Unethical

The second floor of the entertainment room was the combat training hall.

The combat coach hired by Bu Liuxing was a legitimate Vale Tudo (no-holds-barred fighting) athlete named Li Zongzhu.

He was twenty-eight years old, in his prime.

Teacher Li was 177 centimeters tall and weighed 58.8 kilograms. He fought in the UFC as a featherweight boxer.

Below the four-cornered ring, Jiang Xue Ming carefully observed Teacher Li's physique.

--His muscles weren't exactly bulky; some subcutaneous fat served as armor and as reserves for stamina in a twelve-round fight.

--His elbows bore many small, raised nodules, likely marks from long-term impact training and sparring with students.

--His reach was slightly longer than average, his hands were large, and he had a long torso with relatively short legs.

"Kid!" Teacher Li Zongzhu yelled. "Change your clothes."

Xue Ming said nothing, changing into a clean, sharp tank top and shorts, putting on half-finger gloves, and then climbing into the ring.

"Heh heh." Teacher Li grinned slyly. "I'm not as easygoing as Old Liu, and I can't hold back my punches. If I accidentally hurt you later, don't say bad things about me to Young Master Xing, okay?"

Xue Ming looked relieved instead. "That's good. Master Li Zongzhu, don't worry, I won't say bad things about you."

Li Zongzhu didn't rush to start. He needed to ask about Xue Ming's fighting foundation first. The gap between a professional athlete and an ordinary person was too vast. Hiring him to spar required an appearance fee, and if he seriously injured Xue Ming, he'd have to pay compensation. That would be a huge loss!

"Young Master Xing mentioned he hasn't seen you fight before," Teacher Li raised an eyebrow playfully. "Do you know how to fight? Do you have any prior combat experience? You look fair-skinned and well-featured; I bet you've never even been beaten up, right?"

Xue Ming thought carefully. When he was selling beef offal at the Hung Hom MTR station, his shifts ended after 10 PM. The MTR didn't stop, and neither did he.

At that time, many pickpockets and thugs operated in groups. He had encountered quite a few.

The pickpockets' stealing techniques were very amateurish, usually employing half-grown kids, letting middle schoolers do the actual theft. If they couldn't steal, they'd band together for courage and block the way, demanding money.

If that didn't work, the local thugs would bring iron pipes and resort to violence.

Xue Ming had dealt with these people before, exchanged words, and eventually, they'd all fight, heatedly.

He never held grudges overnight.

When student part-time pickpockets came looking for pocket money, Xue Ming would empty his pockets long in advance, locking large bills in the cash register of the braised food shop.

If he encountered a group of brats blocking the way, he'd take out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, offer one to each, and smile apologetically. Things would then pass.

When he ran into local toughs carrying weapons, he would usually just run. Run very fast.

In those four years, Xue Ming had only faced off against others directly once.

That time, he couldn't escape. Six people had cornered him in an alley, attacking from front and back.

He pleaded—he had no money on him. He didn't want to get beaten. Offering cigarettes was useless.

The thugs took the cigarettes but still demanded he return to the MTR station and open the shop to get money from the cash register.

He pleaded again—the money in the register belonged to the manager. He was just an employee, from a poor family. If the surveillance cameras recorded trouble at the shop, he wouldn't only lose his job but also be treated as an accomplice by the police and end up in jail.

The thugs ignored him and brandished their weapons.

His final plea was—he hoped his face wouldn't be injured. If his face was bruised and swollen, his customer flow would likely be halved.

"Is there really no room for negotiation?"

That was the last thing he said, the last lesson in humility and understanding human relationships that Big Brother Ye Bei had taught him.

He couldn't quite remember what happened that night—

--It was over two years ago.

In that alley, he first poked eyes, kicked groins, disarmed them of steel pipes, and then unleashed a barrage of blows.

He broke a thug's right arm, exposing bone, and pierced through his leather jacket.

Immediately after, the thugs on his left and behind swarmed him, trying to subdue him.

He dodged behind a garbage truck against the side wall, pulled up a slop bucket, and threw it out, along with the bent and deformed club in his hand from continuous, violent impacts.

Then, he threw whatever he could grab.

The side wall of the alley was the back door of a tea restaurant's kitchen in the Hong Kong market—by the time he finished throwing things, the thugs were wailing in agony.

There was also a youngest one, like a kid brought along to boost morale. Seeing his companions fall one by one, he tried to flee towards the intersection but collapsed halfway.

At that moment, Xue Ming snapped back to reality, recovering from the adrenaline-fueled transcendent state.

The windows and door of the tea restaurant's back door, along with the doorknob, were gone. He had ripped them off with his bare hands.

The atmosphere boy from earlier had a lump the size of a chestnut on the back of his head and had fainted.

In the dark alley, only the broken doorknob and glass shards gleamed.

Blood continuously flowed out from the intersection, draining into the sewer with the pouring rain.

That day, Xue Ming was very responsible. He searched the men for their phones and called ambulances, then fled home like a shot.

After that, he never encountered such trouble again. Occasionally, he'd run into middle schoolers working as part-time pickpockets. He'd want to go up and say hello, ask if the people injured before were okay—whether he needed to pay compensation, or if anyone was facing murder charges.

These students would see Xue Ming's face and the apron he wore and run away as if they'd seen the plague.

That's all he remembered.

"Hey! Jiang Xue Ming!" Teacher Li raised his voice. "Jiang Xue Ming! Stop daydreaming! Answer your teacher properly. Have you ever fought before? Do you know how to fight?"

"Uh," Jiang Xue Ming gave the most conservative answer. "If 'knowing how to fight' doesn't count as 'fighting,' then I guess I... know a little."

"Know a little, huh?" Li Zongzhu gave him a look of disdain. "You know a little about everything, so mysterious. Then listen to my instructions!"

"Okay!" Jiang Xue Ming straightened his body.

Teacher Li: "Sink your knees, drop your elbows."

Xue Ming followed suit.

Teacher Li: "Raise both arms."

Xue Ming continued to follow.

Teacher Li: "Prepare to fight."

At this moment, Xue Ming strained his muscles, trying to reawaken his exhausted body.

During the earlier shooting training, he felt his stamina was almost depleted. He should have rested properly before undergoing another teacher's assessment.

But he thought, the enemy wouldn't give him time to rest.

It was like him, after working a full day, dragging his weak body home at ten at night, walking home in the cold rain.

The thugs wouldn't give him time to rest either.

If selling beef offal was his profession, then theft, robbery, and murder were theirs.

When he was utterly exhausted, perhaps these professional criminals were well-rested and full of energy.

There was no fairness in this; this was life.

"Too high, too low, too tight, too stiff." Teacher Li lightly patted Jiang Xue Ming's stance, correcting his posture. "It seems you don't know how to fight at all."

Jiang Xue Ming replied, "Yes, I don't understand at all."

"Hit me." Teacher Li covered his face with one palm and guarded his chest with a fist.

Jiang Xue Ming asked, "How should I hit you?"

Teacher Li, torn between laughter and tears, said, "Hit me in the way that's most natural and comfortable for you. How should you hit? You can't even stand properly, how can I ask you to hit? Fight however you normally fight! Treat the ring like a street, no rules, no limits."

Jiang Xue Ming then asked, "Really? Teacher Li?"

"Are you afraid of hurting me?" Li Zongzhu chuckled. "I make my living fighting. Don't challenge someone's profession with your hobby, okay?"

"Okay."

Before the words even fell--

--Li Zongzhu felt a sudden chill in his groin.

Almost instinctively, he clenched his legs together and leaned his body sharply downwards.

Jiang Xue Ming had thrown a low kick, aimed with the force to ensure permanent damage.

Li Zongzhu's face turned green with fright. His strong thighs clamped down hard on the sudden, emasculating kick.

His reaction was incredibly fast. The elbow guarding his chest moved with his body, defensively blocking Xue Ming's leg, stopping it forcefully at the knee.

Teacher Li broke out in a cold sweat and looked up, asking, "Have you no honor?"

"If this were a real fight," Jiang Xue Ming said honestly, "I would have picked up a red brick just now, or gone to find a pair of large scissors. I would have acted when you bent down to protect your groin."

"Oh, oh, oh!" Li Zongzhu was very angry. Thinking that this was Young Master Xing's friend, he couldn't lash out. "You said it! You said it! I won't hold back now! Jiang Xue Ming!"

"Sorry, I won't use those vicious moves anymore." Jiang Xue Ming retracted his leg. "Please guide me, teacher."

"No groin kicks," Li Zongzhu frowned, pointing at Jiang Xue Ming. "No eye pokes, no hitting the back of the head. These are the most basic rules in the UFC ring. After the match, you can do whatever you want to others, but at least respect my profession."

"Okay, teacher." Jiang Xue Ming thought to himself, You didn't say that just now.

Li Zongzhu shifted to a defensive stance and immediately ordered, "Hit me."

Jiang Xue Ming naturally threw a punch.

It was a light tap, like swatting a fly. Li Zongzhu clearly had some skill, easily intercepting Xue Ming's punch.

"Slow! Keep going."

Xue Ming threw another punch, still with his left.

Li Zongzhu again made a tapping motion. The hand guarding his cheek was like a large net, and his steps, taken with practiced ease, were like dancing the tango.

"Slow! Still slow! Don't stop!"

The sound of rapid, forceful tapping echoed in the combat arena.

Xue Ming's eyes darted between the nylon mat, Teacher Li's footwork, and his shoulders and arms.

His outstretched fist was like an arrow shot from a bow.

His muscles were the bowstring, his bones the bow, and his fist the arrowhead. The moment he released the arrow, it twisted and turned. It was intercepted halfway by Teacher Li's palm, veering off in a completely unrelated direction.

Li Zongzhu felt his body warming up, his spirit becoming excited.

He felt this kid had potential.

"Slow! Too slow! Move! Jiang Xue Ming, move! Power from the ground up!"