The Way of Restraint

“Sir,” Smith said from behind Larry, “Su Jie has left his post. Isn’t that a dereliction of duty?”

“I’m glad to see this.” Larry was entirely unconcerned. “Smith — get something straight. Su Jie is not simply my bodyguard. He’s also my instructor. And he’s a scientist whose physical data is essential to ongoing research that we cannot continue without. You cannot evaluate him by the standard of an ordinary hired guard. Understood?”

Since fully grasping Su Jie’s value, Larry’s internal categorization of the man had completely shifted. Scientific advisor. Instructor. Research subject of unique irreplaceable worth. The word bodyguard no longer captured it.

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Smith nodded, then moved to Zhang Hongqing. “Mr. Hongqing — my employer has an interest in what’s about to happen. He’d like to have the data recorded. Do you have any objection?”

“None.” Zhang Hongqing’s eyes moved briefly. He had caught Larry’s exchange with Smith despite the hall’s noise — his hearing was calibrated to a level that could distinguish the sound of a spider crossing a wall in a crowded street. He registered what it meant: Su Jie had already acquired Larry’s full trust.

*****

A wide space had been cleared in the hall. The same area where the lion dance had taken place — open, well-lit, easy to observe from all sides. The Zhang family ancestral hall hosted martial contests regularly, and the layout reflected that.

Zhang Manman had moved to the edge of the space. Around her, Zhang Lie, Zhang Xian, and the other outer disciples had gathered, making their alignment plain.

The elders watched this configuration with private unease and waited to see how Zhang Hongqing would handle it.

“Manman — can he actually win?” Zhang Lie asked, his voice low and tight. He was well aware that stepping out today had made him a target. There would be consequences. He had gone ahead anyway. “Zhang Kaitai is the best of the Zhang family’s younger generation. There’s almost no one between him and the Dragon Head.”

“Zhang Kaitai’s technique is far above the rest of us,” Zhang Manman said. “He’s been in the Honey Badger Training Camp since childhood. But he’s not Su Jie’s match. I told you I was confident — I’m not leading you into a bad bet. And even if this comes to nothing else, I have a line to Larry now. With his support, building something independent from the Zhang family is entirely viable.”

“When Su Jie went to pick up supplies from Awasi, I sparred with him,” Zhang Xian said. “At that point I thought Zhang Kaitai would beat him. I could read something of the gap even then — and I lost to him. That was a year ago.”

“People are different,” Zhang Manman said. “Some spend a decade and don’t move. Others transform in months. They say ‘after three days apart, look at a man with fresh eyes.’ It’s been a year.” She paused. “I’ll tell you plainly: Su Jie is now at a level where he can stand alongside the Dragon Head.”

“That’s impossible.” The response came from several of them simultaneously. They had committed to Zhang Manman’s cause, but this particular claim was beyond what they could take in. Su Jie on the same level as Zhang Hongqing? It seemed like something she was saying to encourage them rather than something she actually believed.

“Watch and judge for yourselves,” Zhang Manman said. “I intend to see each of you recognized properly. Follow me and you won’t be shortchanged. I’m doing this to reform the family — position should reflect ability. That’s the only way the Zhang family grows stronger. Right now, each of you works hard and produces results, and the elders collect the benefit. In any outside organization, contribution leads to equity. There’s no reason a family should work differently.”

“Exactly. This isn’t the old era. You can’t use family loyalty as a cover for extracting labor without reward.”

“It’s starting.” Zhang Xian’s attention snapped to the floor. “He’s really going in bare-handed.”

*****

Five paces apart. The fight about to begin.

‘Hiss. Hiss.’

Two Night Hawk combat blades appeared in Zhang Kaitai’s hands. Buck knives — American-made, listed among the world’s top combat cutlery, forged from specialized steel using precision modern metallurgy. They exceeded anything the ancient world had called a divine weapon by every practical measure.

These particular blades were narrower and more curved than standard issue — the curve was peculiar, carefully chosen. Zhang Kaitai had clearly designed them to his own specifications and commissioned them custom.

Looking at them, Su Jie thought of Wing Chun’s paired butterfly swords — the ‘Bat Cham Dao’ — weapons designed specifically for assassination and close killing, dangerous even in untrained hands.

