The three bandits who had set their guns down stood there, stunned.

They never expected that their enemy would actually be tending to their wounded.

The leader among them was a young man, probably just over twenty, with a face that still carried a trace of youth. He was the first to lower his weapon and call for a halt, making a clear gesture of surrender.

He spoke English as well. “We surrender now. Will you let me leave?”

Even as he asked, he muttered something rapidly in the local dialect to the two men beside him.

Of the five bandits who had come today, only one — “Grey Wolf” — was a man from the Feng family. The rest seemed to be native tribal fighters.

“I can let you go. You’ve been misled,” Su Jie replied — in the local dialect.

The three remaining bandits were visibly shocked.

“Su Jie, you speak the local dialect?” Even Zhang Jinchuan was taken aback.

“I prepared beforehand,” Su Jie explained. He had the advantage of his older sister’s AI learning device. Before coming here, he had used it to pick up enough of the dialect to manage simple conversations and understand most casual speech. His pronunciation wasn’t perfect, but his ear for languages was excellent — in English, his listening tests had always been flawless, never missing even half a syllable.

“You’re Chinese? You know martial arts? And your skills are better than his?” the young bandit leader asked in the local dialect.

“Yes,” Su Jie nodded.

Shua!

The young leader muttered again, then suddenly lunged forward, clearly wanting to test Su Jie.

Su Jie stood, nodding slightly, inviting him to make the first move.

The bandit came at him fast, fists like the wind, full of ferocity, his footwork nimble and quick — the mark of real fighting skill.

Su Jie didn’t bother with elaborate moves.

Slap!

The sharp crack rang through the air.

The young man tumbled to the ground, sitting down hard, shaking his head in confusion.

After two or three wobbles, he got up again, raised both arms to guard his head, and charged like a battering ram.

Another slap from Su Jie.

This time, even with both arms up, he couldn’t block it. He went down again.

Finally, realization dawned on him. He jumped to his feet, clasped his fists together, bowed deeply, then unbuckled and dropped all his remaining weapons. Without another word, he hoisted “Grey Wolf” and helped the bandit who had been bandaged, leading them away.

Zhang Jinchuan didn’t stop them. Once they were gone, he collected the scattered weapons. “Su Jie, these men came here to kill us. Letting them go will only bring trouble later.”

“Killing them would bring far worse trouble,” Su Jie said calmly. “These are local armed tribesmen. If I’m right, they were stirred up by the Feng family to attack us. If we start killing, there’s no turning back.”

“I think that young man had a high status. Better to keep him as a bargaining chip,” Zhang Jinchuan said, shaking his head. “You’re too soft-hearted, Su Jie. That’ll cost you someday. Just like with that Feng family mercenary — you only broke his spine, didn’t kill him. A man like that will never be reformed. Once he recovers, he’ll come for you again. He’s a deadly soldier, and if he’s set on killing you, you’re in real danger.”

“You’ve killed before?” Su Jie asked. “I saw how practiced you were when you slit that man’s throat.”

“Of course,” Zhang Jinchuan replied matter-of-factly. “Once you overcome the mental barrier, it’s no different from killing a chicken. Easier than slaughtering a pig, really — a person struggles less. You, I think, still have that mental barrier. That’s not good. Martial arts are killing arts at their root. In ancient times, no martial skill existed that didn’t kill.”

“In the modern age, there’s modern martial arts,” Su Jie said with a small smile. “Killing is easy. Saving someone is hard. Changing someone’s heart — even harder. Everyone has their own understanding of martial arts. Do you know how Zhuge Liang pacified the southern tribes? He captured and released Meng Huo seven times until his enemy was truly convinced. For centuries after, the southerners revered him as a god. Compare that to Sima Yi’s conquest of Liaodong — massacres, city slaughters, piles of skulls. It made Liaodong a perpetual thorn in every dynasty’s side. Two completely different approaches. I won’t open that door. And here’s something else — killing intent can unleash your maximum power in an instant, but it also robs you of calm. Just now, without killing intent, I noticed something off about that young man. You’re normally more observant than me, but killing intent clouded your intuition. Most killers lose a measure of reason when their blood is up. That’s just psychology.”

