The Way of Restraint

Chapter 91 : A Casual Slap Teaches Respect

The younger generation—men and women alike—grinned as they watched Xu Jiahao mess with Su Jie.

To them, Su Jie and Xu Ying had come to disgust them, snatch their wealth, and potentially cut off their financial lifelines.

And cutting off someone’s livelihood is like killing their parents.

“Ah Hua! Get over here! Take him into the next room to search him and change his clothes!” Xu Jiahao clapped his hands and ordered the burly man in camouflage.

The camo-clad man looked at Xu Jieren, clearly waiting for his cue.

Obviously, he was one of Xu Jieren’s trusted men—Xu Jiahao couldn’t command him directly.

Xu Jieren gave Ah Hua a subtle signal, granting permission.

“Ah Hua, hurry up! I can’t stand the stink on this guy anymore… don’t you all smell it?” Xu Jiahao pinched his nose and laughed again with the others.

SMACK!

Out of nowhere, a loud slap echoed like a firecracker going off. 

Everyone froze.

They saw something unbelievable: Su Jie had raised his hand and slapped Xu Jiahao across the face.

“Aaargh…”

Xu Jiahao howled in pain as Su Jie’s strike hit a nerve. A clear vertical handprint quickly appeared on his face—not the typical sideways slap. That’s because Su Jie’s habitual strike came from above—a technique known as the “Hoe Strike Technique.”

“You dare hit me…” Xu Jiahao’s face turned red and swollen. The slap had nearly disfigured him. He was in so much shock he couldn’t even yell properly.

“Did your parents never teach you how to speak to people?” Su Jie asked coldly. “Is this how you were raised?”

“You’re insane!” Xu Jieren finally came to his senses, seething with rage. He hadn’t imagined Su Jie would actually dare to strike someone here. In their eyes, this crowd was the cream of the crop—pampered elites. Outsiders didn’t even *dare* to offend them, let alone lay a hand on them.

“Ah Hua! Ah Hua! Grab him! Tie him up! Hang him up!” Xu Jieren barked three commands in a row, unable to hide his fury.

Ah Hua lunged forward.

SMACK!

Su Jie moved faster. Before Ah Hua could reach him, Su Jie was already in front of him, delivering another slap—this time right to the face.

Ah Hua, the burly man in camouflage, didn’t even have time to cry out before crumpling to the ground, lying motionless face down—almost as if dead. Only his legs were still twitching uncontrollably.

“Yes, yes, let it blow up… the bigger the better…” Xu Jiahong, who had been silent until now, was inwardly thrilled. He wanted Su Jie to cause a scene beyond control. He knew how skilled Su Jie was—even Ding wasn’t his match—so he hadn’t dared to intervene first.

“Somebody! Quick! Somebody help!” one of the girls screamed, her garishly painted lips trembling. Her expensive handbag fell to the ground.

Just then, seven or eight more men in camouflage rushed in from the courtyard.

“Stop!” came a commanding voice—Huang Dingyi had just entered and saw the chaos unfolding. He immediately shouted for calm.

The camo-clad men froze when they saw him.

Huang Dingyi was their martial arts instructor, their Shifu.

“Who told you to stop?” Xu Jieren was even angrier now. Then he saw who it was. “Master Huang? Why are you here? We were just talking about visiting you.”

“I told them to stop,” Huang Dingyi said bluntly, ignoring Xu Jieren. Turning to Su Jie, he said, “Su Jie, these kids are out of line. For my sake, let it go.”

“Master Huang, what are you talking about? He just started beating people out of nowhere!” Xu Jieren was stunned. He had no idea why Huang Dingyi was taking Su Jie’s side—or why he immediately blamed them.

“I’m going to kill you!” Xu Jiahao finally recovered a bit and, eyes bloodshot with rage, charged at Su Jie like a madman.

Without hesitation, Huang Dingyi stepped forward and used a “Black Tiger Steals the Heart” strike—right to Xu Jiahao’s abdomen.

Xu Jiahao immediately passed out.

“Take him to the side to rest. He’ll be fine—just needs to cool off,” Huang Dingyi ordered calmly.

“Master Huang, what are you doing?” Xu Jieren’s brow furrowed deeply. “We respect you as a teacher, but this is our family’s internal matter.”

“Jieren, I’m doing this for your own good,” Huang Dingyi replied. “Just stay calm for now. The old man will be back shortly. I’ll explain it to him myself.”

Su Jie couldn’t tell exactly why Huang Dingyi was suddenly defending him. Maybe he didn’t want anyone seriously hurt, or maybe mentioning the Typhon Training Camp earlier had made Huang think Su Jie was one of *them*.

“Surround the area. Don’t let this kid get away,” Xu Jieren said coldly, shooting Su Jie a hard look. “I’m going to tell the old master. Master Huang, today is a big day. He assaulted people here—no one can cover for him.”

With that, Xu Jieren strode out briskly.

“Su Jie, have a seat,” Huang Dingyi said, pulling over two stools. “These younger ones—I watched them grow up. Yeah, they’re spoiled, but they’re still family.”

