The Way of Restraint

Chapter 79: Struggling to Stay Afloat, A Seed Planted in the Soil

After Old Liu, two more martial arts enthusiasts stepped up to spar with Su Jie.

Predictably, they were easily overwhelmed, toyed with as if caught in the palm of his hand.

Anyone who hasn’t personally experienced Su Jie’s “Hoe Strike” technique might find it unimpressive in video form—less flashy than backflips or tornado kicks. But only those who’ve faced him and been knocked down by it truly understand its power.

No matter how one dodges or counters, they always seem to run straight into an overwhelming palm that crashes into their face.

When that palm covers your face, it’s like being Monkey King caught under Buddha’s divine hand.

Su Jie used just that one move in every fight—no variations.

Though he had learned the Eighteen Freehand Techniques from Gu Yang—such as “Long-armed Ape Reach,” “Tiger’s Roar and Crane’s Cal,” and “Mandarin Duck Chain Kick”—he rarely used them. Sometimes, for fun, he’d throw in a hooking kick from the Mandarin Duck style, but even that was blended into his core “Hoe Strike” move.

That move, with its knee kick at the moment of lift, carried the digging and flipping strength of turning soil—hooking and overturning with the tip of the foot.

“I’ll wire the 10,000 yuan for this teaching and sparring session to your account,” Hua Xing said quietly during the break after the match.

“10,000 yuan?” Su Jie was shocked. “Old Liu didn’t even charge them. And the other two, five grand each? Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Not at all.” Hua Xing waved dismissively. “You’re still thinking too small. Do you know that after that MMA coach went viral for beating a Tai Chi enthusiast, even the guy who got beat started charging appearance fees—10,000 yuan per fight. Lots of fighters lined up just to pay for a chance to knock him down. He made a killing off of it.”

“What? 10,000 yuan?” Su Jie shook his head. This world made no sense.

“Zhou Chun also does coaching bouts. Each session is 50,000 to 100,000. Three rounds, ten minutes total,” Hua Xing said. “International star Liu Zihao runs a gym in the U.S.—his autographed photos go for \$100,000. My own coaching rate is 10,000 per hour.”

“There are that many rich people out there?” Su Jie thought about it. His mom, dad, and sister together barely made 50,000 to 60,000 a month. The fitness industry was way deeper than he thought.

“The economy’s booming. Cities like ours are full of rich people,” Hua Xing explained. “As long as you have a bit of a reputation, your value multiplies tenfold. These days, companies making only a million a year dare to claim billion-yuan valuations—and investors actually buy it. Some lose money year after year and are still worth fortunes. That’s the market. And you—what you’ve got is real skill. Your value’s still underestimated. But we’re going for scarcity marketing. Three coaching matches per day. Must book in advance. I’ll promote you in the right circles—S City is crawling with wealthy white-collar types. The fitness and combat scene is huge.”

While talking, Hua Xing laid out four or five phones in a row on the table. All of them were buzzing with activity, chat notifications popping non-stop.

“See? These martial arts groups I’ve joined—even some experts from other provinces want to book matches with you,” Hua Xing said. “Your schedule could be filled until next year. Of course, that’s partly because Haoyu Group has been heavily promoting Zhou Chun lately.”

Zhou Chun had joined Haoyu Group, gaining access to major publicity. After breaking into the national top ten rankings, his popularity skyrocketed. But getting knocked out cold by a single slap from Su Jie turned the spotlight onto Su Jie instead.

“Even though that match with Zhou Chun had a no-recording rule, people still snuck videos. I’ve seen them floating around in groups. But why haven’t I seen anything online?” Su Jie asked. “Did Haoyu spend a fortune scrubbing the internet?”

“Exactly. Haoyu has investments in tons of news, social media, and video platforms. All it takes is a word and your video can’t be uploaded,” Hua Xing waved it off. “But that’s actually good for you. I want your image to spread in small, exclusive circles—as a mysterious expert.”

As they spoke, Hua Xing uploaded a short video of Su Jie and Old Liu arm wrestling to a few private social groups.

Immediately, the groups exploded with messages.

“Amazing, amazing…” Su Jie could tell these were some of Hua Xing’s tactics. The guy clearly had a sharp business mind—it was just that he hadn’t had the right “treasure” to work with before.

And Su Jie knew he did have value.

Back at the beginning, Nie Shuang had tried to sign him to *Minglun Martial Arts Academy*. Later, Liu Zihao wanted him to work as his stunt double. Then Feng Hengyi tried to recruit him as a sparring dummy.

And then there was Tang Jin, whom he’d met at the Xixin Villa, wanting to train him into a prizefighter for profit.

All of it traced back to one person—the “Godmaker,” Odell—who had turned this lump of rock into gold.

And so, the days rolled by. Su Jie’s life settled into a simple routine: home, school, Hua Xing’s fighting gym.

The small gym, under Hua Xing’s management, was booming. It still wasn’t open to the public, operating only within niche circles. But thanks to Hua Xing’s networking, word of Su Jie began spreading to combat circles across the country.

If Su Jie had no wins under his belt, no one would pay him any attention. The problem was, he had defeated Zhou Chun. On top of that, videos of his daily sparring sessions—whether deliberately released or not—had been making the rounds, drawing the curiosity of top fighters from all over the country who wanted to see this “rare specimen” for themselves.

The combat sports community in China is a small one, mostly made up of enthusiasts. But even a tiny ripple in such a niche circle could be a windfall for a small gym like Hua Xing Martial Arts. Even a ten-thousandth of the population showing interest would be enough to rake in serious cash.

Su Jie hosted three guided matches a day, ten minutes each, charging 5,000 yuan per session. That gave him a daily income of 15,000 yuan.

At first, he thought people would only fork out that kind of “sucker money” in the early days, and that the hype would die off quickly, leaving him with empty slots. But to his surprise, the demand didn’t fade—in fact, his schedule was fully booked for a month straight.

He couldn’t figure out where Hua Xing had found so many rich folks.

It even made him start to wonder: had he been living in a slum all this time? Was he just too green, too sheltered?

Of course, in addition to the ten-minute sparring sessions, he also ran a 45-minute fitness training class, which was included in the 5,000 yuan fee.

Su Jie took his job seriously. Determined to make sure his clients got their money’s worth, he began to develop a teaching methodology. He studied a lot of fitness and martial arts training materials on his own. After all, he was a complete rookie when it came to coaching.

Besides, Odell and Uncle Mang’s training methods were completely unsuitable for regular people.

The training volume Odell had once assigned to him would leave anyone else collapsed after an hour, and pissing blood with kidney failure after two.

Back when Su Jie was training Qian Zheng at “Stellar Radiance,” it was the same story. Qian Zheng couldn’t even complete a third of the training load each day—even after Su Jie had cut it in half.

So, no—Su Jie wasn’t exactly a great coach.

But he had learned from experience. While he studied on his own, he also leaned on the smart training module his older sister had loaded into a chunky tablet for him. With it as a reference, he trained his students more effectively—and it paid off.

Under his guidance, their progress was fast and obvious.

That smart module didn’t do much for Su Jie himself, but for hobbyists, it was practically a holy grail.

Once, he showed the module to Hua Xing, who was utterly blown away. Hua Xing immediately told him to keep it under wraps and use it quietly.

Thanks to Su Jie’s growing name in the community, the training results that were both fast and fun, and a bit of calculated media hype on Hua Xing’s part, the little martial arts gym suddenly exploded in popularity.

Hua Xing didn’t let the success go to his head, though. On the contrary, he began carefully screening who could join.

As for the gym’s operations, Su Jie stayed out of it entirely—he didn’t want the distraction. He believed everyone had their strengths, and dividing the workload made sense.

Hua Xing had a real knack for managing fitness and combat sports, building networks, stirring up buzz in just the right corners, and using scarcity and emotional hype to drive interest. These were all things Su Jie had no intention of learning. One person’s energy is limited—better to focus on what you’re good at.

As long as the gym was booming, and money was rolling in without breaking the law, Su Jie was happy.

Things were going great for both Su Jie and Hua Xing. But not everyone was thrilled about it.

Thailand. Inside a large, rural fighting gym.

Smash!

Zhou Chun hurled his phone to the ground, shattering it to pieces.

During a break at the training gym, he had opened a group chat for fighters—only to find yet another clip posted of himself getting slapped into unconsciousness by Su Jie and needing a doctor’s checkup. He finally snapped.

“I’m going to kill that b*stard. And Hua Xing too! A couple of d*mn rats!” Zhou Chun roared, shaking with fury.

He had become the laughingstock of the entire industry.

Professional fighters, whether they believed the hype or not, were all giving him strange looks now.

“Didn’t expect that little nobody to actually have some skills,” said a voice from behind him.

Zhou Chun shuddered. He turned and saw Feng Hengyi.

Originally, he’d looked down on this seventeen or eighteen-year-old “punk,” but after being turned into his punching bag, Zhou Chun had learned just how terrifying Feng Hengyi really was. In front of him, Zhou Chun was no more powerful than an ant.

And Feng Hengyi was brutal. Zhou Chun had witnessed him kill several underground fighters with his bare hands—every death gruesome beyond words.

This was real, actual killing.

Zhou Chun, for all his viciousness and cunning, had never killed anyone.

But Feng Hengyi killed like he was brushing his teeth—routine and effortless. Zhou Chun knew better than to mess around in front of someone like that.

“Boss,” he stood up and greeted him respectfully, barely daring to breathe.

“I know about Su Jie,” Feng Hengyi said. “I was going to use him as my human sandbag, but he had the nerve to refuse. I had Grey Wolf follow him, but even Grey Wolf wasn’t a match.”

He paused, then added, “But someone like that isn’t worth my time. You’re heading to the underground fighting circuit tomorrow. Kill someone in the ring first. When you come back, we’ll find a way to kill him too.”