Chapter 205: The Minimalist

Master Luo and Master Ma had both made regular trips abroad to teach at the kind of spiritual retreat programs that wealthy foreigners assembled for themselves — the kind where a single session cost upward of a hundred thousand US dollars. Despite that price, invitations kept coming faster than they could accept them, forcing them to keep raising their rates.

Certain foreign billionaires, once they had more money than they could spend, found themselves with a hollow at the center of everything. They needed something to fill it.

Some of these programs genuinely worked. They could settle a restless mind, sharpen focus, or help dissolve the knots that led to depression.

Su Jie saw it at a glance: Larry was depressed.

For all that he was one of the wealthiest men alive, no quantity of money could reach the parts of a person that money couldn’t reach.

In ordinary circumstances, men like this were almost inaccessible. Not just to Su Jie — even Chinese billionaires with assets in the tens of billions had to book appointments to meet Larry, with no guarantee of success.

But Su Jie understood why Larry had sought him out. It was the data.

His physical metrics.

When you saw a person’s numbers breaking records across the board — every category — you couldn’t help but want to know more. Particularly given Larry’s sustained recent investment in the life sciences, and his intense interest in human performance data. Su Jie had read this man’s priorities accurately long before the meeting. Even if Su Jie had made no effort to see him, Larry would eventually have come looking.

“Mr. Larry,” Zhang Manman said, taking the opening directly, “this is our Honey Badger Security candidate for personal bodyguard. I hope he meets your requirements.” She went straight to the point — her negotiating style was always to close fast. She had already read the room and knew that Larry was more than satisfied. The position was essentially settled. If anything, even if Su Jie had reservations, Larry would have chased the matter.

“Very good.” Larry gave a single, clean nod.

Cass produced the contract immediately and laid it before Su Jie and Zhang Manman.

Su Jie read through it, processing every clause. He had spent considerable time studying law after his sister Su Muchen had been burned by a contract — domestic and international law both, not to mastery, but well enough that the critical leverage points were visible to him.

He set the contract on the table, took out his AI module, photographed the document, converted it to an editable file, and began marking changes.

Larry’s gaze moved to the device — a block-like tablet, thick and graceless, the kind of thing that would find no market if it went on sale anywhere. But Larry was a technologist. He could see immediately that the software inside it was something else entirely.

He said nothing.

“I’ve made some modifications,” Su Jie said. “I’ll send them to Cass now — let’s see if these terms work.”

Cass forwarded the revised document to the company’s legal team. Half an hour of back-and-forth followed. When it was done, the final contract text was settled.

“I didn’t expect Mr. Su Jie to be a legal specialist as well,” Cass said during the negotiation. She had seen how he worked — this was not someone you could slip anything past.

“My physical data is also intellectual property,” Su Jie said. “Under this contract, you have the right to collect that data — but research findings derived from it must be shared with me, and I’m to receive licensing fees accordingly.”

He said it without apology. Larry, far from taking offense, looked openly appreciative.

Su Jie understood the Western professional sensibility well enough: it wasn’t personal warmth they responded to, it was precision and rigor. The more carefully you guarded every detail, the more trustworthy you appeared. Especially to someone like Larry — an engineer by nature, for whom every assertion required tight proof and no margin could be left undefined.

And Su Jie knew the value of what he was offering. Physical data from someone at his level was extraordinarily rare. Zhang Hongqing’s metrics had been studied inside the Honey Badger Training Camp for years. For Larry to gain access to data of comparable quality, there was a price — and it was non-negotiable.

“This is the final version,” Cass said. “If there are no remaining issues, I think we can call this a happy partnership.”

“No issues.” Su Jie shook her hand. “Happy to work together.”

He signed without hesitation.

“Congratulations, Mr. Su Jie,” Cass said. “Effective immediately, you are Mr. Larry’s personal bodyguard. His security is your responsibility. Anything you need, come to me directly.” She paused. “One further item — Mr. Larry will be attending the Zhang family’s annual assembly. Security arrangements for that event will also fall under your charge.”

Su Jie nodded. “I’ll need the full schedule. And I’ll need to meet Mr. Larry’s existing security team.”

Larry spent tens of millions of dollars annually on personal security — multiple specialized teams operating in parallel. Some handled outer perimeter, monitoring data and environmental threats. Some tracked and surveilled. Some screened everyone who came into proximity with Larry. His annual security expenditure reportedly exceeded what was allocated to protecting sitting heads of state — the difference being that presidents operated under budget constraints subject to legislative approval, while Larry spent his own money however he chose.

At his level of wealth, mortality felt closer, not farther. The more you had to lose, the more acutely you felt it.

