Beat the Uncle and Nephews Three

Mu Jian's actions were entirely reasonable.

A kid who suddenly showed something remarkable, suspected of practicing martial arts, and when he came to check: oh, those eyes, that aura, sure enough, he'd been training.

But even if this brat had gotten his hands on martial arts from some source, in this tiny fishing village, how long could he have been practicing?

Before coming, Mu Jian had even dug up some records, learning that this orphan named "Yun Shou" was a fishing worker for the gang, his parents having died two years ago.

He'd grown up within Qing He Gang's sphere of influence, with a clean background, and two years ago, desperate and out of options, he'd signed an indenture contract. So any "lucky break" that made him a martial artist could only have happened in these last two years.

But he had to go fishing every day, exhausted from all kinds of labor, making it extremely hard to find time for training. Even if his talent were absurdly high, there was no way he could become a Second-rate Martial Artist.

What, some passing martial arts master took a liking to the kid, accepted him as a disciple, and then—instead of directly taking him back for training—provided resources for rapid progress and set "escaping Qing He Gang on your own" as a test?

Ridiculous! How could there be such an abstract master, and I just happen to run into this situation?

So Mu Jian concluded: This Yun Shou must have accidentally found a martial arts manual somewhere, and with decent enough bone structure and talent, trained himself to Third-rate Martial Artist level.

Those two nephews of his were useless wastes who couldn't endure hardship, not even worthy of being called martial artists. They could only throw their weight around in front of ordinary people. A Third-rate Martial Artist could already beat the crap out of both of them!

Mu Jian was rock-solid confident inside. That kid was just a Third-rate Martial Artist, at most bursting with a few hundred jin of force. But that was full-body force, spread across a punch or a kick. If he tried to sit on someone, the power would be discounted countless times.

Meanwhile, with inner strength backing him, a single fart from Mu Jian carried eight hundred jin of force. The kid's full-power strike wouldn't even match that. By now, he must be too stunned to speak.

Yun Shou was indeed pretty stunned.

Seeing Mu Jian's utterly confident demeanor, he'd half-wondered if this was some Grandmaster in person, or a heaven-defying Martial Master on the level of "Bei Chenguang" from the simulation.

In reality, it was just a forty-something Second-rate Martial Artist, ranked twenty-first in Qing He Gang—definitely on the lower end of Second-rate. He probably didn't even have "Unity of Qi and Strength," and his innate Talent Aptitude was around 110 points (including martial arts bonuses). No hope of ever reaching First-rate in this lifetime.

Seeing the kid standing there dumbly.

Mu Jian sneered: "You little brat, you pick up martial arts and don't report it, sneakily training behind the gang's back—do you know what crime that is!?"

Qing He Gang had some control over martial arts, more of an unspoken rule: "No permission, no secret training." It wasn't as rigidly enforced as the "Fish King Handover Decree."

In Yun Shou's first simulation, he'd once tried to join a martial arts school midway, and when the gang found out, he just got beaten up—nothing bone-breaking.

But if someone secretly kept a caught Fish King, even if they handed it over untouched after being discovered, they'd be drowned in the lake.

"So, what do you think should be done?" Yun Shou took a deep breath and asked.

Damn, his hands were getting itchy.

"Naturally, you come quietly to the gang to accept punishment, hand over the martial arts you got. Maybe you'll get fewer beatings. But if that martial art was stolen from somewhere in the gang..."

Mu Jian cracked his knuckles. "Then you can kiss your skin goodbye!"

"That's it?"

Mu Jian was stunned for a moment, then his face twisted. "No, no, of course there's more. Looks like some outside martial art has made you bold."

"But before we head to the gang headquarters, I've got some personal business to settle with you."

He stepped forward, looking down at Yun Shou from his adult height.

"Do you know that Yimao and Erdan are my nephews?"

"They may be useless, but whatever they suffered, you're going to taste it too!"

Shao Erdan was supporting Shao Yimao, and the two had already started celebrating on the sidelines: "Yeah!"

With that, Mu Jian channeled a thread of inner strength and threw a punch at Yun Shou's stomach.

A Second-rate Martial Artist, with inner strength tempering the body, was already far stronger than a Third-rate. Add the inner strength boost, and this punch would make the kid spew bile!

Probably not enough to make him crap himself, but that was fine. He'd do what this kid did to his two nephews yesterday: keep punching!

Thud!

A dull sound, accompanied by air being forced out.

Yun Shou caught the punch with his palm.

Shao Erdan and Shao Yimao's "Yeah" cut off mid-syllable, then they snapped to: "Uncle, this brat actually dares to block!"

"He's rebelling! Uncle, beat the crap out of him and throw him in the latrine too!"

Cold sweat beaded on Mu Jian's forehead. He felt as if his fist had struck the earth itself. Yun Shou's hand, smaller than his, gripped his fist like it had sunk into an infinitely thick layer of soil.

He was already pushing his inner strength to the limit, but the power that should have split stone and snapped wood vanished into a bottomless sea, with no response at all.

Mu Jian: "..."

Shao Erdan, oblivious to the atmosphere, kept yelling: "Uncle, hit him already! What are you standing around for?"

Shao Yimao, his legs split apart and pain driving him mad: "Uncle, after you beat him, don't rush to take him to the gang. I want to drag him to the latrine and fill his gut, fill it to the brim!"

Mu Jian had never found his two nephews so utterly stupid.

He was starting to go numb.

Especially with the teenager across from him wearing a half-smile, completely at ease.

The air went dead silent. Mu Jian tried to pull his fist back.

It wouldn't budge.

The other gang members, who had been in idle mode the whole time: "..."

The two Shao brothers finally sensed something was wrong.

Mu Jian forced out a bitter smile laced with pain and hardship.

"Heh... can we call a truce?"

Yun Shou smiled back.

Then—he grabbed Mu Jian by the fist, swung him like a meteor hammer, whipping the middle-aged man's hundred-jin body through a half-circle. The moment he let go, Mu Jian flew like a human-shaped ragdoll.

He crashed into Shao Erdan, who was supporting Shao Yimao. The three tumbled into a heap, all screaming in unison.

The crowd of human-machine staff outside: "..."

"Making history, are we?" Yun Shou finally understood why his simulation self had stuck with that heavy-handed style.

They started it (the talking)!

Yun Shou hoisted the starry-eyed Mu Jian, using him as a human weapon, swinging him around in all directions.

Bam bam bam bam!

Mu Jian felt like a broken ragdoll.

The Shao brothers on the ground were howling in pain as his flailing arms and legs battered them.

The storm of beating lasted over ten minutes.

The human-machine staff outside... well, they'd already run off who knows when.

Yun Shou dragged Mu Jian, and Mu Jian dragged the two Shao brothers with both hands, the three of them slowly approaching the latrine pit.

Mu Jian put on a fawning expression: "Young hero, see, I followed orders and dragged these two brats over too..."

"Mm." Yun Shou nodded. "You only need to take a dip. They'll have to eat a whole pound."