Ma Hongjun: My Fate Is My Own, Not Heaven's!

The two of them remained silent for a while.

Su Mo spoke up, "Can't sleep?"

Ma Hongjun nodded.

Silence returned.

After a moment, Ma Hongjun suddenly spoke.

"Boss Su."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know why I came to the Star Dou Forest alone?"

Su Mo didn't speak, waiting for him to continue.

Ma Hongjun looked at the river, his voice dropping low.

"I... I'm a piece of trash."

"In the village, no one looked up to me. My father died early, my mother remarried, and I lived alone in a dilapidated shack at the edge of the village."

"The children in the village would throw stones at me when they saw me, and the adults would walk around me. They said I was a jinx, and that I was the one who cursed my father to death."

Su Mo listened quietly.

"Later, my martial soul mutated." Ma Hongjun's voice rose slightly. "My teacher—Flender, he's a Soul Saint—discovered me when he was passing through our village. He said my martial soul was the Evil Fire Phoenix, that I was a genius, and he wanted to take me away."

"I was so happy."

Ma Hongjun pulled a smile onto his lips, but it was a bitter one.

"I thought I finally wasn't a piece of trash anymore. I thought I could finally be like the protagonists in those storybooks: become strong, slap faces, and make those who looked down on me kneel and call me daddy."

"But..."

His voice dropped again.

"People outside all say that this 'Evil Fire Phoenix' is just gilding the lily. They say my martial soul is just a dirt chicken, a mutated dirt chicken. They say 'Evil Fire Phoenix' is just a fancy way of putting it, but in reality, it's just a horny dirt chicken."

Su Mo turned his head to look at him.

Ma Hongjun kept his head down, his hands clenched tight.

"I want to refute it, but I can't."

"I can't control that fire. When it flares up, I start wanting to do that kind of thing... that... that disgusting, lewd thing that even I despise myself for."

His shoulders began to tremble.

"I'm so scared."

"I'm afraid that one day I'll really become the thing they say I am."

"Become a monster that only knows how to be in heat."

"Become a disgusting pervert."

"Become a piece of human scum that even I despise."

He raised his head, his eyes rimmed with red, and looked at Su Mo.

"Boss Su, tell me, am I really just a dirt chicken?"

Su Mo was silent for a few seconds.

Then, he pulled a small booklet from his robes and handed it over.

"Read this, it'll take your mind off things."

Ma Hongjun took it and looked down at the cover—Nezha.

He flipped to the first page.

Under the moonlight, the handwriting was clear.

He watched that child named Nezha, born a demon, being pelted with stones by the entire village.

He watched Nezha sitting alone on a wall, with no friends, no playmates.

Ma Hongjun's eyes turned red.

As he flipped through the pages, he reached a certain one.

Nezha stood beneath the heavenly lightning, head tilted back, shouting:

"My fate is determined by me, not by the heavens! Whether I am a demon or an immortal, I am the one who decides!"

Ma Hongjun shuddered.

He stared at that line of text, motionless.

After a long time, he stood up abruptly.

"Boss Su!"

Su Mo looked up at him.

Ma Hongjun's voice choked with emotion, but his eyes shone with a frightening intensity.

"This book... could I borrow it for a few more days?"

Su Mo nodded.

Ma Hongjun grinned, but as he laughed, tears began to stream down his face.

He hurriedly wiped them away with the back of his hand, pretending he hadn't been crying.

Su Mo stood up and patted him on the shoulder.

"Go back and get some sleep."

Ma Hongjun nodded vigorously.

Late at night, by the campfire.

Everyone else was asleep.

Ma Hongjun sat by the fire, holding Nezha and turning the pages one by one.

He reached the last page, then flipped back to the first.

He read it over and over again.

There were a few water stains on the pages.

It was unclear whether they were dew or something else.

Su Mo leaned against a tree not far away, watching him.

After a while, he closed his eyes.

