HPDBC Chapter 15 Subdued
Chapter 15 Subdued
Zhang Yang lay on the anti-fall mat, face up, his chest heaving violently, and he coughed a few times.
His arms were still in the crossed blocking position, but his fingertips and shoulders were numb, as if he had been swept from head to toe by an iron rod.
The bright fluorescent light overhead shone into his eyes, and he squinted at the circle of white light, his mind still replaying the image of that punch that had just landed on him.
The fist pierced the air with overwhelming force, and he was blasted away without even having time to make any corrective movements.
He was, after all, a freshman at a martial arts university. To be knocked off the stage by a mere aspiring martial artist with a single punch was something no one would believe.
Lin Fan climbed over the ropes of the arena, walked up to him, squatted down, and asked with concern, "Senior Brother Zhang, are you alright?"
"It's nothing serious." Zhang Yang grabbed Lin Fan's outstretched hand and used it to stand up, rubbing his still numb forearm with his other hand.
Arm guards are standard hard protective gear provided by martial arts schools. They are covered with a thick layer of leather and lined with cushioning foam. You won't feel a thing even if you take a dozen punches.
But now a faint red mark has appeared on the inside of his forearm, which is exactly where Lin Fan's fist struck.
He glanced down at the red mark, smiled wryly, and shook his hand. "You're really strong."
He paused, then added, "Your boxing skills are also very impressive. To be honest, I feel like you don't need me as your sparring partner at all."
This wasn't just polite talk. A sparring partner is supposed to help people find problems, correct their movements, and improve their combat skills, but after those twenty-odd moves, everything he could teach was immediately learned and used by Lin Fan, who then turned the tables and knocked him off the stage.
Zhang Yang raised his head and looked Lin Fan over again. The protective gear covered most of his face, revealing only his eyes. Those eyes were young, but his gaze was calm, unlike someone stepping onto the ring for the first time.
The ability to grasp the rhythm of actual combat, the timing of offense and defense transitions, and the power of the final punch are all qualities that ordinary aspiring martial artists cannot possess.
This is definitely not something that can be taught at an ordinary martial arts university.
"Which school are you from?" Zhang Yang asked. He was already considering befriending him. For Jiangcheng to produce someone of this caliber, they had to be a top student from a provincial key martial arts university.
They might even be students from those top martial arts universities.
It's common for students to come back to their hometowns during summer vacation to practice at the martial arts school and maintain their skills. He himself came back to work part-time as a coach.
"I'm from Jiangcheng No. 1 High School," Lin Fan replied casually as he took off his helmet.
Zhang Yang rolled his eyes, took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm: "I used to be from Jiangcheng No. 1 High School too. I'm asking which martial arts university you're attending now."
"Now?" Lin Fan blinked, stopping halfway off his helmet in his hand. "I haven't entered the Martial Arts University yet. I'm a senior in high school, just graduated."
Zhang Yang's hand froze in mid-air. He was about to tear off the Velcro on the arm protector, his fingers already pinching the edge of the clasp, but Lin Fan's words stopped him in his tracks.
He was stunned for a long time, about five or six seconds, as if something had stuck in his brain.
"What?"
He uttered a single syllable. Not the interrogative "what," but the kind where his mouth made a sound before his brain had fully rebooted.
A high school senior? Just graduated?
Zhang Yang stared at Lin Fan's face, which was fully revealed after he took off his helmet—young, indeed very young, with skin that still had the delicate feel of a high school student who hadn't experienced much hardship. Although his jawline was sharper than his peers, his facial features were still distinct and carried the immaturity of a young man.
This face doesn't look older than eighteen at all.
He had assumed that Lin Fan was a college student at the Martial Arts University, and even assumed in his mind that the other party was at least a top student in his second year, and maybe even a key member of the student union.
But the phrase "just graduated from high school" completely shattered all the judgments he had built up over the years.
impossible.
A high school senior punches a freshman from a martial arts university, sending him flying? What does that make his year at university? Was all his training for nothing?
"Lin Fan, that joke of yours isn't funny at all." Zhang Yang put down his arm guard and looked at Lin Fan's expression again.
His tone was a bit harsher than before. He wasn't really angry, but he felt a little offended—that someone who wasn't a top student from a prestigious university couldn't make friends?
Why would you make up such an obviously unreliable lie to fool people? "If it's inconvenient for you to say, then forget it, pretend I didn't ask."
"I'm telling the truth, Senior Brother Zhang." Lin Fan gave a wry smile, placing the helmet he was holding on the edge of the arena. "My exam admission ticket is still at home. Should I show it to you next time?"
Zhang Yang did not answer immediately.
He stared into Lin Fan's eyes for several seconds—without flinching or feeling guilty, his eyes were completely open and honest, with a hint of helplessness at being misunderstood.
That expression wasn't faked; at least, there was no trace of acting in it.
An absurd but inescapable conclusion was taking shape in his mind.
"Damn it." Zhang Yang's voice suddenly changed. He remembered something.
A couple of days ago, he saw a post on the martial arts forum with a particularly sensational title: "A 3000-pound student broke the national record at the Jiangcheng exam site."
He was lying on a folding bed in the martial arts gym's lounge, munching on bread and scrolling through his phone when he saw the post and almost choked on his bread.
3000 jin? Last year's national champion, Chu Feng, only weighed 2,130 jin. This number is obviously made up.
He tossed his phone aside without even clicking on it, thinking to himself that netizens these days would make up anything. But now—
"You..." Zhang Yang pointed at Lin Fan, his finger trembling slightly, "You, you, you—you're the one who weighs 3000 jin?"
"It's me." Lin Fan nodded.
