Boom!
All of a sudden, the sky darkened with rolling clouds. Thunder cracked in the heavens, lightning tore across the horizon, and then—like an overturned bucket—the rain poured down.
This country was known for its scorching heat and rare rainfall. Storms like this were almost unheard of. Su Jie had once read in a geography magazine that whenever such heavy rains ca, villagers in certain places would rush outside, singing and dancing in the downpour, treating it as a divine blessing.
But Su Jie did not seek shelter. Instead, beneath the rumbling sky, he let out one long howl after another, pushing his Iron Body training to the absolute limit.
The thunder muffled his cries, allowing him to shout without restraint. It felt as though his soul had risen to the clouds, whirling in a wild dance with the spirits of lightning and thunder themselves.
The sensation was extraordinary—sothing utterly new to him. For the first ti, he felt so close, so deeply connected, to nature.
Amid the storm, he howled and released his voice, venting everything pent up inside him. It was as if he had shed the constraints of humanity, overco with the primal urge to dance with tigers, leap with leopards, and roam with wolves and apes.
Only now did he begin to understand why so many ancient masters and reclusive sages chose to live in remote mountains. Deep in those wild ranges, a person could do whatever he wished—sing, dance, gaze at the distant horizon, or howl into the vast emptiness—without caring what others thought. There, one could unleash all suppressed emotions and dissolve into the great unity of heaven and earth.
But just as the storm had co quickly, it faded just as fast. The rain rely dampened the soil before the clouds scattered and the sky cleared.
After finishing his training, Su Jie returned to the compound, showered, and applied a thick layer of ointnt.
This wasn’t the Nie family’s secret salve—that supply had long since run out. Instead, it was a potent concoction obtained by Master Luo Weiji through the dark web of the Typhon Training Camp, paid for in digital currency.
The ointnt promoted blood circulation, strengthened tendons and bones, expelled dampness, killed bacteria, reduced inflammation, eased swelling, and relieved pain. For practitioners of external conditioning, it was priceless.
No one attempting Iron Body training could do without dicinal aid. Without it, injuries would pile up and the body would break down. Especially with Su Jie’s own brutal regin—“Thirteen Protectors Golden Bell Iron Body: Dragon-Tiger Vajra Hard Qigong”—each session was like hamring himself toward death. Fierce as a dragon-elephant, forceful as a warlord, savage as a beast, grinding himself down as though smashing iron to dust—any professional fighter watching would blanch. Without proper dicine, such punishnt could easily trigger acute organ failure.
Once fully coated in ointnt, Su Jie lay down quietly and fell into sleep.
He had trained his biological clock precisely: one hour of rest.
Eyes closed—sleep.
Eyes open—awake.
Exactly an hour passed. It was 7:00 a.m. sharp. Not a second off.
“My Martial Art has advanced again.” Rising, Su Jie saw that the ointnt had been fully absorbed, and even the bullet grazes on his arms had healed. Only faint traces remained, and in a few days, even those would fade. He nodded to himself with satisfaction.
That morning’s training was the most powerful session he had ever experienced. His howling beneath the storm had unleashed his wild nature in full. And beyond that, he realized it was the crucible of recent events—this foreign land, brushes with death, bullets, bandits, explosions, ambushes, killing, saving lives. All of it had forced him into trials most ordinary people would never face in a lifeti. That raw, visceral experience had reshaped sothing deep inside him.
Still, he knew such progress was fragile. To truly break through, he would need ti, reinforcent, and discipline.
“If I could train every day in this state, then in three to five months, I’d see explosive growth again.” Su Jie had been studying psychology, kinesiology, and human physiology under Master Ma and others. He wasn’t an expert, but he understood the principles well enough: in training, entering the right ntal state mattered more than sheer repetition.
When body and mind aligned, when every motion felt natural and exhilarating, a single session could achieve more than dozens of ordinary ones.
With dawn ca a new day.
The sun rose, the air grew hot again, and the ground dried quickly, as though the thunderstorm had been nothing but a dream. Yet in the air lingered a richer scent of moisture, and throats no longer felt parched.
In the courtyard, Zhang Jinchuan was training.
He stood facing a glass jar. Inside, on damp cloth, lay soybeans soaking in water, just beginning to sprout.
His eyes fixed on the seeds, his breath slow and delicate, he seed to move and not move, as though syncing himself with the sprouting of those beans.
