Martial Arts School Opens

Several days passed after the Martial Arts School opened, yet no one came to learn. Chen Mo was not in a hurry. Every day, he trained and sparred with several Boxing Masters. The Chen Mo of the past had never had such conditions. In modern society, true martial artists were already rare. Any one of these Boxing Masters could have been considered a master in their own right in the modern era. Finding even one would have been difficult, let alone having several serve as his sparring partners.

As his practical combat experience grew and his fighting techniques accumulated, Chen Mo's combat ability rapidly improved, and the fighting power he could unleash became increasingly formidable. The Boxing Masters looked at him with ever greater admiration.

Based on his strength and speed, which far surpassed those of ordinary people, Chen Mo combined all manner of fighting techniques, drawing on the strengths of many styles. Gradually, he formed his own combat style and created a fighting art best suited to himself.

The Boxing Masters' martial arts mostly excelled in one-on-one combat, defeating the strong with the weak through refined techniques. However, many of their combinations, grappling, force redirection, and techniques such as using four ounces to move a thousand pounds were not suited to Chen Mo. Moreover, they were inefficient at killing enemies and could not quickly injure large numbers of opponents.

Chen Mo's physical strength was far greater than that of ordinary people. Much of the time, he did not need excessive technique. Straightforward, open, and forceful methods—the skills used on the battlefield were actually more suitable for him.

Still, Chen Mo learned many things from the Boxing Masters: how to attack the vital points of the human body, techniques for attacking and exerting force, methods of dodging and rapid movement, and other skills that were highly useful to him at present.

Chen Mo discarded some of the complicated and exquisite moves, simplifying them. His attacks became swift and fierce, striking directly at vital points. When used with Chen Mo's tremendous strength and superhuman speed, their power was astonishing.

After his own set of combat techniques had basically matured, Chen Mo also began studying some of the grappling, holds, force redirection, and other techniques he had temporarily set aside earlier.

Although Chen Mo's physical abilities were now nearly unmatched in this world and he had little use for such techniques, there was no guarantee that he would not encounter even stronger opponents in the future. Blindly charging forward with direct attacks would no longer be suitable then.

Furthermore, his continual training and sparring with the Boxing Masters allowed Chen Mo to calmly deal with enemies who specialized in technique, preventing them from defeating the strong with the weak.

That evening, after dinner, Chen Mo did not continue training. Instead, he returned to the study on the third floor.

Picking up a dossier from the desk, Chen Mo lowered his head and began reading. It was the information he had ordered someone to investigate on Steve Rogers. It detailed his records, personal history, family and friends, recent experiences, and the places he frequented.

Steve Rogers was born on July 4, 1918, in Brooklyn, New York. His father had been a soldier in the 107th Infantry Regiment and died of mustard gas during World War I. His mother had been a nurse in a tuberculosis ward. She was unfortunately infected and died in 1926.

After his mother died, Rogers moved into an orphanage, where he met his only friend, James Barnes.

After reaching adulthood, Rogers left the orphanage and became an ordinary factory worker. Kind and upright but physically frail, he was often bullied. Faced with harassment, Rogers never bowed his head and always fought back bravely. Though he was beaten black and blue every time, he still held fast to himself and never fled or retreated.

Closing the dossier, Chen Mo leaned back in his chair and recalled some of the details mentioned in it, comparing them to the events of the movie in his memory.

At that moment, there was a soft knock on the study door. "Come in, Eddie." Aside from himself, only Old Eddie was on the third floor.

The door slowly opened, and Old Albert entered carrying a tray. He poured Chen Mo a cup of coffee.

The rich aroma of coffee lingered beneath his nose, relaxing Chen Mo's mind. He took a light sip and found it fragrant and full-bodied, smooth and delicate on the tongue.

"Thank you, Eddie. The coffee is excellent," Chen Mo praised sincerely.

"My pleasure." Old Eddie was quite pleased by Chen Mo's praise. He gave a slight bow and withdrew from the study.

