Qian Zheng’s skills had indeed improved tremendously.

But in Su Jie’s eyes, he wasn’t even a “paper tiger.”

Before Su Jie went abroad, he himself had been a “paper tiger.” He thought he was a master, sometimes even feeling nearly invincible, his ego swelling every moment. But once he was thrown into the hail of bullets overseas, he realized just how fragile his psyche was—fear, worry, anxiety, panic, helplessness—negative emotions were everywhere.

Of course, he still felt those emotions now, but far less than before.

So when Qian Zheng’s fist came at him, Su Jie’s brain registered it as nothing more than a baby waving its tiny fists—not frightening, just childish.

And the speed? Painfully slow.

Smack!

Su Jie casually raised his arm.

Forearm clashed with forearm, intercepting Qian Zheng’s strike. Then Su Jie’s fingers hooked in like an eagle’s talons, clamping muscle and bone, yanking downward.

“Ahh!” Qian Zheng cried out in pain. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor, unable to stand. Pure leverage.

Su Jie had turned his arm into a lever—any struggle would only risk snapping his bones.

“Let’s reset. Come again.” Su Jie released him.

Qian Zheng shook his wrist to dull the pain, glared fiercely, then lunged again—this time hands and feet together, feinting below while striking above.

Crack!

The instant he attacked, Su Jie’s arm swept up, clashing against his again, then snaked in and clamped down.

It was like a mantis chopping down a cicada, or a crab seizing prey, or a tiger pinning down its kill…

“It hurts, it hurts!” Qian Zheng couldn’t stop himself from crying out, no matter how hard he tried to keep face.

“Still want more?” Su Jie asked with a smile.

“You’re really using joint locks against me?” Qian Zheng shook out his arm. “That only works if you’re way stronger than your opponent.”

At least Qian Zheng knew what he was talking about. His skills had grown a lot recently, but the gap between him and Su Jie was only widening.

Fighting was fighting. Joint locks were joint locks.

Fighting was what pro fighters did in the ring—punches, kicks, maybe some wrestling. Joint locks were all about breaking fingers, snapping joints, subduing criminals—military and police training.

But joint locks required a massive skill gap. Against an equal, you’d never grab their arm; you’d just get pummeled instead. Only with overwhelming advantage could it work—and to outsiders, it looked effortless, bloodless, almost like a master’s magic trick.

“How do you even train like this?” Qian Zheng slumped to the floor. “Do you know how I’ve been training these past months? Constant sparring with experts, AI correcting my posture, specialized nutrition and meds for resistance training. I was convinced I could go toe-to-toe with pro fighters. And yet, you still locked me down so easily?”

“Physical conditioning is important, but the most important thing is psychological conditioning,” Su Jie said. “Mental cultivation. Look at any top-tier fighter—do you think they don’t have psychological coaches? Of course, that’s my secret. But if you want to learn, that’s possible too. Sign up at Grand Ascent, I can get you a membership slot.”

“You’re upselling me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll take what I learn and give it to Starshine, stealing your business?” Qian Zheng asked, baffled.

“Actually, Sharshine isn’t really under your family anymore.” Su Jie shook his head. “You should be careful. Haoyu’s no good. On the surface, it looks like your dad gave him a big share of Sharshine while keeping control himself—benefits plus authority. But the world doesn’t hand out free lunch, and Haoyu isn’t easy to deal with.”

“It’s not that complicated. My father knows exactly what he’s doing. Haoyu wants into the fitness and combat market, even bought shares in Minglun Martial Arts Academy. My dad saw the opportunity, played both sides, and Haoyu panicked, overpaid, and agreed to a bunch of conditions. It’s already a done deal—no tricks possible. You just don’t understand business. If you did, your little club wouldn’t still be playing small-time.”

“Small is good. Easier to maneuver.” Su Jie didn’t mind. Qian Zheng was competitive, sure, but at heart he wasn’t bad.

“I’ll drop by your club sometime. Even if the public hasn’t heard of it, there’s some mystique about it in the industry.” Qian Zheng got up and left in a rush, clearly off to consult someone about why he’d lost today.