“This must be the Minglun Daoyin Techniquee.” Su Jie quickly recognized it. Zhang Jinchuan’s movents were so slow they were nearly imperceptible.
Su Jie watched quietly, saying nothing.
Four, five hours passed in silence.
A faint sprout finally peeked from the beans—barely visible to the naked eye. At the sa ti, Zhang Jinchuan’s arm had lifted… only halfway. One simple motion—raising an arm—had consud an entire morning.
So of the Zhang family mbers watched at first, hoping to glean insight into the training of two masters. But after hours of watching such excruciating slowness, they lost patience and drifted away.
Zhang Jinchuan’s practice stood at the extre opposite of Su Jie’s. Where Su Jie’s loud cries and self-inflicted blows seed mad to outsiders, Zhang Jinchuan’s stillness and slowness looked like idiocy.
“Do masters really train like this?” Zhang Xian, who had lost to Su Jie, still tried to stay patient. He asked Uncle Xi, Zhang Xi, who was sipping tea in the house: “I’m getting anxious just watching.”
“They say this is a profound art,” Zhang Xi replied. “If the Zhang family let him train here in this war-torn land, it ans they trust his abilities. You see, even just observing tests patience. But the essence isn’t about slowing movents—it’s about slowing the heart. Anyone can move fast, but to truly slow down inside is difficult. Modern life makes people restless and hasty. To calm that is far harder than training strength or speed.”
“I could never practice this. It has no scientific basis,” Zhang Xian scoffed. “Real training is about explosive repetition, pushing limits, building muscle mory. I can endure brutal intensity. But this… this crawling pace? It feels like superstition dressed up as martial arts.”
“Yet the Minglun Martial Arts Academy, where martial culture is strongest in the country, upholds this very art as its highest discipline,” Zhang Xi countered. “It was created by their legendary headmaster Liu Guanglie and passed to his son, Liu Zihao. But even Liu Zihao lacked the patience to master it. They say Liu Guanglie, however, achieved greatness with it.”
“How does Liu Guanglie compare with the Dragon Head?” Zhang Xian asked.
“That, no one knows. They never crossed hands,” Zhang Xi said.
Su Jie, overhearing, nodded quietly. He now understood the principle.
The art’s slowness was not empty. From the perspective of psychology and kinesiology, humans—primates by nature—were wired for constant motion. Stillness made them restless. That restlessness wasted energy and eroded lifespan. If one could master inner calm, it ant conquering a primal instinct, altering the emotional patterns written into the very genes.
This “near-motionless motion” was not true stillness, but an infinite deceleration, hovering at the edge of stillness while never quite arriving there. The subtlety was imnse.
If soone could truly slow their heart and mind, unmoved by the fleeting world, imrsing wholly within, pursuing one thing with absolute focus, then their potential—whether in learning or any pursuit—would surge to terrifying heights.
“This kind of slowness is the slowness of the soul, not just the body,” Su Jie realized.
“To slow down is to glimpse what endures forever. Even the history of mankind is but a flicker in the endless flow of ti.” Another insight blood in him.
Just then, Zhang Manman rushed in, clapping her hands. “Enough training! Good news! General Awasi wants to see us earlier than expected. Originally it was set for three days later, but this morning he sent word inviting us to his camp to discuss the detained goods.”
“Oh? What happened? Is his attitude genuine? Could it be a trap?” Su Jie asked.
“Looks like a good turn,” Zhang Manman said. “His own son ca to fetch us, quite respectful too. You’ve studied physiognomy and the Book of Changes—why don’t you divine whether this is auspicious?”
“Nonsense,” Su Jie waved it off. “Those are experiential arts at best. My experience is far too shallow to claim such certainty.”
Zhang Jinchuan ended his training posture, and the three of them walked out of the compound.
A few armored vehicles waited outside. From one stepped a young man—yesterday’s bandit leader.
At the sight of Su Jie, he strode forward, bowed deeply, eyes full of admiration, and spoke rapidly in his native tongue.
Su Jie replied in the sa language.
“What’s he saying?” Zhang Jinchuan and Zhang Manman asked, baffled.
“He says he deeply respects —for bandaging even my enemy yesterday. He’s never seen such humanity. He admits he misjudged us and promises to do everything he can to smooth this matter over. And… he wants to learn from ,” Su Jie translated calmly.
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