After chatting for a while, someone called out to him from a distance. Qiu Tianyou quickly excused himself. “I’ve got to get back to business. Be careful. If anything comes up, contact me. Maybe I can pull some strings.”

Watching Qiu Tianyou walk away, Su Jie felt something stir within him.

Just a restaurant, a screen, and an old projector — yet it brought together people of different races, cultures, and even opposing factions in temporary harmony. Martial Art seemed to act as a bridge — a medium for civilizational dialogue.

Maybe learning Martial Art wasn’t just for fighting. It had other purposes too.

“Let’s go,” Zhang Manman said. “Chinese Martial Art really is popular all over the world, especially in war-torn areas. Everyone wants to learn because life is so unpredictable. The head of the armed group that detained the shipment is also a Martial Art fanatic. That’s why I brought you two along.”

“It’s not that simple,” Zhang Jinchuan said. “The Feng family’s trading group is tight with that armed leader. In fact, they even trained his men. From what I know, Feng Hengyi — the third son — is about our age, but he’s helped train those fighters. The soldiers he trained are all tough and capable of holding their own. Plus, Feng Hengyi has other deals with the head, which is why they dared to detain the shipment.”

“Seems like Feng Hengyi’s business extends beyond the Feng family’s Haoyu Group,” Su Jie thought, his understanding growing clearer.

Zhang Jinchuan had access to a lot of intel, but he didn’t share it all — just bits and pieces to show his value.

“Feng Hengyi trained from childhood in the most secretive Typhon Training Camp — basically started martial arts in the womb,” Zhang Manman added. “Feng Shoucheng invested a huge amount in grooming him. Now, there’s a powerful force backing him, and he’s clearly part of it.”

Their van soon entered what looked like a ruined city — no traffic lights, no one maintaining order. They weaved between buildings and finally stopped near what seemed to be an old industrial site.

The compound was surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire, and mercenaries patrolled the gates.

As the van approached, the mercenaries signaled for it to stop and aimed their guns inside.

Zhang Manman got out and showed them her credentials.

After a long inspection, they were let through.

The van drove into the compound and stopped in front of a row of single-story buildings.

“Manman, you’re here?” In front of the buildings stood a dozen or so people. Leading them was a middle-aged man who bore a faint resemblance to Zhang Manman — likely a member of the Zhang family.

“Uncle Xi, how’s the situation?” Zhang Manman asked as she stepped inside. The room was modest — plain tables, a coffee table, a few wire-frame beds — no different from a construction site barracks. But it was extremely clean, with no trace of odor.

“It’s not looking good,” Uncle Xi said, glancing at Su Jie and Zhang Jinchuan, hesitating.

“It’s fine. These two are skilled fighters I invited. I believe this matter has to be handled by the local rules. Having two experts makes things easier,” said Zhang Manman. “This is Su Jie, and this is Zhang Jinchuan. I’ve already sent you the details. My dad said I’m in charge here. Just cooperate with me. Whether we succeed or not, I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Alright.” Uncle Xi nodded. “Awasi wants us to go see him face-to-face in three days. At first, I thought just a word from the Dragon Head would be enough to settle this. But things changed. He’s not even giving the Dragon Head face anymore.”

Su Jie didn’t speak, but he caught on: this Awasi was likely the armed leader who detained the shipment, and “Dragon Head” referred to Zhang Manman’s father, Zhang Hongqing.

Zhang Hongqing clearly wielded significant influence. In many places, his word alone could resolve major issues — even armed groups would show him respect.

But now, that respect seemed to have hit a wall.

“No matter what, we’ll meet him in three days,” Zhang Manman said. “Jinchuan, time to put your intel to use. Don’t you have a lot?”

“Awasi’s shift in attitude makes sense — I bet someone from the Feng family has arrived,” Zhang Jinchuan said. “This cargo seizure is the Feng family’s ace move, aimed at striking a fatal blow to the Xu family. If we resolve it too easily, the Fengs would lose face. But I think a few of Awasi’s subordinates are ripe for defection. One of them, a woman named Fuya, has an account on M@skNet. I’ve already made contact. In the next three days, I can feed you internal intel.”

“Impressive.” Uncle Xi and the others looked at Zhang Jinchuan with newfound respect.

They hadn’t expected this young man to be so capable.

Su Jie remained quiet. He couldn’t contribute much yet. Compared to Zhang Jinchuan’s strategic maneuvering, he felt a bit green. Only now did he truly grasp the other’s brilliance — no wonder he’d launched such a successful company in such a short time. He wondered how good Zhang Jinchuan’s martial arts were.

Although Su Jie had been traveling with Zhang Jinchuan for several days, he’d never seen him fight.

“By the rules here, this will probably come down to a duel in the end,” said a young man nearby. “So, I want to see how good you guys really are.”

“This is Zhang Xian — one of the top fighters of our generation,” Zhang Manman whispered to Su Jie. “There are a lot of armed groups around here, and clashes are frequent. But people realized full-blown fights are too costly — they waste ammo, manpower, and make it easy for others to take advantage. So everyone agreed to resolve disputes the old-fashioned way — like Roman gladiators. Each side picks a champion. Whoever wins, calls the shots. I suspect our negotiations will end with this method.”

Su Jie understood. In places where power struggles run deep, people often rely on primitive methods like this to resolve conflict.

He’d seen it in old Hong Kong gangster films: disputes settled through gambling or one-on-one fights.

Large-scale shootouts cost too much and invite outside interference. A duel gives both sides a face-saving way out.

It was a very Western solution — during Europe’s Middle Ages, duels were common among nobles. Boxing itself came from this tradition.

Even the famous poet Pushkin died in a duel.

“Zhang Xian, I know you’re not happy. You think you can handle this on your own and don’t see why I brought outsiders in — let alone gave them sixty percent of the cut. But you don’t understand — this can’t go wrong. I think your skills are still lacking. If you don’t believe me, Su Jie, why don’t you give it a try with him?” Zhang Manman said.

Since Zhang Jinchuan had just demonstrated his value, Zhang Manman naturally wanted Su Jie to show his as well — to avoid anyone looking down on him.

At that, Zhang Jinchuan frowned slightly. He was beginning to notice — Zhang Manman clearly favored Su Jie. In subtle ways, she unconsciously leaned toward him.

Su Jie nodded and stood up, facing Zhang Xian. “Let’s try.”

He stepped forward. Zhang Xian moved three paces ahead, sizing him up. “You go first,” he said, maintaining his composure.

Su Jie didn’t hesitate. “Alright then, here I come.”

His foot slid forward, and he shot toward Zhang Xian like a runaway train. As he advanced, his hand rose from below and then came crashing down — like a fisherman casting a net to catch everything in one sweep.

His upward and downward motions formed arcs, natural and unrefined — no hint of artifice, no trace of force. Pure and vast.

Zhang Xian suddenly felt darkness fall over him, as if the sky were collapsing. His feet felt rooted to the ground, immobile. Su Jie’s palm seemed to sever the connection between his body and mind — his brain and limbs disconnected.

The palm landed on his face, then pressed down gently.

Zhang Xian collapsed, unsure how he’d even hit the ground.

“Hm?” Zhang Jinchuan watched Su Jie’s technique—a move called “Hoe Strike”—and finally saw its true power. Even he couldn’t help being impressed.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep