Chapter 2502: Burning the Tower (15)

Yun Ting nodded. "He carries himself like a jianghu man, but his intentions are clearly suspect. By provoking this incident, he's trying to sow discord among the families—either to preserve his own influence or for some hidden purpose. We'll need to observe him further."

"He can't stir up anything significant," Wooden Stone Daoist replied. "The tide has already turned in our favor. We shouldn't push too hard—if we drive them into the arms of the Kun people, we'll have gained nothing. Better to proceed steadily. Since he came here fleeing a blood feud, if he's killed after returning home, everyone will assume his enemies finally caught up with him. A perfectly natural conclusion." A sinister smile crossed his face.

Yun Ting considered this for a moment. "I can't read this man. Letting him leave introduces too many uncertainties. We cannot afford such a loose thread."

"Then perhaps on the return journey—?"

Yun Ting shook his head. "No. What would we do about Li Baiqing? Kill her? Release her? Either way, it becomes difficult to explain, and secret grudges fester. Besides, we'll need their cooperation in the future, so we shouldn't offend them too brutally. Better to handle this openly, where we can speak plainly." He sneered. "Doesn't he love spouting jianghu rules? We'll give him all the jianghu rules he can stomach. Make him choke on them."

He waved his hand. A dark-skinned man in black emerged silently from the shadows and stood behind Yun Ting, head bowed, awaiting orders.

"Arrange two of our knife hands," Yun Ting whispered. "Wait until Sun Gang is defeated, then have them pose as his disciples. They'll enter the arena and stab that Li Jian. Don't kill him—just ensure he can't speak or move properly. Keep him bedridden for three months."

The man bowed and melted back into the darkness.

Wooden Stone Daoist glanced at Yun Ting, silently impressed. Martial artists understood proportion when it came to fighting and killing. Injuring without taking life would silence the man without creating a blood feud with the Six Lower Villages Mutual Defense Association. Having the attackers pose as Sun Gang's disciples provided a convenient explanation—a moment of indignation, an understandable lapse. The offense could be mitigated. Afterward, apologies, compensation, accepting punishment—all of it would give the other party sufficient face while preserving room to maneuver.

Wooden Stone Daoist turned his gaze back to the field. Letting them fight is actually useful. Now that they've made enemies, Sun Gang and Pockmarked Chen will need the General Assembly to back them up. They'll cling to us even tighter. A thin smile formed on his lips. Better to have competing factions stirring each other up. We can't let those beneath us become too unified.

Xu Tong walked calmly to the edge of the field. He wasn't worried about revealing his skills. This fighting style had never been seen in the world—he usually carried firearms on duty and made arrests through numerical superiority, rarely needing hand-to-hand combat. The few who had witnessed his technique were either in the Yellow Springs or rotting in the Political Security Bureau's dark cells.

He slowly removed his jacket and set it aside. In bare-handed combat, loose clothing offered an opponent too many handles—points of leverage for grappling, choking, throwing. Next, he produced a headband and tied his hair tightly. Traditional hairstyles made hair-grabbing inevitable, and he intended to minimize that vulnerability. Finally, he took out a roll of cloth strips and wrapped them quickly around his wrists and hands, protecting his knuckles and the small joints of his fingers.

Beneath the jacket was a physique of bronze-colored muscle—a body forged through modern nutritional science and the Action Team's systematic training regimen. His muscle definition and density were uncommon in this era. A balanced fat ratio ensured both endurance and explosive power. His tough waist and core formed the foundation of his strength. Broad trapezius muscles and a thick neck provided solid resistance to strikes. The tendons across his back and chest trembled slightly, coiled with potential force.

At thirty, Xu Tong was past the peak athletic age by modern standards, but years of proper nutrition and uninterrupted training had preserved his condition. Standing about 1.77 meters tall and weighing under 78 kilograms, he had shifted away from heavy weightlifting as he aged, relying primarily on bodyweight exercises like knuckle push-ups. This approach maintained his agility and flexibility without adding excessive bulk—with a jacket on, he didn't look particularly formidable.

Unregulated street fighting devours physical reserves at an alarming rate. It demands both explosive bursts and sustained endurance, while keeping something in reserve for additional threats or sudden complications. In standardized tests during training, Xu Tong could sustain four two-minute explosive periods under normal conditions—enough to support a continuous high-intensity street fight.

He maintained a minimum of eighty minutes of daily training when circumstances allowed, including at least forty-five minutes of ring sparring. After sparring with Chen Sigen from the Special Reconnaissance Team, Chen had remarked with regret that Xu Tong possessed the potential of a professional athlete. Unfortunately, he was too old. A decade younger, with professional training, he would have been a terrifying force in the ring. But there were no professional leagues awaiting him now, and given his position, exceptional fighting skills served little practical purpose.

Xu Tong performed several sets of warm-up movements—torso twists, arm stretches, inner thigh stretches, high leg extensions. He drew a slow breath, then walked into the field. He cupped his hands to Sun Gang in greeting, then raised both fists into his stance.

His left hand led, the top of his fist level with his brow. His shoulders rose slightly to shield his chin. His rear fist sat level with the middle of his ear, protecting his jaw and the delicate balance canals of his inner ear. Both elbows hung close to guard his ribs. His torso leaned forward. His legs formed a forty-five-degree angle, feet roughly twenty centimeters apart. The balls of his feet pressed firmly against the ground while his heels touched lightly, ready for quick turns and lateral movement.

Pockmarked Chen burst out laughing from the sidelines. "Look at that! Hugging his head, shrinking his neck—doesn't he look like a turtle? Is this turtle fist?" Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Sun Gang had been waiting impatiently. When Xu Tong entered, he strode forward to meet him. He was a large man, standing 1.80 meters—exceptional height for the era—and outweighed Xu Tong considerably. His protein intake was adequate, though he carried more fat, fitting the traditional image of a broad-waisted, round-shouldered strongman. He offered a brief cupped-fist salute in return, then tucked in his clothes, tightened his belt, and assumed his starting stance. His hands rose to chest height, left forward and right back, fingers spread loosely rather than clenched. His front foot stepped out, rear foot following. The Wen Family Seventy-Two Rows of Fists emphasized the Five Elements and Twelve Turns, excelling in leg techniques—stomping, kicking, stroking, pushing, tripping, turning, butting, and striking. It was a large-frame style that favored rigidity. As the boxing proverb went, "Fists strike the unknown"—attack high to take low, feint to strike true. Traditional boxing also held that "No blocking or parrying, just one strike; if blocking occurs, there will be ten"—strike the vitals and defeat the enemy in a single blow.

Seeing both men in position, Ge Yaoxian shouted, "The martial arts competition begins!" He gestured with both hands and retreated from the field.

Xu Tong's fundamentals had been repeatedly refined by Chen Sigen using modern textbooks—textbook-perfect, in the literal sense. Where traditional martial arts represented accumulated heritage, modern combat was sports science. Mixed Martial Arts was an inclusive, evolving system. Practitioners came from across the world, bringing their nations' fighting traditions into a crucible that selected optimal solutions from each. MMA constantly absorbed new techniques and theories, developing, improving, never stagnating. Refined methods were tested repeatedly against human physiology and kinetics, analyzed through vast datasets to identify the most efficient force generation and striking techniques, then disseminated through competition and training. This convergence had reduced the diversity and theatrical flourish that culture and tradition once brought to martial arts.

In the modern world, even ordinary boxing gyms taught techniques nearly identical to professional teams. The differences lay in nutrition and diet control, training plans, physical standards, intensity, targeted exercises, and access to high-level sparring partners and competition. Modern protective equipment and medical care also made it possible to accumulate extensive combat experience without crippling injury. In earlier times, a single fight might leave wounds that never healed properly, or permanent disabilities—making it difficult to improve through repeated actual combat. Yet fighting required constant live practice to prevent fundamentals like footwork and force generation from degrading under pressure. Even someone who struck pads and bags with perfect form would find themselves flustered when facing a living opponent of comparable skill—movements would deform, tactics would collapse. This was "train well, fight poorly." Only through extensive fighting could one develop true combat instinct, the awareness that allowed trained strength, speed, and technique to emerge fully. Modern fighting incorporated confrontation from the very beginning. In his first week of training, Xu Tong couldn't even throw a standard jab at an opponent. The only way past this was gradual adaptation through constant sparring—learning to maintain calm and keen perception amid intense exertion, to capture fleeting opportunities.

Sun Gang advanced with his left foot, right following, closing the distance incrementally. Suddenly, he launched a right straight punch at Xu Tong's face. Xu Tong ducked quickly, slipped to the left, and stepped back. Sun Gang rushed forward immediately, throwing rapid combinations with both hands. Xu Tong covered his head with both arms, blocking continuously while his upper body swayed left and right, feet retreating without pause. Most of Sun Gang's strikes missed entirely, and those that connected lost their force against Xu Tong's blocking and evasive movement. Sun Gang felt as though his strength had nowhere to land. Frustration crept in. Usually, his height and power advantage combined with years of martial training were enough to overwhelm any opponent quickly. He had never encountered anything like this.

(End of Chapter)