No Morals (Part 2)

The soles of their shoes screeched against the floor.

In that instant—

—Li Zongzhu's eyes lost focus.

His gaze had been locked onto Xue Ming's left lead arm, fixed on the muscles in his shoulder and elbow that initiated the movement.

But just now, this green opponent had understood the meaning of "power from the ground up."

The metacarpals pulled the calf muscles, transferring power to the thighs, then the waist and abdomen spun like a winch, the upper and lower arms working together, delivering it to the fist.

The sound of air being cut sliced past Li Zongzhu's ears, causing him to experience momentary tinnitus.

The right side of his face burned with pain. The edge of the glove had cut a red gash on his cheekbone, a hair's breadth away from drawing blood.

—Such a fast jab.

In a mere fraction of a second, Li Zongzhu had slightly turned his head to dodge the punch. He couldn't even attempt a parry or block; there was no time to react. Even if he could react, his hands couldn't keep up with his eyes and brain at that speed!

Jiang Xueming had already retracted his fist. He carefully observed the changes in his body, marveling inwardly, Teacher Li's teachings are truly effective.

Li Zongzhu was still frozen in place, his eyes full of questions.

This kid, was he just faking it earlier? What did he mean he couldn't fight? That he only "knew a little" about fighting?

A jab of this quality, I've only seen a few times in my entire career.

But this kid's arm length is limited by his height. That impatient and chaotic feeling when he was advancing earlier didn't seem fake.

Could it be—

—he learned it?

Just like that?

When I teach students in the gym, they have to throw hundreds of punches with their lead hand to get a feel for it, even when they're already training their lead hand.

This kid just learned it like that?

Before Li Zongzhu could figure it out, he mumbled the previous line, lost in thought.

"Slow."

Still slow?

Jiang Xueming frowned, a thousand questions popping into his mind.

He concentrated, trying to coordinate his body's tendons to generate power with his punch—but his teacher still said it was slow.

What's wrong?

Is it my breathing?

Yes, it could be my breathing, or maybe my footwork isn't sufficient, perhaps it's both.

Teacher's height is 1.77 meters. For my fist to find an angle to reach his chin is a very difficult thing.

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Teacher. Please take a closer look at my left fist."

With that thought, Xue Ming continued to throw punches in succession.

Li Zongzhu's eyes widened, growing more astonished with every punch.

"Slow! Slow!"

He watched Jiang Xueming's fierce straight punches fly like stones from a slingshot.

From the initial exertion to the full swing, there was no longer any trace of awkwardness or inexperience—

—The kid wasn't holding his breath anymore; he was inhaling like an ox and exhaling like an arrow.

Li Zongzhu had brief moments to catch his breath and could see the abdomen beneath Jiang Xueming's loose vest. His diaphragm, filled with air, was like a solid pillar—a breathing technique used by some strength athletes.

It was similar to how weightlifters use this breathing method to temporarily increase their strength limit. Filling the diaphragm with air compresses the abdominal cavity, turning the entire torso into a solid medium for transmitting force.

Li Zongzhu found it difficult to track Jiang Xueming's fists. He moved with agile steps, circling back and dodging, his hunched upper body feeling gusts of cold wind.

He could feel it.

The kid's sharp jabs were becoming increasingly precise, as if they had eyes, each punch aiming for the vital point of his chin. While his earlier movements had occasional flaws, after more than ten seconds, these incoming stone arrows had transformed into bullets!

Teacher Li's back suddenly hit the ropes, his eyes widening in alarm.

He clearly remembered his footwork and escape routes, always a consistent semicircular follow-step, intending to continue circling steadily.

But why?

Why was he inexplicably forced to the edge of the ring, against the ropes?

Did this kid—just with his left fist—seal off his movement path?

Were his fists like a whip, herding him here like a sheep?

Nowhere left to retreat!

Li Zongzhu shouted in panic.

"Slow! Slow, slow, slow, slow, slow!"

A mouth is no match for a fist.

In that instant, Teacher Li braced himself and met the attack.

Using the spring-loaded rebound of the ropes, the martial arts coach stepped forward and threw his best punch, unleashing his full power on Jiang Xueming in the ring.

A "bang" echoed.

Dust on the wooden table beside the ring billowed up from the shockwave.

The tea in the cup rippled.

Li Zongzhu felt a pang of unease, fearing he wouldn't be able to explain this to Xing Shao.

He saw Jiang Xueming stagger, leaning to the side. The counter-punch must have severely injured student Xue Ming.

Teacher Li mused.

I made sure to step in, and the ropes rebounded, adding more power to my body.

This punch was a combined effort. Student Xue Ming attacked first, and I countered. It was like two cars speeding towards each other and colliding head-on.

If I hadn't done that, I probably would have been the one frozen in place.

The impact of the punch felt solid. I wasn't wearing gloves or protective gear. Thank heavens, I really hope student Xue Ming isn't seriously hurt.

Why hasn't he fallen down yet? Based on my usual experience...

Li Zongzhu's thoughts were interrupted, and his expression shifted dramatically.

Because he saw--

--the kid who should have fallen was trembling violently in the thigh, trying to regain his balance. Then, with a slow twist of his waist, he was back in a fighting stance in the time it took to breathe in and out.

Xue Ming's right hand was guarding his chin, exactly like Li Zongzhu's defensive stance from the first round.

His eyes were as sharp as in the first round, showing no sign of mental distress.

The fingernails on his right hand were cracked and grayish-white from the immense impact, and the purple bruises on his fingerless glove had merged into one.

Sweat on those fingers was still steaming, emitting wisps of white mist from the residual heat of the high-speed friction.

There was a red mark on his jawline, like he'd been slapped.

Li Zongzhu's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

It wasn't that Jiang Xueming's mimicry of his defensive posture had shocked him.

The chin, a weak point, had a natural resistance to blows. He'd seen plenty of "iron jaws" in past matches.

But few opponents could defend against a counter-punch while attacking. It was as if this kid had never let his guard down, never relaxed his vigilance.

What's more, after blocking the counter-punch--

--Jiang Xueming was like a rubber man. He pushed off with his thigh, twisted his waist, his eyes as sharp as ever, his fighting spirit like steel, maintaining his fighting stance.

Teacher Li was so startled by Xue Ming's bizarre "fitness routine" that he cursed out loud, as if he'd seen a ghost.

Teacher Li's curses were slow and deliberate, matching Jiang Xueming's equally slow and peculiar movements.

"Son of a bitch!!"

"Sorry, Teacher, I didn't understand your slow, slow words. I thought you meant I wasn't good enough and wanted me to keep fighting." Jiang Xueming came to his senses and admonished, "Don't curse, Teacher. Show some martial ethics."

Li Zongzhu took a long time to snap out of his daze. At that moment, he suddenly understood Old Liu's extreme terror.

Because--

--Jiang Xueming was smiling at his master, a devilish grin.

"Teacher Li, you look pretty sturdy. You should have good stamina. My right hand is a little injured, but it's not a big problem. Is the left hand done training? How about we train the right hand next? Waist and legs, and other parts, shall we train them all tonight?"

Recently--

I don't know which cute reader it was who kept saying "one update a day."

Do you know what "one update a day" means for an author with a job?

It means an author with a job is updating once a day.

It is what it is.

So today, I've turned the "one update a day" of over five thousand characters into "two updates a day."

Do you know what "two updates a day" of over five thousand characters means?

It means "two updates a day" of over five thousand characters.

It is what it is.

If you'd just glanced at the full update history, you wouldn't be completely ignoring it.

So--

--I don't know what else to say. I'll give you a kiss, muah.