“All I did was slap him twice,” Su Jie replied, sitting down. “Didn’t even really go at him.”

“True. If you had really used your ‘Hoe Strike’ move, his skull would’ve been cracked open,” Huang Dingyi muttered under his breath. “You mentioned the Typhon Training Camp earlier—are you one of their trainees?”

Seeing Su Jie sitting and chatting so casually with Huang Dingyi infuriated the younger crowd. But there was nothing they could do. 

All they could do now was pray that Xu Jieren could bring back someone from the older generation to crush Su Jie’s arrogance.

Even though Huang Dingyi could keep the younger generation in check, if one of the elders stepped in, he couldn’t interfere.

*****

At that moment, on the mountainside behind the house…

A group of people surrounded two elderly men.

One wore a traditional Tang suit, eyes bright as he gazed out from the mountaintop, lost in thought.

Next to him sat a frail old man wrapped in thick blankets, slumped in a wheelchair. His face was sallow and weary.

Behind the wheelchair stood a large man in a Zhongshan suit, expression like stone. He looked like a machine—dead silent, with a face like a poker card. His hands gripped the wheelchair handles with unnerving steadiness, not a single tremor.

A short distance away stood a group of men—no women in sight—stationed far enough to avoid hearing the old men’s conversation.

The man in the wheelchair was none other than Xu Qiaomu, head of the Xu family.

“Master Luo, tell me the truth—how long do I have left?” Xu Qiaomu asked. “After your treatment, I felt better. But the clearer my mind gets, the more I feel something’s wrong.”

“Life and death are fate. Wealth is heaven’s will. Who can see clearly? I’m no god—I can’t presume to decide a man’s lifespan,” replied Master Luo.

Despite looking around forty, clean-shaven and sporting a military buzz cut, he exuded vitality. If not for the Tang suit, no one would think he was the legendary “Northern Luo.”

Xu Qiaomu knew the man was actually over seventy. A master of foresight, geomancy, and feng shui, his reputation was unmatched.

In the South, especially among the elderly, such beliefs ran deep. Xu Qiaomu had paid a heavy price to get him here.

“Master Luo, I followed your instructions—offered a house, and inside placed thirty-six catties of gold. No matter what, help me settle my affairs—only then can I leave in peace,” Xu Qiaomu said.

Master Luo had a rule: if he agreed to read your fate, you had to offer a house—and fill it with thirty-six catties (18kg) of gold.

At about 300 yuan per gram, that’s over five million yuan. But for the truly wealthy, that’s pocket change—a token of sincerity, really. More importantly, Master Luo rarely accepted clients.

Xu Qiaomu had only gotten him through an old friend’s favor. And he understood the symbolism—an homage to the Buddhist tale of Elder Gudu and Prince Jita paving the grove with gold to invite the Buddha to preach.

It wasn’t about the gold. It was about sincerity and the idea that true teachings are never casually shared.

“You’re not terminally ill,” Master Luo said. “Your vitality is fading because of heart troubles and worry—no medicine can cure that. At this rate, you have two, maybe three years left. But when it comes to lifespan readings, I’m not as skilled as Old Ma. His cloth-divination techniques are unmatched.”

“You’re too modest. Yes, there’s a saying: Southern Mao, Northern Luo, Central Ma. But your ancestor read the fate of Emperor Kangxi’s heir, didn’t he?” Xu Qiaomu, though aged, still had eyes like steel. In that moment, his former sharpness as a business mogul flared: “When I read Kangxi’s letters to Nian Gengyao, I saw him write the words ‘extremely accurate in divination’ about your ancestor.”

“You’re just flattering me. What Kangxi actually wrote in the margin of Nian Gengyao’s report was: ‘This man is not entirely unreliable. His readings are acceptable.’ Yes, my ancestor—Blind Luo—read fortunes for Kangxi, Yongzheng, and Qianlong. But the scholars of the time scorned him. I personally don’t like telling fortunes. That’s why I demand houses and gold—to scare most people off. Destiny isn’t fixed—it’s shaped by action. The Book of Changes begins with the words: ‘Strive ceaselessly. Hold virtue to bear the weight of the world.’ A person who is diligent, disciplined, and virtuous will naturally live long and prosper. Misfortune won’t touch him. Ghosts and gods won’t sway him. I may divine fates, but I don’t actually believe in fate. I want to make that clear to you.”

“A true gentleman does not believe in fate,” Xu Qiaomu sighed. “Hearing that, I know you truly are a master. But I know myself—I’ve lived a petty, grasping life. I’m no gentleman. That’s why fate can control me—and why I must believe in it. A gentleman isn’t someone who rejects fate—but someone whose virtue is so great that fate cannot touch him. Back when Nian Gengyao entered the capital, Kangxi told him to consult Blind Luo. But Nian, being a Confucian general, feared the scorn of the literati and refused. Kangxi even hinted at it in his letters, but Nian remained stubborn. In the end, he died under Yongzheng. If you’re not a gentleman, then you’d better respect fate. Trying to conquer demons with virtue—when you have none—is like smashing rocks with eggs.”