Zhang Yang sprang up from the ground. He jumped from the spot, both feet off the ground, and the nearly 1.8-meter-tall man bounced up and down like a spring, landing with a dull thud from the anti-fall mat.
"Holy shit!" His "Holy shit!" was much louder than the previous one; it could be heard all over the second-floor corridor.
The trainees in the next room who were hitting the sandbags stopped and looked back. Through the small window, they saw Zhang Yang's face, which was flushed red.
Ignoring the stares of those around them, Zhang Yang grabbed Lin Fan's shoulder, his eyes wide like saucers. "That post about the 3000-jin (1500 catties) prize is real? It's true? It really happened to you? You're in Jiangcheng? You're the national champion?"
Lin Fan was shaken so badly he almost lost his balance. He thought to himself, "This guy was acting like a calm and experienced senior on the stage just now, but now he's acting like a fan who's finally met their idol."
"It's me, Senior Brother Zhang, please stop shaking me—"
"Me, me, me, me being the national champion's sparring partner? The national champion calling me senior brother?" Zhang Yang let go, spun around in place once, and then spun around again.
His lips curled up uncontrollably, an indescribable excitement mixed with a sense of absurdity and unspeakable pride surging from his chest to the top of his head, making him feel as if he had been filled with a whole bottle of soda, with bubbles rising from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
After his initial excitement subsided, he finally regained his footing, took a deep breath, and said in an unprecedentedly solemn tone, "Junior Brother Lin, how about we practice a little longer? Is there anything else you'd like to practice? Just say it! I'll stay with you all day, non-stop!"
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The top scorer in the country will be his sparring partner—no, he will be the top scorer's sparring partner.
Although the word order of this sentence is a bit tricky to understand, no matter how you look at it, he can brag about it for the rest of his life. You know what? That record-breaking top scorer in the college entrance exam, that monster weighing three thousand pounds, sparred with me. I took a punch from him.
"Okay, let's practice some more then." Lin Fan nodded. He hadn't planned to leave after just one practice session.
Those twenty-odd moves were only enough for him to try out the most basic moves of the Returning Mountain Fist style. There are still many techniques in the forum videos that he hasn't practiced yet.
For example, the rhythm of counterattack after dodging, how to use the elastic ropes at the corners of the ring to surround and intercept, and how to end the match with the shortest combo when the opponent's stamina is low.
In real combat, watching videos isn't enough; you have to fight your way through, punch by punch, to truly internalize the skills.
……
For the next three days, Lin Fan came to Zhenshan Martial Arts School every day. Zhang Yang also came every day, even more enthusiastically than when he was at work—before, when he worked the early shift, he would just step into the classroom right at the clock-in line, and being five or ten minutes late was common.
Now, he's squatting at the entrance every morning before the martial arts gym even opens.
Lin Fan practiced all the techniques of the Returning Mountain Fist he had learned from the martial arts forum videos.
From the three-stage rush of the mountain straight punch to the eleven variations of the swirling wind around the mountain, from the central pressure of a frontal assault to the corner encirclement of a counterattack,
From single-move bursts to combo attacks, he tested and refined each move one by one. Zhang Yang practiced with him, doing everything a sparring partner should do—instructing him on moves, blocking, dodging, counter-attacking, pointing out weaknesses, and adjusting the rhythm.
Later on, he was no longer teaching Lin Fan, but rather cooperating with Lin Fan in targeted training, like a moving target that could automatically retaliate.
By the end of the second day, Lin Fan was able to easily find gaps in Zhang Yang's defenses and launch effective attacks, reducing the number of moves from seven or eight to four or five.
Zhang Yang gritted his teeth and endured another day.
By the afternoon of the third day, the situation on the stage was a one-sided crushing victory for Lin Fan. He had completely mastered the techniques and methods of the Returning Mountain Fist. The same move, which was a straight line in practice, could branch out, turn, and change direction at any time in actual combat.
He perfectly applied the power stacking techniques he had accumulated in training to his fighting style. The nine-layered power no longer needed to be accumulated before it could be unleashed; instead, it could be flexibly deployed anytime, anywhere, according to the rhythm of actual combat.
Sometimes he breaks down the nine-fold overlapping force into three triple forces and interweaves them in a three-hit combo; other times he compresses the nine-fold overlapping force into a single instant and unleashes it all.
Zhang Yang had long since abandoned his initial "senior guiding junior" mentality and unleashed all his hidden skills. He didn't just use the Returning Mountain Fist; he employed every fist technique, body movement, and footwork he had learned at school.
The true energy amplification of the Yellow-grade superior martial soul was fully activated. But it was useless.
After three days of practical combat, Lin Fan's Returning Mountain Fist technique had become indescribably refined. Although it was only a basic fist technique of the Yellow Rank, it exerted the oppressive feeling of a Profound Rank fist technique in his hands.
The final punch.
Lin Fan seized the opportunity while Zhang Yang was taking a breath to rush into the center line, and his right fist came from a tricky angle, the edge of the fist grazing the edge of Zhang Yang's arm guard and cutting in, landing on the protective gear on his chest.
The nine layers of force erupted simultaneously, causing Zhang Yang to slide three steps backward. His back hit the elastic rope and bounced back, almost causing him to fall. He clutched his stomach, bent over, and gasped for breath, waving his other hand vigorously in the air.
"I'm done! I'm done! I'm done!" Zhang Yang plopped down on the ring mat, took off his helmet and threw it aside. His forehead was covered in sweat, and the back of his training uniform was soaked and clung to his body.
"Junior brother, you're too powerful. I'm no match for you at all. Your strength and skills—I feel you've already surpassed the level of a quasi-martial artist. You should be able to hold your own against a true martial artist."