The hideout had changed.
Where once there was dust and decay, now mats covered the floors, training weapons lined the walls, and buckets of sweat painted the air. Li Tianming’s days were no longer his own. Every hour belonged to pain, drills, repetition, and silence.
Zhao Chenhai was ruthless.
“Again!” Zhao barked, as Tianming’s bare foot slid slightly off the center mark of the floor.
Tianming exhaled and reset his stance.
Left foot forward. Knees bent. Shoulders relaxed.
“Focus your weight on your back leg. Use the heel—not the ball of your foot. And eyes—watch mine.”
Then, Zhao struck.
He moved faster than Tianming could blink—a low sweeping kick aimed at Tianming’s legs.
But this time, Tianming jumped.
Not high—just enough.
Zhao’s leg missed by inches. But he wasn’t done.
The older man pivoted smoothly, transitioning into a spinning elbow strike, cutting across the air like a blade. Tianming barely leaned back, feeling the wind brush past his nose.
CRACK!
Zhao’s elbow hit the training dummy behind him instead.
“I told you,” Zhao said, breathing evenly, “if you’re late by a second, you’re dead. Dodge earlier, not braver.”
Tianming nodded, chest rising and falling. “Again.”
Zhao’s lips curled faintly. “Good. Again.”
By nightfall, Tianming’s muscles burned. His hands were blistered from striking the sandbag over and over. He collapsed beside a bucket of cold water, panting.
Yuwei walked in, chewing on dried fruit, expression unreadable.
“You training him or torturing him?” she asked Zhao.
“Torture is louder,” Zhao replied. “This is discipline.”
Yuwei turned to Tianming. “Get up.”
Tianming groaned. “What now?”
She tossed him a thin, black book. “Contacts. Businesses. Dirty cops. Brokers. That’s how power works in Donghai. You want to rise? Learn this world. Memorize every name, every weakness. Fight with your fists in daylight. Fight with shadows at night.”
Tianming stared at the book like it was a second weapon.
Because it was.
Meanwhile – In the Li Group Private Estate
Li Shengyuan stood by the window, sipping aged wine.
Behind him knelt the agent who had failed to retrieve Tianming.
“I… I’m sorry, Master Li. He wasn’t alone. That Zhao Chenhai—he’s still alive.”
Shengyuan’s face didn’t twitch.
Then—SMASH.
He flung the wine glass across the room, shards sparkling like blood diamonds in the air.
“So it’s true. The boy lives. The phoenix rises.”
He turned, eyes burning.
“Then I want fire. Find him again. And this time—bring me his heart.”