After returning to Wuyi Academy, Chen Chuan planned to take a few days of proper rest. He had no intention of moving into the residence right away; after all, everything was exceedingly convenient here at Wuyi.
In particular, sparring sessions with Hongfu were impossible to find anywhere else. Such a service could only be purchased at Wuyi, and once one left the academy, it would no longer be available—unless one became an instructor there.
So he wondered whether he might secure a position as an academy instructor once his studies concluded. At present, that seemed somewhat difficult, but there was no rush; he could consider it down the line.
After unwinding for a bit, he had a good night's sleep. When he awoke the next day, he realized that in his dreams the night before, past memories left behind by the parents of this body had surfaced once again.
He cast his mind back. In the memory, his perspective had been practicing fist techniques, and the routine was intimately familiar—it was the Orthodox Sanshou he often used.
Yet the way it was executed carried a different feel: softness concealing hardness, transitions flowing effortlessly, and sections requiring explosive force executed with no lack of power. It had clearly reached a distinguished level.
This was likely the mother of this body practicing her routine. Judging by the force behind the strikes, though, it showed performance roughly around the Second Limit.
These memories did not appear to follow chronological order, instead leaping about. This one seemed to be from before she met that earlier woman. At this point, the mother of this body felt only eighteen or nineteen years old.
Under normal circumstances, among students graduating from Wuyi Academy, those in the upper-middle tier of Class A students roughly reached this limit, and even recommended students rarely proved an exception.
Yet he had an inexplicable feeling that this memory had been left specifically for him to see—as if it were... teaching him boxing techniques?
Although his own limit had long since surpassed this stage, he had to admit that watching this routine play out still offered him inspiration. In particular, every move and posture contained an unyielding fighting spirit that yearned toward the infinite, well worth savoring.
As he immersed himself in the experience, he unconsciously forgot everything else, throwing himself heart and soul into it. By the time he snapped back to reality, he found he had already gone through the entire routine himself.
At this, he couldn't help thinking: if he had been injected with these medicines before attending Wuyi, he might have been able to experience this directly and picked it up with great speed.
He had tried searching for memory-related drugs last time, but no such thing appeared to exist on the market. Most likely, it belonged to an exceedingly rare category or required special conditions; otherwise, it would have long since flooded Wuyi Academy and various government agencies.
While he was pondering this, the perspective in the memory walked over to an imposing, valiant woman who looked to be in her twenties, her single ponytail hanging all the way down to her heels.
During the practice earlier, this woman had been watching from a distance, which hadn't seemed unusual at the time. But upon drawing close, he discovered that she was remarkably tall—one had to crane one's neck up just to speak to her.
Comparing her to surrounding objects in the memory, the woman stood at least two point two meters tall, perhaps even taller. Yet her body proportions were exceptionally well-balanced, which was why she hadn't looked out of the ordinary from afar.
Moreover, upon nearing her, he could distinctly sense the formidable power residing in her limbs; an abundant vitality radiated from her without the slightest concealment.
He considered it; this was probably his current body's mother's teacher. The relationship between teacher and student seemed quite good.
In his view, the mother of this body had already practiced this routine very well, yet the instructor seemed dissatisfied. She offered pointers on several key aspects right there on the spot, mostly concerning the transitions between movements and the transmission of force.
Chen Chuan listened through, cross-referencing it with what he had just practiced, thoughtful.
From his perspective, these minor details were largely optional. Paying deliberate attention to them worked, and ignoring them was fine too. After all, in actual combat, only a handful of moves proved truly applicable; one only needed to drill a few crucial strikes to perfection.
However, the pointers she gave were not aimed at boosting combat power, but rather at making the channeling of force smoother and more cohesive. From them, he could taste a certain intent: leaving behind no "gaps."
A so-called "gap" was something difficult to put into words—it meant having the fighter channel force and strike in seamless, circular fullness, leaving no vulnerability in oneself.
In reality, absolute perfection without a single flaw did not exist; thus, this was merely an account given to oneself, an act of sincerity toward one's own craft.
This was likely a fighting philosophy that demanded enduring practice. It might take an exceedingly long time to bear fruit, or it might remain useless for an entire lifetime.
He realized this might belong to a specific martial style, and that genuine teachings were being passed down.
Still, none of this touched on core techniques, so there was no harm even if it spread outward. If someone learned it, the school itself would likely welcome it, as it helped disseminate their philosophy.
"Interesting."
Chen Chuan felt this held some inspiration for him as well. He vaguely sensed that a true fighter, setting aside raw strength, seemed to possess a personal philosophy in this regard.
Could this be a form of conviction, or perhaps a necessity when confronting certain entities?
And setting that aside, while such conviction might be of little use in the early stages, once one reached profound depths, perhaps unique techniques aligned with that conviction would emerge?
At this point, the memory came to an end.