But in his mind, Ma Hongjun's words, "I'm afraid I'll become the kind of thing they say I am," kept circling.

He thought of his past life.

He thought of that old acquaintance who played basketball.

He, too, had been mocked by the entire internet.

"You are too beautiful."

"Sissy."

"Playing basketball like a chicken."

How happy those people had been to laugh.

What happened to that young man in the end?

He crushed the memes beneath his feet.

He turned them into his own path.

Su Mo opened his eyes and flipped to his Book of Dao.

The "Creation" page.

He thought for a moment, then picked up his pen.

He wrote about a soul master.

Born from humble beginnings, his martial soul was a golden pheasant.

The most ordinary of chickens.

Mocked by the great sects as a "mutated dirt chicken."

He had hidden away to cry, asking himself: Am I really just a chicken?

Later, he came to an understanding.

So what if I'm a chicken?

Even a chicken has its own way of living.

He created his own set of physical arts.

Using softness to overcome hardness, borrowing force to strike back.

The names of the moves were strange:

Iron Mountain Lean—a single shoulder strike that shatters boulders.

Back-to-Basket Dribble—rotating the body to borrow force and strike back.

Void Shot—throwing soul power in an arc, hitting the target with precision.

With this style of fist, he punched his way through the entire soul master world.

In his later years, someone asked him what this fist was called.

The old man laughed: "Kun Fist."

"A chicken also has its 'Kun'; the vastness of the universe, the vastness of heaven and earth."

"Also, don't catch a cold."

Su Mo set down his brush.

The Book of Dao glowed.

On the cover, two characters slowly emerged—

Kun Fist

Creation complete.

He closed the book and looked toward the campfire.

Ma Hongjun was still clutching Nezha, but his head was bobbing, and he was nearly asleep.

Su Mo smiled and closed his eyes.

The next day, early morning.

The horizon turned a pale, fish-belly white.

Su Mo opened his eyes and noticed one person missing from the campfire.

He looked toward the riverbank.

Sure enough.

Ma Hongjun was sitting on that same rock from last night, clutching Nezha.

He was in the exact same posture as the night before.

He hadn't slept all night.

Su Mo walked over and sat down beside him.

Ma Hongjun turned his head.

His eyes were red and swollen, and there were dried tear tracks on his face.

"Bo-Boss Su..."

"I understand now."

Su Mo: "..."

Understand again?

That kid Tang San says "I understand" at the drop of a hat, and now you're saying "I understand" too?

Can you guys use a different phrase?

Ma Hongjun didn't notice Su Mo's expression and continued on his own:

"You wanted to teach me that my fate is determined by me, not by the heavens."

"Whether I am a common chicken or a phoenix, I must decide for myself."

Su Mo opened his mouth.

He wanted to say, "Actually, I just gave you a book to read so you wouldn't be so emo."

But looking at Ma Hongjun's red, swollen, yet shining eyes, the words changed to:

"...Mm, as long as you understand."

Ma Hongjun grinned.

Su Mo pulled another small booklet from his robes and handed it over.

"Take a look at this, too."

Ma Hongjun took it—Kun Fist.

He flipped to the first page.

[He is not human; he is a chicken.]

Ma Hongjun froze.

He stared at that line of text for a long time.

For the first time, someone had called him a chicken directly.

It wasn't an insult; it was an acknowledgment.

But this chicken had punched through the entire Spirit Master world.

Ma Hongjun's hands began to tremble.

He flipped to the second page, the third, the fourth...

Iron Mountain Lean, Back-to-Basket Dribble, Void Shot...

Every move and every stance seemed tailor-made for him.

He finished reading it through once.

He flipped through it again.

He flipped through it once more.

As he finished reading it for the third time, he suddenly closed his eyes.

For the first time, the evil fire within his body did not spiral out of control.

It flowed through his meridians, following a specific trajectory.

It felt warm, not scalding.

It was as if a figure with a middle-part hairstyle and wearing overalls had emerged in his mind.