The Way of Restraint

Chapter 109: A Close-Combat Defeat

Su Jie’s martial arts had improved drastically. He was already formidable during his fight with Zhou Chun, and after a series of intense training sessions—especially under the joint tutelage of Masters Ma and Luo—his strength had grown significantly. By integrating the “Great Corpse State” with the natural relaxation of an infant’s sleep, his physical conditioning reached new heights.

He transformed his foundational training—both scholarly and martial—into an advanced hard-body technique: the “Thirteen Protectors Iron Body Technique,” which fused Iron Shirt, Golden Bell, Tiger-Dragon Vajra Hard Qi Gong, and other forms of internal and external training. His body became tough, resilient, and powerful—like a rare war god from the annals of history.

His signature move, the “Hoe Strike,” became near perfection.

With that kind of skill, Zhang Xian was no match.

“I don’t accept this! Again!” Zhang Xian stood up, shaking his head, convinced that Su Jie had caught him off guard with a sneak attack.

“Alright, you go first this time,” Su Jie replied sincerely.

Zhang Xian feinted left, hands up, then suddenly retracted and struck toward Su Jie’s center with a fierce punch.

Smack!

Before the punch landed, Su Jie parried it cleanly. 

The next thing Zhang Xian saw was a palm on his face, gently pressing him down into the ground again.

“I don’t believe this!” Zhang Xian leapt up and launched another furious assault.

But just as he moved, another palm landed on his face—down he went again.

Now he understood. The gap between their skills wasn’t small—it was a chasm.

Admitting defeat, he stared curiously at Zhang Manman, wondering where she found someone like Su Jie. This guy was unbelievably strong. Though Zhang Xian was from a collateral line of the Zhang family and lacked the resources of direct descendants, martial arts depended more on grit and talent. Among the direct lineage, a few might surpass him, but no one could match Su Jie’s level—he was in another league entirely.

“This skill… it’s practically otherworldly,” Uncle Xi and the other Zhang family members were shaken.

The Zhangs were a massive clan, even larger than the Xu family. They’d expanded overseas since the late Qing dynasty. Originally bodyguards and caravan escorts, they had built vast business empires and weathered all sorts of storms—none of them were easily impressed.

Especially Uncle Xi, a key figure in family affairs despite not being of the main line. He immediately recognized that Su Jie and Zhang Jinchuan—brought by Zhang Manman—were both top-tier talents. With these two on her side, her influence in the family would grow tremendously.

‘If these two are working for Manman, the family dynamics might shift,’ Uncle Xi thought to himself, eyes gleaming.

“Alright, let’s rest. We’ll meet again tonight to discuss the situation in detail,” Zhang Manman clapped her hands.

After dinner, night fell.

Zhang Manman met privately with the family core. 

Su Jie didn’t intrude. Instead, he felt a sudden urge to explore the war-torn ruins outside the factory camp and soak in the atmosphere of a foreign battlefield.

His skills had grown, and fear no longer had a grip on him. He even wanted to taste the chaos of bullets and bombs.

Whatever happened on this trip, he was certain his abilities would evolve further, and his spirit would be more complete.

“Thinking of going out?” Zhang Jinchuan walked over. “Wanna talk?”

“Sure.” Su Jie sat down on the steps. “Actually, I’ve always been curious about your skills. You trained with Master Luo, spent a year at the Minglun Martial Arts Academy, and even learned their secret technique—the Minglun Daoyin Technique. Care to show me?”

“I’ve learned a lot,” Zhang Jinchuan said, sitting beside him. “You studied at Minglun for two months and reached this level. I’ve been training since I was six. I’m eighteen now—that’s twelve years, nonstop. You’ve been training for less than a year, right?”

“Nine months, to be exact,” Su Jie nodded.

“No wonder Masters Luo and Ma see you as their successor,” Zhang Jinchuan’s tone had a tinge of envy. “I learned feng shui and physiognomy from Master Luo, and when he said I’d mastered his teachings, I knew he was cutting me off. But forget that—wanna spar a little? Just light contact, no exhaustion.”

“Let’s do it,” Su Jie agreed. Zhang Jinchuan was no joke. Even a friendly match would be valuable.

