C47 Teach

People who practice martial arts fall into two distinct categories.

The first group consists of those who lean towards performance, or to put it another way, those who practice for fitness and health. For the most part, their martial arts are for show.

The second group uses martial arts in combat and for lethal purposes. These individuals rarely strike, but when they do, the outcome is almost certainly injury or even death.

Each group has a different focus.

Those in the second category are known as martial artists.

Martial artists are inherently fighters, and their training is intensely rigorous.

The fighting style of a martial artist is never about performance; it's about combat and survival.

On the outside, practicing martial arts can build physical strength. Internally, it also develops one's qi.

Yet, the qi cultivated by a martial artist is vastly different from the qi that Westley practices.

According to Westley's master, Sky Breaking Energy is a form of innate Qi that transcends the cycle of reincarnation and can stabilize the forces of Yin and Yang in the universe. It's incredibly potent.

Westley has felt the profound effects of cultivating this energy for years. He believes the Sky Breaking Energy is shrouded in mystery, with endless potential.

Upon witnessing Rashawn unleash the Inch Force, Westley confirmed that he was indeed a martial artist.

Westley summoned a wisp of Sky Breaking Energy from his Dantian and Qihai, allowing it to course through his meridians.

He transformed his Qi into raw power.

In an abrupt motion, Westley seized Rashawn's palm and flipped it.

"Hmm?"

Rashawn's expression turned to one of alarm.

The formidable strength he felt was dangerously overwhelming.

He desperately channeled his Inch Force into his hand, hoping to counteract the onslaught!

But...

The power was simply too overwhelming.

It surged forth, unstoppable, like a mountain collapsing into the sea.

Rashawn's wrist was forcibly twisted and slammed onto the table with a thud.

The entire encounter lasted merely a second.

A true instant defeat!

The room fell into a hushed silence.

Everyone's mouths hung open, their eyes wide with astonishment, as if they had swallowed an egg whole.

Mr. Rashawn had actually been bested?

The security guards, who usually revered Rashawn like a deity, were in disbelief.

How could he have been defeated?

Marlon, standing to the side, was visibly stunned, his face a mask of incredulity.

Could this kid really be that formidable?

"He actually took down Mr. Rashawn in a split second?"

"I lost!" Rashawn's face turned a ghastly pale.

He had lost, and it was a defeat most bitter and humiliating.

An instant takedown!

Such a disgrace.

As he got to his feet, he suddenly stumbled, nearly crashing to the floor.

That's when everyone noticed Rashawn's arm dangling at an unnatural angle.

His hand was actually broken!

"Hold on!"

Westley seized Rashawn's fractured arm.

"What are you trying to do?" Rashawn's expression shifted.

The onlookers, a group of security guards, instinctively reached for their batons, eyeing Westley with suspicion.

They understood all too well the concept of mutual dependence.

Should Westley intend any harm to Mr. Rashawn, they would swarm in for the attack without hesitation.

"Easy now," Westley said with a sly grin.

Then, with a gentle push and a nudge of his palm, a faint click was heard.

Suddenly, Rashawn felt the pain in his arm subside.

Testing it, he found his arm restored, painlessly functioning as if nothing had happened.

Such a breathtaking display of bone-setting skill.

"Thanks," Rashawn said, his features softening as he offered a fist in gratitude.

"Don't mention it," Westley replied with a dismissive wave.

Despite the blow to his ego from the loss, Rashawn was well aware there were always bigger fish. His boss, Charlotte, was a towering peak he couldn't hope to scale.

He'd been through enough to know when to back down.

For someone like Westley, Rashawn could only offer deep respect.

Clearly, the man was a master.

A subtle noise drew Rashawn's attention to the table they had used for arm wrestling.

Unbeknownst to him, a hairline fracture had formed.

The crack then began to spread, weaving a spiderweb pattern.

Before their very eyes, the once sturdy wooden table disintegrated into rubble.

As the onlookers surveyed the splintered remains, their astonishment was palpable.

Their perception of Westley transformed.

They knew he was formidable, but they hadn't imagined the extent of his power.

His formidable strength had pulverized the table!

Surely, this was the kind of legendary master found only in tales.

At last, a look of genuine admiration etched itself across Rashawn's face.

"Thank you for holding back," Rashawn said, bowing with a fist again.

He truly admired Westley!

He had been defeated, but bore no resentment!

Rashawn was well aware that if Westley hadn't spared him, it wouldn't have been the table that was broken, but his arm.

"No problem," Westley replied with a generous air.

This was his perfect moment to play it cool.

Rashawn took the platinum card from the stunned bunny girl and presented it to Westley with both hands. "Sir, this platinum card is rightfully yours."

Westley accepted the card, squinting slightly, "Does your offer from earlier still stand?"

Rashawn shivered, his face taking on an odd expression.

You're such a formidable master, why dwell on such trivialities?

Honestly, even if you never paid for a visit, who would dare to stop you?

But Rashawn kept these thoughts to himself, managing instead a strained smile. "Mr. Lin, rest assured. Not only is your next visit on the house, but you'll also receive significant discounts on all future expenditures."

"Good," Westley said, clearly pleased.

However, upon seeing Rashawn's awkward smile, he couldn't resist commenting, "Maybe skip the smile next time; it's worse than a frown."

"Uh..."

Rashawn was on the verge of tears.

Can't you spare me some dignity?

I'm doing my best to keep smiling out of respect, okay?

With due deference, Rashawn inquired, "Mr. Lin, do you plan to continue playing, or...?"

Rashawn was probing Westley.

The Golden Palace had shown its hand in good faith, now it was time to see if Westley was here to stir up trouble.

"Well..."

Westley didn't respond immediately, instead scanning the room.

Rashawn understood the gesture.

He extended his hand, saying, "Mr. Lin, please come with me."

Westley, hands clasped behind his back, followed Rashawn to a luxurious reception room on the second floor.

In a gesture of esteem, Rashawn personally selected his prized bamboo leaf green tea and brewed it with mountain spring water for his guest.

After Westley had sipped his second cup of tea,

Rashawn inquired softly, "Mr. Jimenez, what do you think of the tea?"

"I'm no connoisseur. But if pressed, I'd say the tea is rather insipid," Westley candidly replied.

Rashawn pondered the comment, momentarily taken aback.

Then, as if struck by a revelation, he seemed to grasp an underlying message.

Was Westley implying that my training was merely superficial, lacking a deep engagement to grasp the true essence of martial arts?

Of course, that had to be it.

Lately, I've been preoccupied with the affairs of the Golden Palace, neglecting my martial arts studies, which has led to a decline in my abilities.

Such is the insight of a true master; he could unveil the mystery with just one remark.

He appeared to be critiquing the tea, yet in reality, he was offering me a cautionary note.

The analogy was nothing short of brilliant!

Indescribably so!

With this realization, Rashawn rose to his feet, bowed deeply with a respectful fist salute, "I am grateful for your enlightenment. Your favor will not be forgotten."

Westley nearly choked on his tea.

I merely commented on the tea's weakness, and you took it as instruction?

You're reading far too much into it!