With the blades in his grip, Zhang Kaitai’s entire presence transformed. Something cold and absolute settled over him. A king who owned the darkness he moved through.

‘Tiger father, worthy son,’ Su Jie noted to himself. A dual-blade practitioner of the first order. Dual blades were harder than single, and in skilled hands considerably more lethal. The bearing alone told Su Jie this man was close to Feng Hengyi — perhaps not quite equal, but not far short.

“Go ahead,” Su Jie said. “You first. I don’t mind.”

Zhang Kaitai said nothing. He gathered himself completely. Whatever trace of wounded pride had remained before the blades were in his hands dissolved the moment they were. Now there was only the weapons and the space between them.

Man and blade unified.

‘Jing’, ‘qi’, and ‘shen’ condensed to a single point.

Flash.

He came forward — a mantis in form, the blades held to cover every vulnerable area on his body, torso angled forward, moving in bounds rather than strides. In open unarmed fighting, this body posture would expose the forward plane and invite leg attacks. With blades in front, anyone who tried to kick would lose the leg.

Armed and unarmed fighting followed entirely different logic.

Zhang Kaitai moved like a cold-blooded creature, the dual blades cutting overlapping arcs — top to bottom, autumn wind through leaves — pulling Su Jie into the intersecting pattern.

Su Jie did not immediately counter. He wanted to see the openings.

Against an empty-handed opponent at his current level, he could have walked straight in — the force of a divine general, sheer physical density — and ended it in one exchange. His structural hardness was beyond what Zhang Kaitai’s hands could breach. But against live blades, no such armor existed. His body was not yet impervious to steel. Against weapons, you found the gap first, then acted.

He could have used thrown weapons and ended this in under a second. He had said he wouldn’t, and he would not.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

His footwork engaged — the Space Step — and to every observer he appeared to be moving through positions faster than continuous motion could explain. Zhang Kaitai’s blade advantage, which should have controlled the distance, found nothing to reach.

Su Jie moved left and right without expending visible effort.

Then, in the middle of a shift, he looked down — his gaze dropped to Zhang Kaitai’s knees, a focused look that carried the weight of an incoming strike, as though a leg attack was forming.

Zhang Kaitai felt the killing intent crystallize in that instant and brought both blades low to cover his legs.

Su Jie didn’t kick. The look was the attack.

He was using the Eight Methods of Eye Technique — learned from boxing coach Tang Jin at Heart-Cleansing Manor, after losing to him, after being shown exactly how the eyes could be weaponized. Tang Jin had done it to him first. Now Su Jie was deploying it in the Space Step’s constant motion, directing his gaze to Zhang Kaitai’s transitional moments — the thin instants between movements where coverage was incomplete — forcing Zhang Kaitai to defend there.

And then not attacking. Making him defend the position anyway.

“What’s happening?” Smith was watching carefully. He had real fighting knowledge. He could see Zhang Kaitai attacking continuously without landing anything, while Su Jie moved without returning any strikes — and yet Su Jie’s eyes kept flicking to specific points on Zhang Kaitai’s body, and each time they did, Zhang Kaitai immediately moved to cover that exact location.

“This is a high level of martial skill,” Sawai Takeji said quietly. He understood what he was seeing. “He is attacking with his eyes. Extremely sophisticated.”

Zhang Hongqing watched. His gaze sharpened.

*****

‘His speed is impossible,’ Zhang Kaitai was thinking inside the fight. ‘I have the distance advantage with the blades. I have every structural advantage armed combat provides. And I cannot touch him. It’s as if every movement I make has already been read before I’ve made it. And every time he looks at a point on my body, it’s the exact gap between one technique and the next — and I have to cover it, I have no choice — but he doesn’t attack. He makes me spend the defensive movement and gets nothing back, and I still have to do it because if I don’t and he goes there, I’m finished.’

One minute in, Zhang Kaitai was burning energy and receiving nothing in return. He had never experienced this kind of fight. He had anticipated many possible scenarios before this started. He had not anticipated this.

He felt like a chess player against an AI — every move calculated out to its conclusion before he made it, no errors on the other side, no emotional fluctuation, no uncertainty to exploit.

This was what a god looked like.

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