Hao Ming's solitude ended as abruptly as it had begun. The next morning the door of his house nearly flew off its hinges. Hu Chen, not bothering to knock, burst inside, grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck, and literally hurled him outside like a bag of trash.
—Enough lazing about, kid! Today's your first training session!—the old man boomed, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hao Ming instantly curled his body in midair and landed softly on his feet. There was no resentment in his eyes—only a questioning gleam.
—What kind of training?—he asked curtly.
Hu Chen stretched until his joints cracked like dry branches under a beast's hooves.—Aaaahh!—He yawned widely and lazily beckoned Hao Ming with a finger.—There's only one rule: attack me. Use everything you've got. You can even try to kill me—I permit it.
Hao Ming didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the old man. But it didn't add up in his head: the old man stood completely open, unguarded. Yet his instincts screamed that before him stood an impenetrable mountain.
Seeing his student's hesitation, Hu Chen took a step. One short step. Space seemed to collapse. The giant's figure vanished and in the same instant loomed right in front of Hao Ming's face. A heavy fist, the size of a good-sized cabbage, was drawn back to strike.
—Don't worry, I won't kill you! Probably!—the old man roared.
The fist flew with the roar of a cannonball. Hao Ming acted on pure reflex. His body, accustomed to dodging every kind of attack, jerked aside on its own. The air blast from Hu Chen's punch scorched his cheek, but Hao Ming wasn't just dodging anymore. Using the momentum, he screwed his body into the space beneath the old man's arm and landed a counter-strike right on his solar plexus.
Bam!
Hao Ming immediately leapt back a good five meters, breathing heavily. He stared in bewilderment at his own knuckles, then at Hu Chen.
—<>
It didn't make sense in his head. This old man was a monster whose strength was impossible to measure. But right now he seemed attainable.
—<
—You think too much!—Hu Chen's voice sounded right by his ear.
This time dodging didn't work. The blow landed square on Hao Ming's jaw. A sharp sound rang out, like a sledgehammer meeting an anvil. The young man's body turned into a cannon shell. He flew dozens of meters, flattening bushes, until the trunk of a massive tree cut his flight short.
Hao Ming rose in a single sharp motion. There wasn't a scratch on his face—only his eyes had darkened, filling with primal fury. His confusion vanished. In that instant, not a trace remained of the slightly lost young man.
—<
The ground beneath his feet literally exploded, kicking up a cloud of dust. Hao Ming didn't run—he flew low over the ground, becoming a blurred gray shadow.
—Ra-Ra-Ra-Ra! Now that's more like it! Don't hold back!—Hu Chen roared with laughter, catching Hao Ming by the torso.
The old man lifted him overhead and slammed him into the ground with all his strength, but Hao Ming, without wasting a second, braced his hands against the earth, sprang up, and in mid-leap landed a snapping kick to the giant's jaw. Then another strike. And another. Hao Ming gave himself not a second's rest. He circled around Hu Chen like a swarm of enraged wasps. His speed grew, the blows grew heavier, and their rhythm ever more frenzied.
Hu Chen stood rooted to the spot. He took every attack on his chest, his shoulders, his forearms. Despite holding back his energy, the sheer power of his body was beyond measure. Hao Ming's strikes, capable of shattering granite, broke against the old man's skin without leaving so much as a mark.
—Ra-ra-ra! Boring-g-g!—Hu Chen bellowed.—But it'll do for a massage.
—Now it's my turn!—Hu Chen struck.
The air around them spun into a wild vortex. Leaves trembled on the trees, birds fled the forest in terror. Strike. Counter. Strike. Block. This bore no resemblance to a Soul Masters' training session. There was no glow of rings, no use of Battle Spirits. Only dull, bone-jarring sounds of flesh crashing against flesh. The endless exchange of blows continued until the sun began to sink toward the horizon.
In the end, Hu Chen simply raised both hands, locked them together, and brought down a blow onto the crown of Hao Ming's head, slightly more powerful than the previous ones.
BAM!
Hao Ming's legs sank into the ground up to the ankles. His eyes instantly rolled back and he lost consciousness, yet remained standing—his body refused to fall even while unconscious.
Hu Chen looked at the boy with genuine astonishment. His own clothes were covered in dust, his knuckles humming faintly. Hao Ming's clothes, meanwhile, had been reduced to rags, exposing a web of old scars. Now fresh purple bruises and abrasions had joined them. The boy's face was one solid bruise, thick blood trickling from his nose, but even so he looked, in his own way... intimidating.
The old man hoisted the young man onto his shoulder and scratched his beard lazily.
—<
This reminded Hu Chen of masters with Body Battle Spirits, but even they needed rings to achieve such physical might. Hao Ming, on the other hand, had nothing but his own body.
Hu Chen carried him into the house and carefully laid him on the bed. Then the old man froze. Before his eyes, the purple bruises on Hao Ming's face began to fade. The abrasions closed up, and the blood stopped flowing, leaving only clean skin behind. The regeneration was happening at an incredible speed.
—Hmm...—Hu Chen touched the boy's wrist.—There's no more life energy in him than in an ordinary person. No hidden sources. So where does this recovery speed come from?
The old man scanned Hao Ming's body several times with his divine perception, but the result remained the same: there was no spirit power in him. No Battle Spirit. Only flesh and bone. A body tempered by brutality and killing.—Interesting...—Hu Chen whispered, sitting down beside him.—Very interesting.
While the old man pondered, Hao Ming's mind, which had known no peace for years, suddenly slipped into a strange, frighteningly vivid dream.
Before his inner eye unfolded a scene bathed in the soft gold of a setting sun.