Chen Mo shook his head helplessly. Ever since taking on the role of butler, Old Albert had brought out the old aristocratic habits, being meticulous about etiquette to the point that Chen Mo was somewhat unaccustomed to it. At first, he had even ironed the newspaper every morning before bringing it to Chen Mo to read. Only after much persuasion did Chen Mo finally make him stop.

Steve was currently working at a factory in Brooklyn. Several thugs at the factory often bullied him, and Steve, who never admitted defeat, was frequently covered in injuries.

The factory was not far from the Martial Arts School. Rogers passed by its entrance every morning and evening on his way to and from work. Whenever he went by, he would curiously look up at this sizable Chinese Martial Arts School.

He could not read the Chinese characters on the signboard. He had heard that it was a place where people taught kung fu, but he had no money to learn.

To Steve, this Martial Arts School was a very mysterious place.

Once, he happened to see a lean Asian man being robbed by two burly white men. The man did not look particularly strong, yet his movements were fierce and swift. Steve had been about to step forward and help, but before he had even taken two steps, the Asian man had already knocked both white men to the ground.

A few days later, he encountered that remarkable Asian man again, and at the time, the man was coming out of this Martial Arts School.

This added another layer of mystery to the place, making Steve even more curious about it.

That evening, Steve passed by again after work. Yet the Martial Arts School seemed somewhat unusual today. A strange atmosphere hung over the place, and Steve could not help slowing down.

Inside the Martial Arts School, Chen Mo sat on a sofa drinking coffee. Old butler Albert, still dressed in a crisp suit, stood waiting at his side, while the four Boxing Masters stood quietly below.

"They finally couldn't hold back. They were several days later than I expected." Chen Mo set down his cup and looked through the window toward the shadows of the alley across the street. Many malicious gazes flickered there in the darkness.

"Master, they're Mad Dog Johnny's men. Those two guys I taught a lesson to last time are among them as well," said Huang Quan, the leanly built man.

"Give them a way out, and they can't wait to jump out. They're just a pack of fools blinded by greed. Quan, go open the door." Chen Mo smiled disdainfully.

Having noticed people spying on them long ago, Chen Mo had played along. He sent Huang Quan to stir things up, while deliberately putting on a show in front of Steve.

The instant Chen Mo finished speaking, the Martial Arts School's front door was pounded heavily. As soon as Huang Quan opened it, more than a dozen burly white men carrying clubs filed inside.

The crowd parted down the middle, and a short, stocky white man in a suit and fedora slowly walked in, his face filled with manic arrogance. He was Mad Dog Johnny, one of the leaders of Brooklyn's underworld.

He scanned the room and saw only several Asian men who did not appear particularly strong, along with an elderly white man. Believing he had the situation under control, Johnny walked toward the sofa, preparing to sit down.

"Did I say you could sit?" Chen Mo, who had remained calmly seated on the sofa from beginning to end, suddenly spoke.

Johnny froze. As the head of an underworld force and one of the men who controlled Brooklyn's underground order, Johnny had grown used to looking down on everyone. He felt that his dignity had been challenged. Furious from humiliation, Johnny stared viciously at Chen Mo on the sofa.

"Kid, it seems if I don't teach you a lesson, you won't know who calls the shots around here! Get them!"

"As you wish." Chen Mo waved his hand, and Huang Quan and the other three stepped forward to meet the thugs charging at them with raised clubs.

Like tigers among sheep, the four men struck with swift fists and kicks. Not one of the thugs could withstand even a single exchange, and within moments, all dozen-plus of them were lying on the ground.

The room suddenly fell silent, save for the pained groans of the thugs. Johnny's expression darkened further.

"Now tell me—who calls the shots here?" Chen Mo asked in a low voice, staring into Johnny's eyes.

"Ha! Ha! Chinese kung fu really is impressive! But this is the United States! Here, we use this to decide who calls the shots!" Johnny's expression suddenly changed. Laughing wildly, he pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Chen Mo with a sinister look.

Several of the thugs lying on the ground also drew pistols and pointed them at Huang Quan and the others as they slowly rose to their feet.

The situation seemed to have returned to Johnny's control.