“Time’s up,” Su Jie glanced at his watch. “I need to be home and in bed by nine—sorry. Oh, and about that twenty thousand you promised me for dropping you off—please donate it to the Children’s Fund.”

With that, he stepped into the elevator and went down.

He was indeed heading home to sleep. Going to bed at nine sharp had become part of his daily routine, and unless something truly urgent came up, he wouldn’t break that rhythm.

“Hey! Hey… You still haven’t told me your name!”

Li Xiaozhen called out repeatedly, but Su Jie ignored her.

Just as he exited the residential complex and was about to head toward the subway entrance, he spotted Xu Jiahong.

The young man was sitting in a Land Rover, window rolled down, eyes fixed on the complex entrance with a look of deep, burning hatred.

As soon as he saw Su Jie step out, the car door swung open and a man jumped out.

The man suddenly burst into motion—his body lunged forward like a sprinter at the starting gun. His speed was on par with world-class 100-meter runners, fiercer even than a cheetah on the hunt, and he charged straight at Su Jie.

Su Jie stopped but didn’t dodge.

Swish!

Just three paces from him, the man came to a sudden halt. His body anchored to the ground like a steel post—still as a statue. The explosive charge and instant stop made Su Jie’s heart skip a beat. This was no amateur; this was a true expert.

It takes serious mastery to cancel out the momentum of a full sprint and redirect that force downward into rooted stillness in the blink of an eye.

“Come with me.”

The man spoke to Su Jie directly.

He was a burly guy, wearing camo pants and combat boots, with a tight leather jacket stretched across a wide chest and back. His neck was thick and short—like a pillar of concrete.

His face was weathered and rough, clearly someone who spent a lot of time working outdoors, maybe in the wilderness. His hair was cropped into a short buzz cut—too short to even grab.

Two details stood out to Su Jie. The man’s ears were mangled into a cauliflower shape, twisted and swollen, and each of his knuckles protruded like fat fava beans.

Cauliflower ears.

Fava bean knuckles.

These features are sometimes seen on professional judo or wrestling athletes—or mixed martial artists. They’re forged by years of brutal training and countless throws, ears deformed by constant impact, hands hardened from grabbing and grappling heavy opponents daily.

A buzz-cut brute, with cauliflower ears and fava bean hands.

This was a serious fighter, someone with extensive real-combat experience.

“Sorry, I’m on a tight schedule,” Su Jie replied politely, even in the face of this hulk.

“Did you hit Jiahong just now?” the man asked.

“Self-defense,” Su Jie countered. “Are you a cop?”

“I’m not.” The man was like a robot—cold and mechanical. “He’s my brother. You admit you hit him. So what do you think should happen now?”

“Then you should gather evidence and report it to the police. Let them deal with it. What do you think you’re doing blocking me here?” Su Jie could see that Xu Jiahong was still holding a grudge. Now he’d even called in a brute to block his way. Shaking his head, Su Jie turned sideways to leave.

“Come with me,” the man said again—and struck. He lunged to grab Su Jie’s clothes. From the stance and movement, it was clearly a grappling technique.

Grab, rip, and throw in one continuous motion.

This kind of tearing-grapple was also a feature in the Hoe and Pickaxe technique. Last time, Su Jie had used it to rip Grey Wolf’s clothes to shreds, leaving the guy naked and humiliated in the street.

Su Jie spun and dodged without striking back.

The brute missed his grab but moved in again with rapid footwork and another attempt. His hands came in a chain of relentless grabs.

Swish, swish, swish…

Su Jie felt like the man’s hands were like iron claws, trying to envelop every part of his body. At the same time, he felt an itching, tingling sensation on seven or eight of his vital points—a sign the opponent was ready to attack any of them at will.

Ever since Su Jie had trained under Master Ma and mastered his hard-body skills, his entire body had become incredibly responsive.

Whenever someone tried to strike any part of him, that area would instinctively contract—a hypersensitive defense mechanism.

A body so attuned that even a feather couldn’t land unnoticed.

‘This guy’s good—way better than Zhou Chun. If Grey Wolf faced him, it’d be like a kid up against a tank. But he still doesn’t seem as strong as Feng Hengyi.’ Su Jie kept dodging, his footwork darting up, down, left, right, forward and back—just barely avoiding capture.

“Not bad,” the brute grunted. He kept trying to grab Su Jie, but hadn’t even touched the hem of his clothing. A flicker of admiration flashed across his face. “You jump around like a monkey. But this is as far as that goes.”

Whoosh!

Suddenly, the brute kicked it up a gear. His speed surged.

Twice as fast as before.

Bang!

His foot slammed into the ground as he suddenly exploded into motion like a phantom speeding through the night. It was as if an immense force within him propelled his solid frame to such astonishing speeds.

Logically, his build wasn’t suited for explosive speed—broad frame, heavy weight, large air resistance. But somehow, he was moving like a sprinter on the track.

Rip!

Su Jie felt a strong hand grab his shoulder. A powerful force hurled him upward, but at the critical moment, he dropped his body weight and shook his shoulder loose. Thankfully, he didn’t get uprooted.