Once the recollection faded, he got up, washed up, and looked up a certain location on his boundary credential. He found it before long.
This was the address Lu Ke had left with Nian Fuli when calling earlier. After returning to the academy from vacation, a whirlwind of events had kept him from visiting, but now he had time to check it out.
Besides, he didn't know how Teacher Yu's implant repairs were progressing. If any help was needed, he considered himself capable of assisting now.
Changing into casual clothes, he went downstairs, drove his Jiade car out of Wuyi Academy, and followed the address displayed on his boundary credential.
The place was located at the edge of Hongsheng District, near an oil refinery. After driving for over half an hour, he arrived at a wide street and spotted the "Flask Bar" mentioned in the address. The sign was quite distinctive: an enormous glass flask continuously dripping liquor or oily fluid.
Viewed through his boundary credential, the liquid splashed at his feet with multicolored radiance, like raindrops falling through neon lights on a rainy night, swirling into a circle across the ground in front of the bar entrance to form a band of flame.
He stepped down, stepped over the band of flame, and as he pushed the door open, the ring of fire behind him flared with a whoosh—quite atmospheric.
Once inside, he glanced around. The interior decor seemed like a hodgepodge of styles: exposed overhead pipes wrapped in metal coils, surrounding brick walls covered in vibrant graffiti, and long light strips underfoot where flares of illumination occasionally flowed and flickered past.
The space was quite large, visibly capable of accommodating over a hundred patrons. Even though it was daytime, three to five tables were occupied.
Scanning them with his boundary credential, he found that most held temporary residence permits or lacked identification altogether. Many had cheap or second-hand implants installed on their bodies, yet not a single one carried an active warrant. It seemed the owner of this bar wielded considerable clout and maintained firm rules.
The patrons had been boasting and chatting without restraint, but the moment they saw him walk in, their voices dropped unconsciously.
Even though Chen Chuan had suppressed his field and changed into civilian attire, his height and the rhythm of his stride instantly gave him away as a fighter, carrying an intense deterrence.
He walked straight to the counter. The bartender was a burly man in his fifties who showed an entirely natural expression. "What can I get you, sir?"
Chen Chuan didn't drink, but he still slid a paper bill across, ordered a drink at random, and asked, "I'm looking for a 'Mr. Kangaroo.' A friend left me this address, saying I could find him here and have him lead the way."
The bartender looked at him and broke into a hearty grin. "You must be Mr. Chen?"
"Yes, that's me," Chen Chuan said.
The bartender chuckled. "I knew it was you at first glance! Brother Lu told me that a handsome young fellow might come looking around this time and told me to keep an eye out. Had to be you.
"My family name is Zhan—just call me Old Zhan. Take a seat for a moment, young brother. Let me attend to a few regular customers first, and I'll take you over shortly."
Chen Chuan agreed.
Noticing that he hadn't touched the drink on the counter, Old Zhan quietly swapped it for a hot beverage. He then went over to greet those few tables of patrons, found a sharp-looking young man to cover his shift, and finally put on a hat. "Let's head out," he said, adding, "Did you drive here yourself, young brother?"
Chen Chuan nodded.
Old Zhan said, "It won't be convenient for you to drive to that place. How about riding in my car?" Seeing that Chen Chuan didn't object, he added, "Wait here for me a moment." He turned and walked out. A little later, an old Jiade car pulled up, and Old Zhan stuck his head out. "Brother Chen, hop in."
Chen Chuan walked over, opened the door, and got in.
"Don't worry about leaving your car parked here. No one around here dares steal a car belonging to a patron of Flask Bar," Old Zhan said as he turned the steering wheel and drove outward. Then he asked, "Brother Chen, you haven't been to the Lower District before, have you?"
Chen Chuan knew he was referring to the real Lower District, not the gathering places of undocumented folk. "No, I haven't."
"Lu Ke mentioned that you're not just friends, but you used to train in fighting together under Mr. Yu?"
"Are you quite close with Brother Lu, Mr. Zhan?" Chen Chuan asked.
Old Zhan replied, "This bar of mine often relies on folks from Lutong Logistics for business. One of their security captains is a disciple of Mr. Yu. She frequently brings people over for drinks, and sometimes brings Brother Lu along too. We've become quite familiar."
Chen Chuan said, "Mr. Yu did teach me a great deal. You could say I'm his student."
"Then you're one of our own."
Old Zhan grew even warmer. Chatting along the way, he drove down the open road for about ten minutes before arriving in front of a tunnel entrance.
Old Zhan glanced in the rearview mirror and explained, "Head down through here, and we'll reach the Lower District."
Roadblocks could be seen placed both inside and outside the mouth of the tunnel, guarded by several men. Old Zhan slowed the car down and called out a greeting to them. Once they cleared the roadblocks aside, he accelerated again and drove inside.
Chapter 402