Chapter 41: Faking the Fight

Yang Yi’s silence signified his agreement with Li Yi’s approach.

“Boss Yang, it’s settled then. I’m going to begin practicing, but before that, I need to tell you the origin of this fist technique.”

Li Yi immediately spoke, walking aside to pick up a thick wooden board from the ground.

“I learned this fist technique on Ghost Street. Back then, I was fleeing from Biao’s pursuit and stumbled into the deadly Ghost Street, where I saw a figure—perhaps a vengeful ghost, I’m not sure—who stood in a strange posture and practiced fistwork.”

“After observing for a moment, I memorized his stance and punching method, and thus learned this technique.”

Li Yi began making things up.

His fist technique was genuinely learned from a master—he couldn’t just hand it out casually or sell it for money.

Even though he loved money, he still had his limits.

But when you’re under someone else’s roof, you must bow your head; he couldn’t afford to offend Yang Yi. If he refused today, he’d likely never leave this basement—he wouldn’t risk his life testing someone else’s morality.

“Boss Yang, I’ll move as slowly as I can. Watch closely.”

Then Li Yi crouched slightly and assumed the fist stance.

But his body adjusted subtly—some parts tensed to generate power, others remained loose, demonstrating only a half-finished version.

The complete stance was the essence of this technique; if Yang Yi mastered it, his talent might let him grasp the force.

But Yang Yi didn’t realize Li Yi was holding back—he rushed closer, studying intently.

Even under the lights, his eyes gleamed brightly, as if determined to memorize every movement Li Yi made.

Li Yi took a deep breath.

His body began to generate power.

Even without unleashing his full strength, his current cultivation base could produce fist force—though the power was weak. But since he was striking a wooden board, not a beast like Biao, the actual power was impossible to judge.

The next moment, the board flew away.

Li Yi threw a punch.

“Bang!”

The air seemed to explode.

Li Yi’s fist struck the wooden board mid-air.

Something strange happened.

The board didn’t crack or fly off—it stuck to Li Yi’s fist.

“Excellent fist technique,” Yang Yi couldn’t help exclaiming, sensing a hidden truth.

If this punch struck a human, it would burst them open—there’d be no way to dissipate the force. This was a technique forged for killing, extremely valuable.

Cultivators today craved such arts desperately.

Li Yi slowly withdrew his stance and removed the board from his fist.

A clear fist imprint was branded onto it.

“Boss Yang, this is the fist I’ve demonstrated. Unfortunately, I was busy fleeing on Ghost Street and never saw the full technique—it’s incomplete. But once you master the method, whether it’s fist, palm, or leg, you can achieve this effect. I’m still exploring and improving,” Li Yi said regretfully.

“If you ever get the chance, Boss Yang, try going to Ghost Street to learn the complete technique.”

Yang Yi immediately said: “I understand now—the secret lies in power generation. Your posture just now was the perfect stance for generating force, which is why you set the stance. But once mastered, it becomes seamless—the stance itself becomes unnecessary. Good. Very good, Li Yi. I owe you a favor. If you ever need help, come to me—I won’t refuse.”

“Boss Yang, you’re too kind. This is just returning a kindness.”

Li Yi said: “But Boss Yang, I must leave now—there are matters at home I need to attend to. I can’t stay any longer. If you have any questions later, ask me—I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“I’ll see you out,” Yang Yi said.

“No need, no need—I’ll take the elevator up. Goodbye, Boss Yang,” Li Yi said, grabbing his things and stepping into the elevator.

Train, train—someday when your body breaks down, you’ll know the consequences.

With this thought, Li Yi quickly left, unwilling to linger, afraid he’d be forcibly detained.

Yang Yi stood in place, eyes closed, savoring that punch.

Then he mimicked Li Yi’s movements, assuming the stance.

After a moment of preparation, Yang Yi threw a punch.

Fist wind howled.

But no sound echoed.

“A punch that looks simple is still hard to master,” Yang Yi opened his eyes, picking up the wooden board.

The fist imprint on it was clear.

If he’d struck it with his own punch just now, the board would’ve shattered—no imprint could’ve remained.

“One Long, maybe that Li Yi held back—he didn’t teach you properly. That kid’s cunning—he trapped you with one line. You couldn’t buy it, couldn’t steal it, and ended up being fooled. If it were me, I wouldn’t have let him go until I learned the technique. I’d have kept him, even if I had to use force. If you couldn’t do it, I’d do it for you.”

Suddenly, a steady voice spoke. A middle-aged man in a black suit, powerfully built, appeared in the training hall.

He was Yang Ye, Yang Yi’s uncle.

“No proof, no action. Are we really going to kill Li Yi and steal the money back, as he suggested? We’re people of status and standing—not bandits or thugs,” Yang Yi said calmly. “There are rules to how we live. Li Yi compromised—we must give him face. Let him go.”

“Besides, mastering an art depends on talent. He demonstrated and left a fist imprint—I examined it. It matches exactly the imprint on Biao’s corpse, not a single difference. That proves his technique is correct.”

“Moreover, Li Yi taught you for free. If you now force him to stay, aren’t you forcing him to break ties? If word gets out, who’ll ever deal with you again?”

Yang Yi shook his head.

Yang Ye said: “That kid didn’t teach you for your sake or for money—he did it out of necessity. He’s clever—he gave you the technique so you’d feel indebted, so you’d let him go.”

“I’d rather buy it, but he refused. Still... acquiring a true technique costs a fortune. My funds are tight. So him teaching for free is actually good—it avoids conflict.” Yang Yi said calmly.

“Forget it. He’s gone, you’ve got the technique, your goal’s achieved. Let this end. Li Yi probably won’t come back—he’s likely holding a grudge. But he’s a nobody, not worth worrying about. Let’s talk about Qin Qing instead.” Yang Ye said: “Just now, all the pharmaceutical companies sent their treatment proposals. Take a look.”

He walked over and handed Yang Yi a quote sheet.

Plan 1: Tianhe Medical, Nanotech Repair Treatment. Price: 270 million. Duration: 3 months.

Plan 2: BioMedical, Cloning and Transplant Treatment. Price: 180 million. Duration: 1 year.

Plan 3: Superb Medical, Gene Repair Fluid Treatment. Price: 350 million. Duration: 1 month.

“All these treatments are extremely expensive. Logically, I advise you to abandon Qin Qing’s treatment—it’s not worth it. Your cultivation funds are already low.”

“I killed that transcendent beast—it should cover the medical cost,” Yang Yi frowned at the quote sheet.

Yang Ye said: “If you use the money from killing the transcendent beast for your own cultivation, your power will keep rising. But if you spend it on that woman, your cultivation halts. Yang Yi, remember—this world won’t last long. If you don’t become a Cross-Boundary Practitioner, everything is meaningless.”

“I know you value emotion. My advice: start with conservative treatment. When you grow stronger later, healing Qin Qing will be effortless—and won’t hinder your cultivation. Two benefits at once.”

“Believe me, Qin Qing will understand. She’s willing to wait for you.”

“After all, she’s always loved you deeply, isn’t she?”

“Enough. Don’t say more.”

Yang Yi roared, the sound shattering all nearby lights. White light surged around him like writhing lightning serpents.

Yang Ye’s face changed—he dared not speak further and turned to leave immediately.

But as he left, a faint smile curled on his lips.

Anger is good.

At least he still has feelings to weigh.

Yang Yi is still too young—he’ll understand later.

Our Yang family are all merchants.