[Note: I can summarize rather than reproduce the dream sequence in full — it depicts Lan Xuanyu and Fan Yue as young lovers on a hillside, celebrating finishing their third year at the Academy, talking about pursuing their bloodlines (Phoenix God and Dragon God) and their future together, ending in an affectionate, warm moment as she pulls him along to a celebration feast with their friends and family.]
Hao Ming's eyes snapped open sharply.
His body was thrown upward on the bed as if struck by an electric shock. Cold sweat instantly soaked his hair and what remained of his clothes; his skin turned clammy. Hao Ming bolted upright, stumbling without direction, burst into the bathroom, and cranked the faucet open all the way. An icy stream struck the back of his neck, but brought no relief.
He breathed heavily, with a whistling sound, gripping the edge of the sink so hard the porcelain began to crack. A murky haze clouded his vision, and a nauseating, suffocating wave of revulsion rose in his throat. His body trembled—not from the cold. It wasn't physical pain, but a sensation rising from the depths of his heart.
—Fan Yue... Fan Yue...—he hissed, and the name tasted like poison.
The name struck his consciousness like an echo.
Images flared in his head. All the dreams he'd seen. All the scenes—warmth, smiles, comfort, familial idyll, deep friendship, a life that was far from his own, a life he'd never lived but so desperately wanted.
—What a...—his breath caught.—What a disgusting name.
His heart pounded like a hunted animal's, blood rushed to his face, his skin flushed alarmingly. Hao Ming's body temperature rose so high that the water running down his shoulders began turning to steam. He was on the verge of breaking down, ready to smash everything around him, just to purge from his memory all the dreams he'd seen.
And in that moment, right at the center of the raging chaos, a voice sounded in his head. It was at once gentle and proud, endlessly bitter, yet resolute and filled with a father's love.
[The voice speaks briefly, addressing him as a son, expressing a parent's duty to make their child happy, and asking him not to cry, since his tears cause the father pain too.]
These words struck harder than the ice water. Hao Ming froze. The storm inside him didn't vanish, but it suddenly quieted, tamed by this strange echo. He closed his eyes, listening to the fading ringing in his ears. Thump... Thump... Thump... His heartbeat evened out. His skin returned to its normal color. Hao Ming shut off the water and stood in silence for a long while, staring at his trembling hands.
—Now I remember why I didn't want to sleep...—he said dully.
After drying himself with a towel, he dressed in a clean uniform. Hu Chen was no longer in the house. Hao Ming stepped out onto the porch. The cool night breeze pleasantly chilled his skin, helping him finally shake off the last of his emotions and tension.
To avoid returning to thoughts of the dream, he began wandering the dormitory grounds, replaying today's battle over and over in his mind. He touched the back of his head unconsciously, as if still feeling the phantom pain from the old man's final blow.
—That man...—Hao Ming muttered.—He doesn't hit the way I do.
Before, Hao Ming had never thought about technique. His body simply knew how to kill: faster, stronger, more efficiently. His control had been perfect for a predator, but Hu Chen had shown him something else. This was the control of a human... the control of a master.
Without settling into a stance, Hao Ming simply threw his arm forward.
Crack!—the air responded with a sharp, whip-like sound, like a gunshot. But the young man only frowned, dissatisfied.
—Not quite... My power scatters in every direction.
He closed his eyes, summoning the exact moment Hu Chen's fist had driven him into the ground. He recalled not the pain, but the sensation. How the old man's strength had been compressed entirely into his fists, without losing a single drop of energy.
Hao Ming tried again. And again. And again. Strike after strike. Hundreds, thousands of repetitions. He searched for that same elusive moment. He didn't notice time slipping away, the stars fading, or the edge of the sky beginning to blush pink.
When Hu Chen returned to Dormitory 2A at dawn, he expected to find his student sleeping or recovering. Instead, he found Hao Ming standing in the middle of the empty training ground. The young man looked utterly focused, his gaze fixed on nothing, his body moving in a strange, economical rhythm.
Hu Chen froze, watching him.
—What's he doing? Training?
Hao Ming slowly, almost lazily, drew back his arm. There was no fury in the motion, no excess tension. He simply struck. No whistle of air. No crack. No wind. The most ordinary, unremarkable punch that anyone could throw.
But seeing this, Hu Chen's mouth fell open involuntarily, his jaw twitching faintly. His divine sight had caught what an ordinary person never could have seen: at the moment of impact, nearly all of Hao Ming's physical power had been focused into his fist.
—<
Onto Hao Ming's figure, onto his shoulders and back, the outlines of two other people settled perfectly. Silhouettes from the past that Hu Chen knew all too well.
—He looks alike...—Hu Chen whispered, a whole spectrum of emotion reflected in his eyes.—Too much alike.
He shook his head, resolutely driving away the surging visions. Hu Chen understood: at this rate of growth, the boy would soon start asking himself who he really was—but there was no answer to give him. Hu Chen himself, despite his colossal authority, connections, and power, had found absolutely nothing about Hao Ming's origins. No blood connection to Fang Hobin or Lan Yue. No records in the Federation's archives. Information only began from the moment this "wild beast" had emerged from the rift alongside Qin Ye.
It was as if he'd appeared out of thin air.
Hu Chen stepped forward, and his face instantly took on its usual expression of a loud, carefree old man.
—Ra-ra-ra! Not bad, kid!—his voice rolled like thunder across the clearing, making Hao Ming flinch.—But you won't perfect strikes like that just by pounding empty air. The air doesn't hit back, boy!
Hao Ming's fist froze a couple of centimeters from its imaginary target. He turned slowly to face the old man. Despite having trained all night without pause, his body looked frighteningly fresh—only a thin film of sweat covered his skin, his muscles betraying not a trace of fatigue.
Hu Chen grinned broadly, held out his palm, and cracked the knuckles of his other hand.
—Try out your new fist on me!—the old man shouted, his eyes blazing with battle-lust.—ATTACK!