Chapter Four: With a Cushion, It Shouldn't Hurt

Zhao Rui, not seeking victory, moved like a hawk, rising and falling with leaps, his hands employing the silk-entangling technique, using softness to overcome hardness.

With just a brief touch, the hold would open instantly. After eleven rounds of such exchanges, neither had truly met the other's palm with full force.

Cui Jian shouted in frustration, “Zhao Rui, aren’t you tired of this? What good does it do to train like this?”

Zhao Rui remained silent. Suddenly, his body sank low, palms striking the ground as he spun like a top. Palm winds swept horizontally, energy bursting forth like mist rising to the sky, enveloping the space between heaven and earth.

His right hand’s fingers aligned like a sword, concealed within the mist, appearing and disappearing, harboring a hidden killing intent.

Cui Jian chuckled, stepping back swiftly, shouting, “Cloud moves in all directions? That’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for!”

As he retreated sideways, he leapt into the air, twisting his body to strike a palm directly at Zhao Rui’s face.

Zhao Rui raised his hand to block, his body shifting slightly as the force dissipated entirely.

Their exchange was as swift as a rabbit’s dash and a hawk’s dive, incredibly rapid.

“Exhilarating! Let’s go again!”

Cui Jian beamed with joy, steadying himself and charging forward once more.

“The Taihang Thirteen Palms—shall we replicate it?”

“Replicate!”

Zhao Rui said nothing, stepping forward again as they resumed their duel.

After another seven or eight minutes, only the teacher’s intervention forced them apart.

“That was satisfying, Zhao Rui. When will we fight again? You never gave your all before, haha.”

Cui Jian stepped down from the platform, still eager.

“No problem! We’ll spar when there’s time.”

Zhao Rui smiled broadly, the system interface in his mind already displaying updated values.

Name: Zhao Rui
Age: 18
Copied Martial Art: Taihang Thirteen Palms, Progress: 10/100
Advancement Points: 0

Returning to his spot, Zhao Rui frowned slightly. This progress was painfully slow. After over ten minutes and repeating moves seven or eight times, he had only advanced ten percent.

Did this mean that to fully replicate the technique, frequent sparring with the master was essential?

This system was a bit...

Suddenly, a word from his past life, one that had accompanied him for over a decade, popped into his mind:

Sparring partner!

It seemed that if he truly became a sparring partner, everything might become much easier.

He just wasn’t sure if progress was related to the martial art’s difficulty.

More experimentation was clearly needed.

Back with the team, watching the other students spar back and forth on the platform, Zhao Rui’s impatience grew.

They could only fight about two matches each in an afternoon; the rest of the time was reserved for the teacher’s general commentary and one-on-one guidance.

But with dozens of students, the teacher couldn’t attend to everyone individually, so instruction was necessarily broad and generalized.

This surely failed to meet most students’ needs.

Those from wealthy and influential families would hire private tutors or even arrange for their children to apprentice under renowned martial arts masters.

For someone like Zhao Rui, without wealth or status, the path was not completely blocked.

Those with talent who stood out could be recruited by prestigious schools or major sects and organizations as inner disciples.

They might even bypass written exams for college entrance, advancing directly to higher institutions.

Those of average talent could become disciples at martial arts schools.

These schools were similar to those portrayed in late Qing Dynasty martial arts films, like Wong Fei-hung.

They might not be extraordinary, but they possessed solid skills, two or three signature moves, and a family legacy technique.

Disciples were of two types: entry-level and guaranteed learners.

Entry-level disciples were core students who formally apprenticed, paying homage to their masters’ ancestors and inheriting traditions.

These were true masters, not mere school teachers.

The other type required payment but still offered genuine instruction, albeit more secular and mainstream in content.

Snakes have their paths; mice have theirs!

No matter how the world changes, human nature remains constant—driven by fame and fortune.

Zhao Rui had also joined a martial arts school, paying his way into a place called Jimin Medical Hall in his early years.

At first, he was a regular paying apprentice, but when Master Li “Big Brain” saw his aptitude, he accepted him as a disciple.

Yes, that meant paying an extra two thousand yuan a month.

There was no alternative if he wanted to stand out; he had to learn real skills. With just the basics, there was no way Zhao Rui could get into a good university.

Fortunately, Master Li was diligent and serious in teaching martial arts.

In the training hall, Zhao Rui took the platform for the second time, facing Cui Jian again.

This thrilled Cui Jian, who had been itching to spar.

Without much talk, they took their stances and began.

Their session lasted another ten minutes or so, showing no signs of stopping, growing even more excited.

Zhao Hengsheng, the practical combat instructor watching nearby, rolled his eyes.

If he didn’t call a stop, these two might fight until class ended.

“Stop! What are you two doing?”

Zhao Hengsheng frowned.

“Teacher, I’m not satisfied!”

Cui Jian grinned, knowing he usually was the one pushing overtime.

He thought he was forcing Zhao Rui to keep fighting, but he didn’t realize this time it was Zhao Rui who wanted to continue.

“Students, with the college entrance exam approaching, you must identify and fill your gaps as soon as possible!”

Zhao Hengsheng looked at them earnestly.

The students nodded with varied expressions—some indifferent, others deeply serious, feeling immense pressure.

“After class, review today’s combat process and write a summary for me tomorrow.”

With that, Zhao Hengsheng dismissed the class.

Zhao Rui changed out of his martial arts uniform, preparing to leave, when he noticed Bai Xuening—the girl who had invited him to spar earlier—standing by the locker room entrance, watching him intently.

“Ahem, Xuening, do you need something?”

Zhao Rui forced a smile.

“Yeah, I hope you can spar with me a few times before the college exam!”

Bai Xuening’s eyes burned with intensity, as if she had spotted prey.

“If I don’t spar with you, you’ll say I’m taking advantage of you!”

Zhao Rui tossed his backpack onto his back and kept walking toward the exit, speaking frankly.

Bai Xuening’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Can’t you just…”

Her words trailed off, unable to finish.

If they were to spar seriously, how could they avoid “taking advantage”? It wasn’t like either side intended it—one palm to the chest might accidentally become a palm to the rear.

But that wouldn’t do either!

“Well, then you could be more careful!”

Bai Xuening pouted, conflicted. Her skills were no joke; among the girls, only two could spar evenly with her.

Most of the boys couldn’t match her.

But those two girls were tough opponents she disliked facing, so she sparred mostly with boys.

She found fighters like Cui Jian, who just rushed recklessly, awkward and worrying, fearing injury.

Only someone like Zhao Rui, small and agile, could engage fluidly.

Still, physical contact was inevitable.

And this contact wasn’t just brushing arms or legs—it involved the chest!

Once, Zhao Rui had accidentally struck her right chest with a palm, causing her pain for quite a while.

What infuriated her most was that he looked innocent afterward, saying, “There was some cushioning; it shouldn’t hurt that much!”

Truly maddening!

“I have something to do at the martial arts school. Maybe another day, Xuening, bye!”

Zhao Rui gave a perfunctory reply, grabbed his backpack, and hurried away.

Bai Xuening watched him leave, her beautiful eyes slightly reddened. She clearly sensed his growing distance.

“Zhao Rui!”

“Another day, I really have something today!”

Zhao Rui’s clear voice echoed softly at the training hall’s entrance.

Hearing his bright voice, Bai Xuening’s delicate face showed a shy annoyance as she muttered, “You’re the one bullying me.”

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