Their soles scraped across the platform with a piercing squeal.
In that instant—
—Li Zongzhu's eyes went unfocused.
He had been fixed on Student Xue Ming's left lead arm, watching the muscles in his shoulder and elbow tense as he prepared to strike.
But just now, this inexperienced opponent had understood what "power starts from the ground" meant.
His knuckles engaged the muscles in his calves, transferring force to his thighs. Then his waist and abdomen spun like a winch, while his upper and lower arms worked together to channel the force into his fist.
The sound of the wind tearing past Li Zongzhu's ear left him with a momentary ringing in his ears.
The flesh on his right cheek burned with pain. The edge of the glove had split open the skin over his cheekbone, leaving a red gash. It had missed by a hair, and there was no blood.
—What a fast jab.
It had taken only a fraction of a second. Li Zongzhu had narrowly dodged the punch by tilting his head aside. He couldn't use a parrying slap anymore; there simply wasn't enough time to react. Even if he had reacted, at that speed, his hand couldn't keep up with his eyes and head!
Jiang Xueming had already pulled his fist back. Carefully observing the changes in his body, he marveled inwardly at how effective Teacher Li's techniques really were.
Li Zongzhu was still standing there, stunned, his eyes full of questions.
Had this kid been putting on an act, pretending to be a clueless amateur? What did he mean, he couldn't fight? That he only knew a little about brawling?
I've rarely seen a jab this good in my professional career.
But the kid's reach was limited by his height. And the hurried, messy way he'd pursued me just now didn't look like an act.
Could it be—
—he'd learned it?
Just like that?
When I teach at the boxing gym, my students tie up their right arms and practice lead jabs with their left hands. It takes at least a few hundred swings before they get the feel for it.
And this kid just learned it?
Li Zongzhu still hadn't figured it out. He muttered the line from earlier, as if in a daze.
"Slow."
Still too slow?
Jiang Xueming frowned, a flurry of questions rising in his mind.
He focused on coordinating his tendons and muscles to drive power into his fists—but his teacher still said he was slow.
What was he doing wrong?
Was it his breathing?
Right. Maybe it was his breathing, or maybe he wasn't using enough of a shuffle step. Perhaps it was both.
Teacher Li was 177 centimeters tall. Finding the right angle to land a punch near his chin was incredibly difficult.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Teacher. Take another good look at my left fist."
With that thought, Xue Ming continued throwing punches in quick succession.
Li Zongzhu's eyes widened. The longer the exchange went on, the more astonished he became.
"Slow! Slower."
He watched Jiang Xueming's vicious straight punches shoot toward him like stones slung from a catapult.
From the initial drive to the full extension, there was no longer any trace of inexperience—
—the kid no longer held his breath when he punched. He sucked in air like an ox and exhaled like an arrow.
During the brief moments when he could catch his breath, Teacher Li glimpsed the diaphragm beneath Xue Ming's loose tank top. Inflated with air, it was like a solid pillar. It was a breathing method used by some strength athletes.
Weightlifters, for example, used this kind of breathing to temporarily raise their strength ceiling. Filling the diaphragm with air compressed the abdominal cavity, turning the entire torso into a solid conduit for force.
Li Zongzhu struggled to track Jiang Xueming's fists. He danced in a semicircle, retreating and dodging, while his hunched, swaying upper body felt gust after gust of cold air pass by.
He could feel it.
The kid's sharp jabs were growing more and more cunning, as if they had eyes. Every punch went for his vulnerable chin. His form had been a little off at first, but after a dozen seconds, the stones flying toward him had become bullets!
Teacher Li's back slammed into the ropes. His eyes went wide with alarm.
He clearly remembered his footwork and escape route: he always moved in a steady semicircle, keeping pace as he circled around.
But why?
Why had I somehow ended up backed against the ropes at the edge of the ring?
Had this kid—using only his left fist—sealed off my path?
Were his fists like whips, driving me here like a sheep?
There was nowhere left to retreat!
Teacher Li shouted in panic.
"Slow! Slower, slower, slower, slo—"
—His mouth was no match for his fists.
In that instant, Teacher Li steeled himself and struck back.
Using the spring of the ropes, the combat instructor stepped in and threw everything he had into a punch, giving Jiang Xueming his all.
A loud thud rang out.
The wave of sound shook dry dust from the wooden table beside the ring, sending it drifting into the air.
Ripples spread across the tea in the cup.
Li Zongzhu's heart sank. He was afraid he'd have a hard time explaining this to Young Master Xing.
He saw Jiang Xueming stagger and tip to one side. That counterpunch had probably hurt him badly.
Teacher Li thought to himself.
—I'd planted my feet properly, and the ropes had rebounded with me, adding even more power to my body.
—That punch was the result of both our force. Xue Ming had attacked, and I'd punched to meet him, like two cars driving straight into each other.
—If I hadn't done that, I'd be the one frozen in place now.
—The punch had landed solidly. He wasn't even wearing boxing gloves or protective gear. Heaven help me—please don't let me have hurt Xue Ming.
—Why hadn't he fallen yet? Based on my usual experience—
Li Zongzhu's thoughts were cut short. His expression changed drastically.
Because he saw—
—the kid who should have fallen was shaking violently in the thighs, trying to regain his balance. Then he slowly twisted his waist and, in the time it took to breathe in and out, returned to his fighting stance.
Xue Ming's right hand guarded his chin, exactly like the defensive stance Teacher Li had used in their first round.
His eyes were just as sharp as they'd been in that first round, as if he hadn't suffered any mental shock at all.
The nails on the fingers of his right hand had turned grayish white and cracked from the tremendous impact. Purple bruises spread across his half-finger glove.
The sweat on those fingers still held the scorching heat of the impact, and wisps of white vapor rose from them.
A red mark bloomed on the side of his face beneath his chin, as if someone had slapped him.
Li Zongzhu's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
It wasn't that he was shocked by Jiang Xueming imitating his defensive technique.
A chin's ability to take a punch was innate. He'd seen plenty of fighters with iron chins in his matches.
But few opponents could defend against a counterpunch while attacking, as if the kid had never let his guard down and had stayed alert every second.
And after blocking the counterpunch—
—Jiang Xueming was like a rubber man. He pushed off with his leg, twisted his waist, and looked as though nothing had happened. His fighting spirit was like steel, and he stayed in his fighting stance.
Teacher Li was so startled by Xue Ming's bizarre calisthenics that he felt as if he'd seen a ghost. He was so frightened that he swore out loud.
Teacher Li cursed one word at a time, matching Jiang Xueming's slow, bizarre movements with perfect diction.
"Diu—lei—lo—mou!!"
"Sorry, Teacher, I didn't understand those 'slow, slow, slow' instructions. I thought you meant I wasn't good enough and wanted me to keep going." Jiang Xueming came to his senses and added, "Don't swear, Teacher. Show a little sportsmanship."
It took Li Zongzhu a long time to recover from his daze. At that moment, he could suddenly understand just how terrified Old Liu must have been.
Because—
—Jiang Xueming smiled at the veteran fighter. It was like the smile of a devil.
"Teacher Li, you seem pretty tough. You should have good stamina. My right hand's a little injured, but it's nothing serious. Have I finished training my left hand? How about we keep going with the right? We can work on my waist, legs, and everything else tonight."
Lately—
I wonder which little darling keeps saying I only update once a day.
Do you know what updating once a day means for an author with a job?
It means an author with a job updates once a day.
That's just how it is.
So today, I turned my once-a-day update of more than five thousand words into two updates in one day.
Do you know what two updates of more than five thousand words in one day means?
It means two updates of more than five thousand words in one day.
That's just how it is.
If you'd even glanced at the full update, you wouldn't have missed the full update without looking at it once.
So—
—I don't know what else to say. I'll give you all a kiss. Mwah!
Before you continue