Had he been lifted off the ground, he’d be in real trouble. Once your feet leave the earth, you lose all leverage. That’s basically a straight path to defeat.

Though he managed to defuse the crisis, a large chunk of his shoulder’s fabric was torn clean off.

“You’re no match for me. Come with me,” the burly man said as he stopped.

Just then, Xu Jiahong stepped down from the Range Rover, his face twisted with vindictive satisfaction. “Ah Ding, give him internal injuries—the kind that don’t show.”

The big man waved him off. “Go sit in the car.”

He didn’t seem like Xu Jiahong’s bodyguard—more like an equal. “This guy’s skilled. No wonder your years of training in freestyle fighting didn’t help. I won’t insult you—just apologize to him and kowtow. Then we’ll call it even.”

“Apologize? Kowtow?” Su Jie’s eyes narrowed sharply. “If I’m not mistaken, your style is based on Hong Fist, with elements of military close-combat. The core of Hong Fist is national vengeance; the spirit of military training is defending the country. But I don’t see a shred of that in you. Since that’s the case, let me show you real martial arts.”

Up until now, Su Jie had only been dodging. But now, he was serious.

He stood his ground. No more evasion. His heart surged with the spirit of “Mountains and rivers reside in my heart; with the rooster’s crow, light dawns across the land.”

His fists boiled with intent.

The big man’s expression shifted slightly. He felt a completely different aura radiating from Su Jie now.

“If you’re going to be stubborn, then so be it.” The man suddenly lunged. His body coiled low and sprang at Su Jie like a beast gone mad—much faster and fiercer than before. He was finally in full combat mode.

Su Jie didn’t flinch. Instead, he charged straight at the attack. The moment of contact—strike! Punch!

When the nation crumbles, what is there to fear?

To die with honor is enough.

That is the soul of martial arts. The true courage behind the fist.

Boom!

Su Jie’s “Hoe Strike” punch sprang up from below like thunder erupting from the earth—stirring and powerful.

Fist met fist.

The big man suddenly realized his attacks had zero effect—like trying to topple a mountain or shake a tree with bare hands.

Meanwhile, Su Jie’s punch came down like a mountain’s weight and thunder’s roar—unstoppable.

Five fingers spread, Su Jie’s palm covered the man’s entire face and extended outward in all directions like a celestial net.

In Intent Boxing, this “Hoe Strike” strike might seem simple, but its mental intent is ever-shifting. The most crucial concept here is the “Covering Intent”—as in, the blow descends like the sky itself, enveloping every ounce of force within it.

No matter how the enemy squirms, escape is futile.

Let him know what they mean by heaven’s net is vast and wide, and not a thing slips through!

Smack!

A solid slap struck the man’s face, sliding from his forehead downward, knocking him off balance and dropping him to the ground. He felt like he’d been electrocuted, burned, and stabbed all at once.

That was his trigeminal nerve taking the hit.

Still, he wasn’t injured.

Su Jie had held back—had he gone full force, the man’s face would’ve been pulped.

“Your skills and experience outmatch mine. Physically, you’ve got the advantage too,” Su Jie said, looking at the man as he got back up, voice steady. “But what you’ve got is fighting. What I’ve got is martial arts.”

With that, Su Jie left, not bothering with Xu Jiahong.

As for the big guy, a lesson was enough.

He took the subway home. It was almost 9 p.m. He showered, went to bed, and by nine o’clock sharp, he was asleep.

A lot had happened tonight, but none of it weighed on his mind. Except for one thing—“Ah Ding’s” techniques were indeed above his own. Aside from Feng Hengyi, Ah Ding was the strongest opponent he’d faced so far.

Of course, Gu Yang and Uncle Mang, as well as Master Ma, were all stronger than this man—he just hadn’t seen their full abilities. They were his teachers, not opponents.

Beating this big man had come down to one thing—guts.

True, unshakable spirit. The ancient essence and soul of martial arts. His fists now carried a true soul.

But over time, his martial arts would only deepen. After all, he’d only been training for seven months. Granted, his training volume was two to three times that of a professional team. But even so, it only equated to two or three years of pro-level training.

And two or three years of hard work? That’s just scratching the surface.

Su Jie understood clearly—he was only sixteen or seventeen. This was his rapid growth phase. Until around twenty-six, he could improve swiftly. After that, it would be slow refinement. By his thirties, he’d be on the decline.

Every professional—world-class or not—has the same trajectory. Peak performance comes between eighteen and twenty-six.

However, his research with Uncle Mang and Master Ma suggested something else: if a person’s spiritual state reached a level of “mental tranquility and divine calm,” eliminating coarse thoughts and retaining only refined ones, their physical function could improve by 10–20%. That could extend their prime by about ten years.

And if they reached the state of “life-in-death,” where even refined thoughts disappeared, and they couldn’t tell whether they existed or not, their physical function could improve by 20%.

If one surpassed even that—to the state of “Living Dead,” severing both refined and coarse thoughts, erasing the mind completely—then who knows how much power one could gain? There was no experimental data.

Someone like Odell would never let Uncle Mang and Master Ma test him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep