Flames rolled within the wok, the spatula fluttered like a butterfly, and the large iron pan bounced rhythmically in Su Jie’s hands. Every ingredient inside was evenly exposed to the heat. This required total focus—to sense the changing temperature of the fire and the way the seasonings were seeping into the food.

Even a moment’s distraction would ruin the dish’s perfect flavor.

The pan at home was one of those old-fashioned iron woks, completely uncoated—not like the stainless steel or non-stick ones commonly sold in stores.

Only a raw iron wok could infuse that unique iron-plate aroma into the ingredients.

But such woks were incredibly heavy. Most people couldn’t even lift one, let alone toss ingredients with it.

Su Jie, however, had serious martial art skills and enormous arm strength. Tossing the pan was easy for him. But doing it while maintaining perfect control over the heat and ensuring every piece of food was evenly cooked—that was as difficult as embroidering a balloon with a needle. One slip, and it would all go boom.

Cooking was easy to learn. But to bring out color, aroma, and flavor—to let the deliciousness penetrate to someone’s very bones and soul—wasn’t something hard work alone could accomplish. It demanded exquisite control and total unity between heart and action.

It was, in essence, the same as martial art.

No—more than that—it came from the same source.

Su Jie had been learning to cook for a month. Today, he finally grasped the essence of it.

He had only practiced one dish over and over: stir-fried cabbage with pork.

Mixing vegetables and meat into a dish where both flavors fully fuse together—that was no small feat.

But today, Su Jie finally pulled it off.

He felt his martial art had improved as a result.

‘Martial art really is present in every little part of daily life. It’s not something you can chase through brute force. Now I understand the level Coach Odell has achieved. The Typhon Training Camp has the most advanced technology and enhancement drugs you’d only find in a lab. But if your mental strength doesn’t keep up, those tools might help, but they’ll never take you to the peak.’

Just like mastering the “Hoe Strike” move, once he perfected stir-fried cabbage with pork, the other dishes he cooked shot up in quality too.

Green peppers with scrambled eggs, minced pork with eggplant, garlic ribs, spicy chicken… each came effortlessly. The more homestyle the dish, the harder it was to get right—but Su Jie was now completely at ease.

“I remember in a wuxia novel, there was a kitchen monk at Shaolin Temple who ended up mastering supreme martial arts, causing an uproar. Cooking really is great for practicing martial art—if you put your heart into it and control the heat right. Gentle simmering for internal energy, strong fire for strikes, sudden bursts for explosive movement—it’s the same as internal, external, and hardened training in martial arts. Ordinary ingredients, once handled by a master, can become legendary dishes. It’s all a matter of timing and heat. Same with people—get the heat just right, and you can become a master.”

While pondering this, his hands moved quickly, packing all the food into an insulated container to deliver to his mom.

Though it was winter break, his mom was still busy giving lectures—those gigs came with cash bonuses, a nice side income beyond her salary.

In previous years, Su Jie would take tutoring jobs over the holidays through websites. But this winter break, he had money—so he took it easy.

His next plan was to consider upgrading to a bigger home.

But in S City, homes easily cost tens of millions. The larger ones go for dozens of millions, and some villas start at over a hundred million. His one million was basically pocket change.

Still, their current place was too cramped. Su Jie wanted a spacious study where he could cultivate himself, practice calligraphy, and collect more books.

He glanced at the pile of books stacked on his bed and the notebooks and workbooks crammed in the corner. He shook his head. This was a true “shabby room.” Even though he wasn’t materialistic, he’d long had the idea of improving his parents’ living conditions.

Their neighborhood was too old. The original residents had mostly moved out, replaced by renters. Property management didn’t care. Cars were parked haphazardly. Graffiti was everywhere. The flower beds were broken and dirty. The whole area was just a mess.

After dropping off lunch to his mom, Su Jie went, as usual, to Huaxing for his regular training and coaching session.

With Huaxing’s development, only skilled fighters or people of status came through its doors. It was starting to resemble a proper research association.

Su Jie’s display of martial arts amazed everyone. Still, he was young—too young to have the kind of reputation and connections people like “Master Ma” or Old Chen had. People admired his abilities, sure. But to genuinely respect him, to feel he was someone of “profound virtue and great prestige”—that wasn’t happening yet.

In most people’s eyes, he was just a talented “young coach,” not a true “master.”

That kind of reputation would take at least thirty or forty more years.

Su Jie didn’t care. He was making money, and he had people to train and talk with. That was enough.

In coaching others, he felt his own skills growing rapidly. Every person had a different body structure and needed a different approach. By constantly testing and adjusting methods, and by analyzing the feedback, he could refine his own understanding and push his own level higher.

Huaxing had been observing Su Jie’s daily routine lately—and they were honestly amazed.

Aside from eating and sleeping, Su Jie was essentially practicing martial art in everything he did—thinking, moving, meditating. No—correction—even when he was eating and sleeping, he was still practicing.

When he was a professional athlete, Hua Xing’s training volume and precision weren’t even a third of Su Jie’s.

Especially in terms of precision—Hua Xing had never seen anyone eat with such thoroughness: chewing everything into pulp, not speaking a word, focusing completely, immersing himself in the experience. After meals, Su Jie would habitually swallow saliva and massage his stomach to promote peristalsis and aid digestion.

Su Jie’s daily routine was almost robotic.

He never indulged in the usual pastimes young people enjoyed—games, movies, clubbing, dancing, drinking, playing cards, parties, or even dating. None of it existed in Su Jie’s world.

At times, Hua Xing even suspected Su Jie might be a robot or a cyborg.

It was terrifying—so mechanical, so regimented.

This was truly the embodiment of “a sage moves like a machine.”

To outsiders, Su Jie’s life would seem painfully dull, but he felt a deep, genuine contentment.

Of course, he didn’t think others were wasting their lives by living differently. Everyone had their own way of approaching life—as long as he managed his own path, that was enough.

Gradually, his mind settled completely. He felt he wasn’t far from a breakthrough.

That night, after finishing a coaching match and leaving the club, he was on his way home when a tall woman in professional attire carrying a small handbag stumbled toward him. She was clearly drunk. Without warning, she gagged—and nearly vomited all over him.

“You alright?” Su Jie wasn’t angry. Instead, he calmly offered a warning.

Not far off was a street lined with bars. It wasn’t unusual for drunk women to pass out on the roadside, sometimes even getting “picked up” by predators. Fights between drunkards also broke out from time to time.

But it was rare to see someone this wasted so early in the evening. Usually that mess started closer to midnight.

“Take me home, I’ll give you ten thousand yuan,” the woman slurred, grabbing Su Jie’s shirt.

“Where do you live?” he was about to ask when a shout rang out from the corner: “Stop right there!”

Four young men had followed her.

One of them, a tattooed thug with a floral sleeve, walked right up to Su Jie and yanked him violently. “Get lost. This ain’t your business.”

**BAM!**

Without even glancing, Su Jie slammed his elbow into the guy’s chest.

The tattooed punk dropped like a log, spasming on the ground.

“This punk dares hit us!” the other three rushed in, clearly no strangers to street fighting, fists flying at Su Jie.

Su Jie found them laughably immature. Their punches weren’t even amateur-level. Even if he stood there and let them hit him a hundred times, it’d do nothing.

He dipped slightly, extended his arm, and struck one of them in the armpit—where nerve clusters and acupoints were dense. The guy froze in place before collapsing, foaming at the mouth like Boone had when Gu Yang struck him.

As Su Jie’s hand retracted, his legs stayed in motion. He executed a rapid double sweep with his “Mandarin Duck Chain Kick.”

The remaining two were instantly tripped to the ground, tumbling into a dazed heap.

Su Jie didn’t pause. With a follow-up linking motion, he kicked each of them cleanly in the neck—right where the carotid artery runs.

The two passed out cold, without a word.

In under four seconds, four fierce street punks were down. One was convulsing from a strike to the “Tanzhong” acupoint. One was having a seizure after a “Long-armed Ape Reach” to the armpit. The other two were completely unconscious.

“You didn’t even ask who they were. You just… took them out like that?” The woman seemed to sober up a bit, her mouth agape. She was still tipsy, her head unclear.

“I’ve seen this kind before—just some lowlife thugs looking to take advantage,” Su Jie replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen that tattooed one before too—he’s known for dragging drunk women out of bars.”

His moves earlier had been swift and clean. “Don’t worry, they’ll wake up soon. Just needed to teach them a lesson.”

Ruthless and to the point.

“Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”

BLEAARGH!

She vomited again—red wine and whiskey chunks all over herself. After hurling for a while, she tried woozily to stand. “Tonight, hic… I’m hiring you for the night… ten thou—hic—no, twenty thousand. Take me to the office first. I need a document for a project… due tonight…”

Mid-sentence, she almost fell asleep again.

“Where’s your office?” Su Jie asked. “Hey—wake up. Wake up.”

“Ha… Haoyu…”

She barely regained consciousness. “Forget it. Just take me here. This is my room key…”

She pulled up an address on her phone and promptly passed out. No matter how he tried, she wouldn’t wake up again.

“Haoyu Group?” Su Jie noticed she had a work badge clipped to her. Her position: Executive Assistant to the General Manager.

The General Manager of Haoyu Group was Feng Yuxuan.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep