“Su Muchen’s team has indeed mastered some core technologies, but that’s her business. I hear Feng Yuxuan is pursuing her now. Even if we win over her brother, we can’t control her actions, right?” A “young master” in a casual shirt and an expensive watch still had doubts.
“That kid Feng Yuxuan is a mess—chasing girls everywhere. One day it’s a third-rate starlet, the next it’s an influencer by his side. His private life is wilder than ours, no decency. But his business mind is sharp. So far, no girl has gotten the better of him. They all want to marry into wealth, but he tires of them and dumps them. Yet, the media loves him.” Another “young master” spoke with envy and jealousy.
“People like that can’t be underestimated,” Lu Shu said to the two. “Jiang Yuan, Fan Chuan, you’ve done well with the company’s financing and business. We’ve got funds, connections, and channels—everything but technology. Honestly, we’re not tech people; we can only poach from outside. This time, we unite to snag Su Muchen’s team. It’s my company’s big strategy, the top priority this year. Everything else takes a backseat. No objections, right?”
“None here,” said a “young master” who’d been quietly on his phone. His words carried little weight. “Brother Shu, you’re our backbone. Whatever you say goes. I agree we lack a core tech team.”
“Then it’s settled,” Lu Shu decided, turning to the phone guy. “How’s Uncle Li been?”
“Dad’s doing great. He’s learning fitness qigong with Master Ma lately—looks healthier than me,” the “young master” replied, setting down his phone. His delicate face, a “boyish femininity,” fit the ancient “Ma Yi Physiognomy (Ma Yi Shen Xiang)”—either a lowly actor or a top-tier strategist, like Zhang Liang, “as beautiful as a woman.”
“Master Ma? My dad trusts him too. After we got that land for development, problems kept popping up—workers falling, safety issues, approval delays. Master Ma redid the feng shui, and everything smoothed out. I didn’t believe it before, but now I’m convinced,” Jiang Yuan marveled.
“I don’t buy it,” Fan Chuan scoffed. “What era is this? Still into mystical nonsense? It’s all trickery. History shows no one succeeded with this stuff. When the Jin attacked in the Song Dynasty, the emperor trusted a fraud, Guo Jing, thinking he’d summon heavenly soldiers. But in the end, the city fell, he was captured—resulting in the Jingkang Shame.”
“I’d rather believe it’s real than not,” Lu Shu said, waving it off. “Confucius said respect ghosts and gods but keep your distance—don’t touch it, don’t mock it. Live and let live. Li Zhi, how about you handle Su Jie? You’ve been on your phone since he arrived, but you’re secretly watching him.”
“The dark web has plenty to offer. Once he’s in, he’ll be hooked, and we’ll have him,” Lu Shu nodded. “But the details are on you, Li Zhi. Don’t underestimate Su Jie’s importance to Su Muchen—her Morning Dawn Studio’s name says it all.” (G: Morning Daown = Chen Jie. Chen from Su Muchen, Jie from Su Jie.)
“She’s a brother-obsessed nut,” Fan Chuan laughed. “That makes it easy. We just need to act before Feng Yuxuan does.”
“Watch and see,” Lu Shu said. “Su Muchen’s team is worth over ten billion, so don’t skimp on small costs when poaching.”
Su Jie stepped out, winding through the complex. Without his sharp memory, he’d have gotten lost in this neighborhood.
“A real rich man’s area,” he muttered, glancing back at the deep villa cluster. Ordinary folks couldn’t afford this in a millennium. “These young masters gift houses at a meeting—they're quite the big spenders. But they don’t seem like good partners. This phone and card—I’ll let my sister check them. She’s better with computers. I won’t use them lightly and fall into a trap.”
He eyed the phone and card—unfamiliar models. Passing a street corner alley, he tucked them into his backpack and adjusted it.
Standing up, he saw someone at the alley’s mouth.
First, a pair of military boots—foreign issue, field-grade.
Broad shoulders, casual sportswear, a hat pulled low, shadowing the face.
The presence felt familiar.
The mercenary who’d threatened him with a dagger at Minglun Martial Arts Academy to sign a contract—ex-foreign soldier, under Feng Hengyi.
“Kid, we meet again.”
Gray Wolf lifted his hat, revealing a menacing face. “You’ve got guts. I let you off once, but now you’re digging at my boss’s wall. I heard everything you said with Lu Shu’s rich brats. Come with me—don’t run, or my dagger won’t spare you.”
“You’re not afraid of breaking the law? Carrying a controlled weapon gets you detained,” Su Jie said, still crouching. He felt Gray Wolf’s gaze locked on him—any move, and he’d pounce.
This Gray Wolf could kill and had before. No room for carelessness.
His nerves tightened to the limit.
“The law? You don’t know how many I’ve killed,” Gray Wolf sneered. “Less talk, move!”
“Then come on,” Su Jie said.
Fearless, he kicked his backpack up, launching it at Gray Wolf.
Gray Wolf dodged, as if expecting it, moving like a centipede. A black dagger slid from his sleeve—no shine, even the edge dark—and slashed at Su Jie’s shoulder, elbow, and wrist joints. Vicious strikes, not fatal but crippling, permanent damage.
Joint injuries don’t heal.
A shoulder hit would limit Su Jie’s punches, even heavy lifting—essentially scrapping his martial skills.
Gray Wolf aimed to ruin him from the start.
The dagger streaked down.
A stick appeared, striking the blade.
Gray Wolf flinched, seeing Su Jie now wielding nunchucks.
Su Jie lunged, no words, swinging the nunchucks at Gray Wolf’s head with a hoeing strike.
Gray Wolf’s other hand arced a dagger, willing to take a head blow to sever Su Jie’s wrist.
Cold-weapon combat—swift, perilous.
Su Jie dropped the nunchucks, letting the dagger miss, then struck with “Viper’s Thrust,” hitting Gray Wolf’s wrist.
Gray Wolf’s arm numbed, dropping the dagger.
Su Jie kicked both blades away, leaving the nunchucks.
“Gray Wolf, you flashed a dagger at me last time, so I prepared—hid nunchucks in my bag, waiting for you. You tailed me from the complex exit, thinking I didn’t notice?” Su Jie’s calm was beyond a high schooler’s.
“Not bad, kid,” Gray Wolf said, shaking his numb hand, baring wolfish teeth. “You surprise me, but the outcome won’t change.”
Su Jie didn’t reply. He slid forward, as if slipping on ice, tilting toward Gray Wolf.
In that tilt, he guarded his head, closed in, twisted for power, drilled through defenses, seized position, and struck—dozens of micro-moves in an instant.
“Hoe Strike” flowed naturally, like eating or walking.
“Fight like you walk.”
Su Jie had now mastered this ancient boxing technique.
Gray Wolf jolted—Su Jie was on him in a flash.
Now, Su Jie was leagues beyond his Minglun days—unimaginably stronger.
In two months, studying and training, he’d refined his skills, his mindset settling into “dragon in the field” poise.
Sparring with Xingyao’s seasoned pros had transformed him.
Speed, stamina, penetration, positioning—all perfected.
“Courting death,” Gray Wolf growled. Unable to dodge, he kneed upward—ideal against close attacks.
But Su Jie’s hands slammed down, hitting the knee, throwing Gray Wolf off balance, nullifying the strike. Su Jie advanced, another “Hoe Strike” crashing toward Gray Wolf’s chest.
Gray Wolf crumbled, retreating, barely escaping, his clothes were shredded.
Su Jie pressed on, relentless, a tidal wave of strikes—rising, falling, unending.
“No enemy, no blood, no return!”