“Here we go,” Zhang Jinchuan stood.

Su Jie sprang up and took the initiative.

His movement glided like skating on ice—again, his signature “Hoe Strike.” Fingers slightly curled, palm cupped inward like a vortex, locking his opponent in place.

Zhang Jinchuan said nothing. He dodged like a ghost, twisted away, then countered with a sharp straight punch to Su Jie’s head.

Even before the fist landed, Su Jie felt the air compress and ripple.

He shrank his body back, raised his arm to intercept—another “Hoe Strike” reversal.

This move wasn’t just an opener—it was also a block. It could mimic spear, sword, or any weapon.

Buzz…

Just as Su Jie’s second “Hoe Strike” was about to stop Zhang’s arm, the latter bent his elbow mid-motion and struck at Su Jie’s chest.

A classic “Heart-Thrusting Elbow” from Bajiquan—short, savage, and deadly.

Su Jie’s body rippled like water. At the critical moment, he diffused the strike, dropped his hands down, and caught the elbow—a technique called “Eagle Grip” from within the same fist style.

He was like an eagle pinning a giant snake.

He pressed down, launched upward, and struck again with the same move.

Zhang Jinchuan spun, stepped aside, and jabbed at Su Jie’s neck like a javelin—another deadly move: “Taibai Sword Dance.”

Swish! Swish! Swish!

In less than a minute, the two exchanged dozens of blows.

Zhang Jinchuan never repeated a move—his attacks blended techniques from countless disciplines: karate, Muay Thai, kickboxing, even military kill strikes. It was overwhelming.

Su Jie, on the other hand, used nothing but his “Hoe Strike.” Dodge, block, counter—endlessly. It looked like he was on the defensive, barely landing hits.

But Zhang Jinchuan knew better—none of his strikes could break through. Su Jie was like a turtle: unbreakable shell, with a head that might snap out and bite at any second.

And turtles don’t let go once they bite.

Suddenly, Zhang Jinchuan leapt back—seven or eight steps, out of striking range.

Su Jie didn’t know why he retreated so far, but he could sense the fight wasn’t over.

He rushed forward to close the gap.

Then—Zhang Jinchuan flicked his hand.

A glint of silver streaked through the air—steel pellets!

Su Jie, mid-lunge, couldn’t change direction. He braced himself and took the hit.

Pa! Pa! Pa! Pa!

The pellets slammed into his body—high penetration. A few hit nerve points, stunning him briefly. Though his iron-body training helped him recover quickly, the damage was done.

In that moment of hesitation, Zhang Jinchuan counterattacked. 

Fist to chest, elbow to ribs, kick to legs—three clean hits sent Su Jie sprawling.

Covered in dirt, Su Jie rolled back to his feet and dusted himself off. “Hidden weapons?”

“In ancient martial arts, hidden weapons were number one. You should know that,” Zhang Jinchuan said calmly.

“I lost. No argument there,” Su Jie admitted. He could tell Zhang Jinchuan hadn’t gone all out—many tricks were still hidden. Their spar was more of a technical exchange, not a death match. He hadn’t used his full power either.

Still, he realized he was likely inferior. In a true fight, he’d probably lose eight out of ten.

The use of steel pellets had disrupted his rhythm completely. He hadn’t seen it coming. And in real life, anything goes. In the old days, hidden weapons were the deadliest part of martial arts: throwing knives, sleeve darts, iron beans, slingshots—one strike could end a fight.

Novels often portrayed hidden weapons as dirty tactics used by low-tier villains. In reality, someone who mastered hidden weapons in one year could kill a martial artist who trained for decades.

Odell had warned him early on—when facing someone with a knife, always watch for throws.

Zhang Jinchuan’s hidden weapon technique was precise—those small steel pellets were thrown en masse, impossible to guard against.

‘Good thing it was just steel pellets. If it were a gun, I’d be dead. Some agents trained in quickdraw can fire in under a second. No time to react,’ Su Jie thought. He wasn’t bitter about the loss. He was reflecting.

The defeat was a valuable lesson. His skills were enough for street brawls and exhibitions, but against professionals trained in killing? He’d be done for.