Su Jie didn’t linger either. He grabbed hot water from the cafeteria, ate a military ration can, then checked the time and headed for the airport by taxi.

On the way, he pulled out his brick-thick tablet, inserted Odell’s USB drive, and started watching his instructional videos.

The opening three minutes showed slow-motion, high-definition footage of animals hunting.

A tiger ambushing an antelope—the real wilderness. The tiger crouched, hidden in the grass, then suddenly sprang. Its spine coiled and released like a spring, body surging upright almost like a man, forelimbs locking onto the prey’s head, all its force exploding in that one pounce, accompanied by a roar that froze the victim in sheer terror.

There were mantises hunting, vipers striking, eagles diving, wolves and leopards chasing, gorillas brawling…

Almost every fierce predator in nature appeared in that montage.

Most people wouldn’t understand. But Su Jie immediately recognized it: a carefully crafted study of the essence of predation, capturing the power, the rhythm, the raw momentum of the kill.

To him, it wasn’t just nature—it was martial wisdom.

He watched the hunting clips over and over, engraving them in his mind, before continuing.

Then Odell appeared, explaining footwork.

“Fighting footwork should be short, fast, practical. The ‘moonwalk’ is just a visual trick, useless in combat. But its feints can inspire deception, taken to the extreme…” Odell demonstrated as he spoke.

This was a secret tutorial, the kind that would sell for a fortune on the dark web.

He went on for over an hour: how to generate power, how to deceive, how to evade, how to play real against false in countless situations—like pure strategy.

Su Jie had never realized how deep footwork could go. It tied into the environment, even subtle shifts in magnetic fields that unsettled opponents.

Almost like magic.

Or rather—Odell’s footwork was a kind of magic. Practical magic.

But very hard to master.

Even top fighters, given this video, might spend years and never succeed. But Su Jie was different. He had studied under Odell directly, had a broad foundation, a sharp mind—he could digest and begin practicing right away.

The USB was packed with dozens of hours of content. Clearly, Odell had dumped his life’s research onto him, hoping Su Jie would advance further.

Su Jie had just finished the first footwork lesson when the taxi arrived at the airport. He shut it down, but not before hearing Odell’s conclusion:

“My system of footwork combines boxing steps, Chinese martial arts body methods, plus the moonwalk and robotic dance. But the most mysterious part draws from ancient Taoist ritual steps—Yu Bu Gangdou. Legend says Taoists used it to summon storms, commune with gods, and banish demons. Though long lost, fragments survive in old texts and among rare hermits. I collected and analyzed these scraps with AI, creating this new footwork. I call it the Magic Step—because in truth, anything that seems to defy physical laws is simply magic.”

Hearing this, Su Jie realized Odell was conflicted.

On one hand, he believed in science, in physical law. On the other, he was desperate to find the supernatural, to witness miracles.

And the Magic Step really was uncanny—like sleight of hand, a trick of perception. Su Jie shut off the video, thinking it would take him months just to scratch the surface.

Actually, martial arts already had similar techniques. Japanese kendo had the “inch step,” where a sudden toe-grip propelled you forward in tiny bursts. It looked like you hadn’t moved at all, yet you were suddenly closer—a pure visual trick.

Mastered, it felt like teleporting.

It reminded Su Jie of “contact juggling” with crystal balls.

Experts could make the ball look alive, floating in midair.

He searched for “Magic Step” online—nothing. On foreign sites, though, he found some news.

Latest headline: “MMA newcomer David Laki wins first championship belt.” In the fight, he used illusion-like footwork to confuse the ex-champion Cole, then defeated him. Afterwards, Laki credited his coach entirely: “My Magic Step comes from him.” His coach? The godmaker himself—Odell.

Another: “Champion Pascchi asked if he’s the strongest man alive.” Pascchi answered, “The strongest is my coach, Odell.” When asked why Odell didn’t fight himself to make money, Pascchi laughed: “A third of my fight earnings go straight to him. He doesn’t need to fight.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep