Outside the hotel, all was quiet.
At this hour, most people had yet to get up and were still lost in their dreams.
Morning exercise was a must, but his down jacket was undoubtedly rather cumbersome. Zhang Yang lowered his head to look at it, then casually took it off without a second thought.
Amid the ice and snow, the bitter chill rushed at him.
With a slight circulation of his blood and qi, the blood vessels throughout Zhang Yang's body seemed to boil, almost completely shutting out the cold.
Standing in the snow and facing the rising sun, Zhang Yang leisurely performed a set of punches.
This time, it was not Tai Chi. Instead, he threw Cannon Fists, Crushing Fists, and all sorts of techniques with effortless ease, practicing until heat billowed from his entire body, making him seem like a walking branding iron.
"Ah... this... Brother Zhang?" Inside the hotel, Su Zongping hurried out, then suddenly froze.
In the distance, a figure shrouded in mist was practicing his punches.
Who else could it be but Zhang Yang?
A moment later, Zhang Yang emerged with heat rolling off his body.
Coming back to his senses, Su Zongping quickly grabbed some clothes and hurried over. "Brother Zhang, here, hurry and put these on."
The moment he drew close, he felt as though he had approached a furnace.
Even the air was scorching.
"Thanks." Zhang Yang took the clothes and merely draped them over himself.
"Brother, were you practicing martial arts just now? This is ice and snow everywhere—it's nothing like the south. Come on, get inside." Su Zongping instinctively reached out, intending to pull Zhang Yang back into the hotel.
The moment his hand touched the skin of Zhang Yang's wrist, he yelped and jerked it back as though burned.