The Way of Restraint

Chapter 117: A Well-Laid Plan

“Zhang Jinchuan really is impressive. He reminds me of the great strategists of the Three Kingdoms era,” Zhang Manman said to Su Jie.

“Mm. This makes me think of Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, when he broke free from the Siege of Baideng. He bribed the enemy leader’s wife with a fortune, had her whisper pillow talk, and escaped. In my view, Zhang Jinchuan must have promised Fuya a great deal. Even if he pockets sixty percent, I suspect he’ll have to give away quite a lot.” Su Jie nodded.

“Too bad. Even if this goes through, you won’t gain a single benefit.” Zhang Manman said, “I noticed Zhang Jinchuan really wants you to join his company. Are you in or out?”

“We’ll talk when we get back.” Su Jie had already made up his mind. Zhang Jinchuan was someone he could work with, but never truly trust. No need to put all his stakes on him. “Honestly, I’ve already gained plenty this time—realizing where my psychological resilience falls short. That’s a cultivation benefit no wealth can compare with.”

Far away in a valley, “Hungry Wolf” met with a burly, bearded man.

The man was Bata, dressed in yellowish camouflage, with dozens of soldiers behind him, their uniforms still stained with blood.

“What’s going on?” Bata glared at “Hungry Wolf.” “Weren’t you captured? And didn’t you sell me out? How are you standing here?”

“I should be asking you! What happened?” Hungry Wolf was baffled.

“I heard you and Grey Wolf were captured, and that you exposed me. Then rumors spread that I was about to rebel, so I ran.” Bata said.

“Damn it—we’ve walked right into a trap.” Hungry Wolf froze for a few seconds, then roared.

“What trap?” Bata demanded.

“Let’s go. We can’t stay here. If Awasi catches us, we’re dead. If you hadn’t run, we might still have had a chance to clear our names. But since you fled, the charges are confirmed. There’s no going back now.” Hungry Wolf saw the situation clearly.

They’d been spooked into running.

“Fuya couldn’t have devised such a plan—it must have been those three little bastards. Who knew they were so sharp? How did they even know Fuya? And why would she listen to them?” Hungry Wolf was genuinely puzzled.

The scheme had two key points: first, Fuya had to trust those three; second, a rumor had to spread instantly to cause panic and force Bata to expose himself.

“Call it their good luck. Too bad about Grey Wolf.” With that, Hungry Wolf quickly left.

Meanwhile, at the manor, General Awasi was tallying his senior officers. He found no real power players had sided with Bata’s rebellion and breathed a sigh of relief. After issuing commands, he told his officers:

“From today, Gale will take Bata’s place. Any objections?”

“None!”

No one dared oppose.

“Good.” Awasi nodded. “Bring Fuya to me. You are dismissed.”

Half an hour later, Fuya arrived.

Awasi gestured for her to sit. “Fuya, you acted decisively this time. Well done.”

“I only did what I should.” Fuya remained standing, straight-backed. That only raised Awasi’s regard for her. “I came to ask about those seized goods. What do you think should be done?”

“Seizing them was Bata’s idea. He was actually trying to harm you, General,” Fuya said. “We need stability and reconstruction now. That requires their country’s help. If this incident damages your reputation, no one will want to do business with you later—that would be a terrible loss. Besides, their nation is strong and friendly, with other powers gravitating toward them. If they take a stance over this matter, we could find ourselves isolated. I recommend resolving this amicably. Also, the Xu family has vast experience in foreign trade. By working with them, we could open trade routes, hand over some business to them, and ultimately make far greater profits.”

“I see…” Awasi was persuaded by the logic. He nodded. “So Bata deceived me. I failed to see the long-term benefits. Old methods won’t work. With peace approaching, we must change our mindset.”

“Your wisdom is divine, General.” Fuya seized the chance to flatter him.

Back at the manor’s dining hall, Su Jie and the others sat waiting for news.

Zhang Manman still looked uneasy.

Su Jie reassured her: “Don’t worry. This should work out.”

“How can you be so sure?” Zhang Jinchuan asked with a smile.