The role Su Jie had taken on was the last line. When an assassin had already broken through every outer barrier and closed the final distance — Su Jie would be the one standing between that person and Larry.

That position demanded absolute trust from the employer, and absolutely reliable capability from the one who held it.

“Of course — that’s exactly the right approach. Very professional,” Cass said. “Is there anything else?”

“The previous personal bodyguard — who was that? Have they been let go?”

“No,” Cass said. “He’s still in position. Mr. Larry simply felt that one person was insufficient, so the budget was expanded for a second. We screened tens of thousands of candidates. You were the result.”

“Would it be possible to meet him?”

“Of course.” Larry answered directly. “Mr. Sawai — please come in.”

A door opened. A man of Asian appearance entered, wearing a black mandarin-collar jacket. Japanese, judging by the name. He came in and lowered himself into seiza — seated on his folded legs, the tops of his feet flat against the floor, his weight balanced like a coiled spring ready to release. It was a technically sound resting position for generating force quickly.

“This is Mr. Sawai Takeji,” Cass said. “Mr. Larry’s personal bodyguard and martial arts instructor.”

“How do you do.” Su Jie was courteous. One look was enough — the man called Sawai Takeji had profound martial experience. His root — the stability and depth of his foundation — was more developed than anything Su Jie had seen in Shen Dao or Song Gua. Seated here, he was perfectly composed, not a fraction of energy wasted, his jing, qi, and shen collected and consolidated within him, settled as jade.

Su Jie had heard that Larry held a particular affinity for Japanese culture — that he spent time in Zen temples in contemplative practice, and that his minimalism had taken root during those periods.

“Mr. Su Jie,” Sawai Takeji said — in Chinese, to Su Jie’s mild surprise. “My family tradition is Taiki-ken. It descends from Chinese Yiquan — also known as Dachengquan. My ancestor Sawai Ken’ichi studied under Wang Xiangzhai, the founder of Dachengquan in China, and later established Taiki-ken from that foundation.” He paused. “Which school of Chinese gongfu do you practice, if I may ask?”

Su Jie heard the confidence in the question — steady and unequivocal. He understood it. Japanese martial artists of the traditional school carried a devotion to classical practice that often exceeded what you found in China itself.

Strictly speaking, Su Jie’s foundation was the Hoe Strike of Xin Yi Ba — the oldest form of agricultural martial arts at its highest level — but his training methodology had been shaped by Odell and the Typhon Training Camp’s advanced exercise science. The combination was unusual.

He considered for a moment. “I train in the Thirteen Protectors Iron Body Qigong,” he said.

“Would Mr. Su Jie be willing to exchange techniques? A friendly match?” Sawai Takeji made the request without ceremony. He turned to Larry. “Mr. Larry, I must ask your permission. Please allow this.”

Larry looked at Su Jie. “What do you think?”

“I’d be glad to.” Su Jie nodded.

The office was spacious — designed, among other things, for movement and practice.

The moment Su Jie agreed, Sawai Takeji came to his feet in a single fluid motion and moved to the open area of the room, waiting.

Su Jie stood and faced him.

Sawai Takeji bowed. “Then let us begin, Mr. Su Jie.”

Su Jie nodded.

Their eyes met and held.

Sawai Takeji moved first — sinuous, serpentine, seeming to flow left before threatening from the right, then abandoning all feints and driving straight in. The lunge bore a striking resemblance to the Hoe Strike: a tiger closing on prey, a crocodile seizing a wildebeest crossing a river. The speed was extraordinary — a gust of wind arriving without warning — and there was something faintly predatory underneath it, a note that suggested real violence.

Su Jie shifted and let it pass. But Sawai Takeji moved like a magnet that had found metal — his feet pressed the floor, redirected the force, and he came again without pause. Now everything engaged at once: hands that struck, tore, and seized; elbows that rammed, drove, and stabbed like spear-tips; legs that swept, kicked, and hooked; knees cocked and loaded, ready to fire like artillery. Every part of him could hurt you.

Coming close, Sawai Takeji felt to Su Jie like an octopus — tentacles everywhere.

But his level, compared to Su Jie’s, had a gap. Within the first second of movement, Su Jie had already found the opening.

As Sawai Takeji surged in again, Su Jie’s fist moved — not thrown yet, held and traveling, the palm opening and compressing as it approached. At the last instant, directly in front of Sawai Takeji’s face, his hand snapped shut.

The air between them detonated.

Bang!

Like a large firecracker going off in his palm.

Sawai Takeji’s legs went unsteady, as though the ground had moved beneath him. He swayed — and went down.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep