Chapter Thirteen: Wu Huixiong!

Baitang Jing moved with light, butterfly-like steps, shifting his body into a fighting stance; it was as if Bruce Lee had stepped straight out of a film and into reality.

Facing him was the young female assassin, her short sleeves and hot pants revealing a body honed by rigorous training. The taut lines of her muscles and the perfect arcs of her form lent her the wild, feline grace of a panther.

Yet, as she observed, she noticed something peculiar.

After a subtle twitch of his ear, the man before her adjusted his position, inexplicably expanding his area of vigilance to include a side alley branching from the lane.

“…?”

“Not only is he powerful and unorthodox, but even his senses are this sharp?”

While the girl puzzled over this, a portly man in a suit appeared, one hand in his pocket, emerging from the shadowy intersection.

He was around forty, not tall, with a round face and belly, his suit stretched tight. He looked just like a corporate wage-slave from the Land of the Rising Sun, worn down by endless overtime.

But Baitang Jing, noting the man’s eyes—white irises on black, identical to the girl’s—did not dare to take him lightly.

“Young people these days are truly remarkable,” the man said, though his face remained expressionless, his features heavy and unmoving.

He walked silently to the girl’s side.

“Uncle Hori? Why are you here? Finished your task already?” the girl asked in surprise. Both of them had assignments today.

“You went out without your preferred sniper rifle. Of course I couldn’t rest easy. Feng Shui, if I’d been a moment later, you might have been done for!” Uncle Hori’s voice, though flat, carried a hint of helplessness.

It was an odd thing: the Wu clan, a long-standing family of assassins, had a poor reputation in the underworld. In a world where trust was currency, they’d even been known to turn on their employers.

Yet, within their shadowy ranks, the clan’s members were harmonious, warm, and affectionate toward one another.

Wu Feng Shui looked at her twisted fingers and nodded silently. It had indeed been perilous; another five minutes without help, and the fight would have been decided.

The man across from her didn’t seem the type to show mercy.

In other words, had Uncle Hori been even a few minutes later…the consequences—

Terrifying!

Wu Feng Shui’s face went pale, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Beside her, Wu Hori fixed his gaze on Baitang Jing in the distance.

“That’s the target, isn’t it? I’ll take over now, Feng Shui. An opponent of this caliber is beyond you.”

His once-casual eyes grew grave. He could feel the sudden, piercing awareness from the man opposite, as though decades of martial training were laid bare under that gaze.

He slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket, and as the “Oni Ox” of the Wu clan grew serious, the outline of massive, powerful muscles strained beneath his chubby exterior and suit.

Baitang Jing’s lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes glimmering with a sharp light.

Name: Wu Hori
Strength: 5.6 (Unleashed: 7.5)
Agility: 4.3 (Unleashed: 6.0)
Constitution: 6.0 (Unleashed: 8.5)
[All three attributes are based on the average values of 250,650 twenty-five-year-old men, with 1 as the mean.]
Talent: Release Level 6
Effect: Breaks the human body’s output limit (60%)
Skill: Wu Clan Martial Arts Level 8

“His base stats crush mine; even when I channel my energy, I only surpass his unleashed state in agility… So beneath that swollen exterior, it’s all muscle honed to perfection! Is this the true strength of the older generation of the Wu clan? It’s almost absurdly strong,” Baitang Jing thought, subtly shifting his stance to favor defense.

Wu Hori’s attributes made him question whether this world’s martial arts were truly grounded in reality.

In a world governed by science, could someone really use martial arts and family genes to suppress supernatural power in raw attributes?

Yet amid his shock, Baitang Jing felt a long-restrained flame flickering to life within him.

His lips twisted into a wild, reckless smile.

An intangible aggression began to spread.

“Wa—wait a minute!” Wu Feng Shui suddenly stepped between the two, halting the tension that threatened to snap.

“Uncle Hori, it’s not an assassination contract—it’s a test commission!”

“…?”

At her relative’s questioning look, Wu Feng Shui forced a wry smile.

“Come on, Uncle Hori! Look at the battlefield! If I had my sniper rifle, why would I use a handgun? And even the handgun was loaded with rubber bullets!”

At that, Baitang Jing’s aggressive aura faltered. It seemed today’s fight might not happen after all.

Wu Hori, still on guard, swept his gaze over the scene of their battle. There were indeed no bullet holes, and with his sharp eyesight, he could spot several rubber bullet casings.

This was awkward…

As an elder, he’d just staged a dramatic last-second rescue for his young kin—a moment that should have been heroic and impressive.

But now, even his professionalism was being questioned by the next generation.

As Baitang Jing watched the Wu elder with an amused look, he thought he glimpsed—perhaps imagined—a fleeting stiffness in the man’s always-impassive, chubby face.

“What’s going on, Feng Shui?”

“A commission to kill him and a test commission arrived at the same time, but the test paid far more—of course I took the better offer!”

Wu Hori slowly relaxed his stance, sighing and scratching his head in resignation.

“All right, all right. It seems your test is finished. Let’s go.”

“Sure thing!” Wu Feng Shui replied cheerfully, beginning to leave with him.

But just as they turned, their bodies tensed.

Boom—

A soundless roar echoed in their ears.

A heat as fierce as a steel foundry’s furnace surged behind them, blazing with molten energy.

A burning blade pressed to their backs, freezing them in place.

“You attack unannounced, and now you want to leave just as you please. What have I done for you to treat me with such disrespect, as if I’m a dead fish on the cutting board, Wu clan?” The youth’s tone was calm, but even a fool could sense the fury beneath—like magma churning beneath a volcano, awaiting only the smallest spark to erupt.

…It was all an act.

They had, indeed, behaved recklessly, disregarding him. But since they hadn’t tried to kill him, it had only been an ambush sparring match at most.

In Baitang Jing’s experience, most martial artists he’d met were brazen and impulsive—private duels, trash talk, underhanded tricks…

Cultivating virtue and discipline was nonsense; being able to fight was the only true measure of a martial artist’s worth!

If he still got worked up over such things, he’d be a fool.

But facing an opponent whose raw physical attributes rivaled even “internal energy,” Baitang Jing was determined not to let this chance slip by.

He wanted to see if he could make Wu Hori stay for a real fight.

Wu Hori, bringing up the rear, slowly turned, his gaze more solemn than ever.

Wu Feng Shui, caught by the force of Baitang Jing’s presence, found herself unable even to turn around.

Was this aura—had he been holding back all along?

Wu Feng Shui’s heart clenched, as if squeezed by an invisible hand.

“Wu Feng Shui, is it? I find myself interested in your commission now, but perhaps we can renegotiate the details.”

“Details…what?” She realized her voice was trembling.

“Give me your client’s information,” Baitang Jing’s voice was cold. “And I’ll let you both leave unharmed.”

Wu Hori frowned. “Do you realize what you’re saying, boy?”

But then he saw the fire in the young man’s eyes.

After a long pause, the portly man’s gaze deepened. He spoke.

“Forget it.”

“…Huh?!” both exclaimed.

He rubbed his round cheek. “To fight someone like you over a test commission’s information—no matter how you look at it, it’s a losing deal. And if I killed you now, and someone else in the clan took a contract on you, that would be stealing business and disrupting clan harmony—an even bigger loss, wouldn’t you say? Feng Shui, don’t get too close. Give him the information.”