“For us, we’re secondary. The key is that our country is strong now, standing behind us. Awasi wouldn’t dare take drastic measures—only play small tricks. Plus, we’ve erased the Feng family’s influence, so no one’s fanning the flames. With Fuya speaking on our behalf, if this still fails, then heaven itself is unjust.” Su Jie’s judgment was steady.

Soon, a rich aroma drifted in. Chefs arrived, serving a lavish spread—bread, butter, roast turkey, mashed potatoes, cheesecake, apple pie, bananas, nuts, steaming coffee.

There were even cigars.

“It worked.” Zhang Manman, seeing such a feast, knew success was almost certain.

Earlier, they hadn’t even been offered water.

Sure enough, Awasi arrived with Fuya and his son Gale.

Awasi’s expression had softened. He greeted them warmly: “Come, let’s have lunch. I’ve decided to release your goods and ships and clear up the misunderstanding. But I hope we can strengthen business ties. We could sign an agreement. I have large shipments to sell and will need to make purchases abroad. How about giving all the orders to you?”

“That’s wonderful.” Zhang Manman hadn’t expected such a drastic shift.

The meal was cheerful for hosts and guests alike.

Afterward, Awasi turned to Su Jie: “I hear you’re skilled in martial arts. Gale wants to learn from you. I also have capable fighters here. How about a match?”

“Of course.” Su Jie couldn’t refuse. Though Awasi had agreed to release their cargo, no paperwork had been processed yet. A change of mind was only a thought away.

“Daru, come in.” Awasi clapped.

Through the door strode a warrior nearly two meters tall, muscles like boulders. Yet he moved with the lightness of a cat, footsteps silent and agile.

Usually, bulky muscles slow a fighter, but this man was different—his body was both powerful and nimble.

The ideal fighting physique is compact and flexible: soft when relaxed, hard as iron when tensed, like scales layered over the body. Too little body fat is a problem, too much is a problem. The balance is key.

Daru, however, was born with natural strength—what ancient people called “divine power.” Add rigorous training and countless battles, and he was formidable.

He stripped off his shirt, revealing a torso crisscrossed with scars—knife wounds, bullet wounds, not an inch of unmarked skin. A terrifying sight. Any opponent would lose heart at first glance.

Su Jie was stunned.

Every scar was a record of battle. Daru’s real-life combat experience far surpassed his own. These weren’t sparring scars, but the marks of surviving countless brushes with death.

Scars are a man’s medals—and Daru’s were uncountable.

‘This man’s real-fight experience dwarfs mine. In terms of strength and stamina, I may not even have an edge.’ Su Jie didn’t dare underestimate him. He knew himself—though he’d fought many matches and trained at the highest level, his psychological resilience was still lacking. He hadn’t yet reached the state of treating life and death as mere play. His corpse-pose meditation, infant curl, and external body training were, at the end of the day, just layers of psychological armor.

But here, facing real guns, he realized once stripped of those mental crutches, he was still just an ordinary man.

Su Jie weighed in at 85 kilograms. Daru looked at least 150.

Even in world combat sports, such a heavyweight class didn’t exist.

Not even boxing’s super heavyweight division reached that size.

But since he’d agreed, Su Jie had no choice but to step up.

Zhang Jinchuan’s expression darkened. He could tell Daru was no ordinary opponent.

“Even Liu Long, the top domestic fighter, wouldn’t be his match,” Zhang Jinchuan murmured to Zhang Manman. “I wouldn’t dare face him.”

“Liu Long is the 80-kilo champion. This man is twice his size, with longer reach. That alone is daunting. Worse, he’s had special training and countless kill-or-be-killed fights. For him, professional fighters are like hobbyists sparring in a park. If I’m right, he’s also been long-term on banned substances and stimulants.” Zhang Manman nodded grimly.

Zhang Jinchuan grew anxious for Su Jie. He was well-versed in combat himself and understood the strengths and flaws of both traditional martial arts and modern fighting.

Most traditional martial arts practitioners, even “masters,” lack true fight experience. When a real fight comes, their moves fall apart—like students who’ve memorized formulas but never solved problems, freezing during the exam.

And even professional fighters, though hardened by ring combat, were like chickens compared to men who’d survived battlefields drenched in blood.