“Then we’ll agree to disagree,” Zhang Jinchuan said. “I believe that killing a bandit with your own skills teaches you the true essence of the move our predecessors created — the original spirit of martial arts. Without ever killing in combat, you’ll never really know what martial arts are. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s head back. Tonight was a wake-up call. I doubt we’ll sleep soundly for a while. But in a war zone, you get used to it.”

The two quickly gathered the weapons and returned to the factory compound.

By then, things had quieted down. A few more mercenaries were patrolling, but no one seemed on edge — it was just part of life here.

“You’re back. Everything okay?” Zhang Manman was waiting at the gate.

“We’re fine. Almost took that bunch out, but Su Jie let them go,” Zhang Jinchuan said, shaking his head. “And this was at night — if it had been daylight, we’d probably have died under their guns.”

“You’re hurt?” Zhang Manman ignored his complaint and saw the bandage on Su Jie’s arm, rushing to check it.

“Just a scratch,” Su Jie replied. “It’s late. Let’s get some rest. We might have things to deal with tomorrow.” Even after such a serious incident, his mindset stayed steady — ready to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

“Alright. We’ll sleep in shifts. If anything happens, we sound the alarm,” Zhang Manman said, knowing Su Jie kept a strict sleep schedule.

Su Jie rinsed off with a bucket of cold water, then sprawled out on his bed in what he called the “Great Corpse State,” asleep within seconds.

He had a rare talent — no insomnia, no restless nights, no lying awake with worries. He could also set his own internal alarm: decide to wake in an hour, sleep instantly, and open his eyes exactly on time, down to the minute. If word of this skill got out, he’d probably inspire a wave of envy and resentment.

His “Great Corpse State” used to be perfectly straight. Now, in sync with his breathing, his body would slowly curl up, eventually taking the fetal position, then gradually straighten out again. Over the course of six hours, he would only shift between those two poses.

If Zhang Jinchuan saw this, he’d recognize the movements — identical to the slow transitions in the “Minglun Daoyin Technique.” Yet Su Jie did it unconsciously, his expansion and contraction entirely natural.

At 3 a.m., exactly six hours later, Su Jie woke automatically, refreshed.

He drank some water, ate a military ration — beef and vegetables compacted with various nutrients. High quality, designed for war zones by the Zhang family to ensure no nutritional deficiencies. The only downside: every meal tasted the same.

After that, he slipped out into the wilderness for training. Once warmed up, he suddenly let out a long, resonant roar, the breath flowing from his lower abdomen to his chest, throat, and out — like dragon, tiger, crane, wolf, ape, and eagle all at once.

Roaring, he began to strike every part of his body with heavy, snapping blows — head, chest, back, thighs, calves, buttocks, even groin and throat — each smack sharp and loud like firecrackers.

Wearing only shorts, he stomped the ground and exhaled forcefully, radiating a presence like a wrathful Vajra. Each strike brought blood to the surface, his muscles swelling, body steaming in the cold air — vapor from sweat meeting the chill.

This was the Thirteen Protectors External Training: Golden Bell Cover, Iron Shirt, Dragon-Tiger Vajra Hard Qi Gong,” developed by Odell. Many of its biomechanical principles were calculated by Typhon Training Camp’s AI. But even experts found it nearly impossible — the moves were complex, and it required intense psychological focus, sustained roaring, and perfect rhythm.

If Odell’s earlier teachings had been like grade-school math, this was a doctoral-level problem. Even Masters Ma and Luo had tried and failed.

Su Jie, however, had mastered it over a single winter break. Tests confirmed his coordination and precision were spot-on.

He could never train this at home — the roaring and constant smacking would have the entire neighborhood calling the police. Even in Master Luo’s home, he had to use a soundproof basement.

But here, in a foreign land scarred by war, he could finally unleash it under the open sky, without restraint.

It felt like shedding every last chain of suppression — exhilarating, unrestrained.

In the midst of his dragon-tiger roars, he even felt — if only in illusion — that his spirit could touch heaven and earth, summon wind and rain, command thunder and lightning.

He recalled that in ancient Daoist lore, there was a “Five Thunder Palm” — a method using steps, gestures, sound, and roaring to convince oneself of the power to control the elements and smite demons. Whether it was truly lost, he didn’t know.

But here, in this self-punishing hard Qi Gong, he had touched that feeling — the spirit connected to the heavens themselves.