045 Recommendation and Wu Jin

"Thank you for letting me win!"

After pushing one and tossing the other off the stage, Chen Jue cupped his fists in salute, picked up his jacket from afar and put it on again, stepping down amidst waves of applause and cheers.

Zhou Gang and Li Xiangning, both with looks of utter shock, went to the medic for some ointment and then hurried over to speak with Chen Jue.

"Master Chen, was that Shaolin Iron Shirt you used just now? You took my force head-on and didn’t even flinch!" Li Xiangning was incredulous—he had spent most of his life practicing martial arts, yet was defeated by Chen Jue in just a few moves, even with the advantage of two against one.

When he came to his senses, he realized Chen Jue had not subdued them with brute force, but with a push and a throw—obviously holding back.

The gap in skill here was not just a little.

"It's not Iron Shirt, but the Shaolin Body Toughening Technique," Chen Jue replied honestly, considering the earlier kindness shown in sharing a martial arts formula.

"Shaolin Body Toughening Technique?"

"That’s a hard skill built up over years as well!"

"Well, to lose to a fellow disciple like you, Master Chen, is no shame," Li Xiangning finally sighed after reflecting on his defeat.

As for the young soldier Zhou Gang, he came running over, his arms still red and swollen from the ointment, face full of excitement, and asked, "Master Chen, you’re so amazing—can I become your disciple?" Clearly, being subdued in a few moves had inspired his admiration.

"No need to formally become my disciple. You have your family’s Hung Gar, that’s good enough. But as I’m likely to come over and teach martial arts occasionally now that I’ve won first place, you can learn from me then," Chen Jue replied after glancing at him.

"Thank you, Master Chen! I look forward to learning from you!" Zhou Gang beamed. Having witnessed Chen Jue’s astonishing resilience and skill, he now understood there were always higher mountains.

Folk martial artists were not, as the internet often said, all show and no substance—they could indeed defeat the military’s hand-to-hand experts.

The three chatted for a while, and soon Commissar Yao took the stage to announce the end of the competition—a display of soldiers’ typical efficiency, wasting no time at all.

As for Chen Jue, he was publicly announced as the regiment’s special martial arts coach. Though an honorary position, he would now regularly visit to teach traditional martial arts.

This had been arranged before the event—whoever among the invited masters won first place would be given this title.

The soldiers, hearing that such a skilled master would be teaching them, applauded and cheered with excitement.

Of course, this external coaching position came with a monthly stipend of 6,000 yuan—Chen Jue’s appearance fee, in effect.

The money wasn’t much, not even as much as Coach Xie, the Taekwondo black belt, could make from a few private students, but it was a formal income for Chen Jue.

…

With the boisterous competition over, Chen Jue collected his appointment letter from the office, filled out some paperwork, and chatted briefly with Commissar Yao.

Upon learning that the commissar and the two commanding officers planned to jointly recommend him for the national military martial arts competition in October, Chen Jue hesitated for a moment.

But when he heard that first place came with even higher stipends and substantial prize money, he agreed.

After all, it was just an opportunity to exchange skills and get paid—why not?

Moreover, he’d get to meet more top military fighters, a rare chance to step out of his solitary training and broaden his horizons.

It was only late August now, still over a month until October, and the competition’s location hadn’t been set. He would have to wait for further notice.

This event, meanwhile, would be featured as a special program by the Wenshi regional television station, broadcast across the area, and even covered in local newspapers.

Unfortunately, Chen Jue neither read the papers nor watched local TV, so the news would likely pass him by without a ripple.

After all, in the internet age, traditional media’s reach had greatly diminished. Unless the special aired online, who would know about today’s martial arts exchange here?

…

After enjoying a hearty dinner in the mess hall—thanks to the leaders’ hospitality—Chen Jue rode back to Chen Village in the jeep arranged by Commissar Yao, a trip of just over twenty minutes.

He had arrived by taking a country bus and then a local shuttle to the garrison, but left as an honored guest of the regiment. Reflecting on the day’s unusual experiences, Chen Jue was filled with emotion.

Just over half a month ago, he was an unemployed youth who’d just resigned and returned home. Now, he’d become the external martial arts instructor for the local garrison.

Such twists and turns, only the one living them could truly understand.

“All thanks to this attribute panel,” Chen Jue thought to himself.

…

Returning home for a short rest, Chen Jue decided to take a hot shower to unwind. As the water ran down his body, he suddenly remembered the martial formula Li Xiangning had taught him earlier that day: “When the Eight Immortals cross the boat, the power of entering water forms on its own.”

After a full day of tense activity, his mind relaxed and drifted. As he pondered this martial line, he felt a spark of inspiration.

Standing under the shower, he activated the internal strength of the Eight Immortals Stance. Under the hot water, his skin abruptly tightened, goosebumps rising like hard iron beans.

As the water streamed over his skin, the closed pores generated a sudden explosive force, scattering the droplets into beads that shot away in all directions.

“This is the obvious force: hard, explosive, direct.”

“But what, then, is the hidden force?” Chen Jue watched the scattered droplets, deep in thought.

He turned off the shower, dried himself, changed clothes, and headed straight for the village reservoir.

It was past eight in the evening. The reservoir was silent, the occasional bark of a dog coming from across the water in Huangjia Village.

Under the dim lights, the reservoir seemed even more secluded.

Chen Jue climbed the embankment, not to practice forms or stances, but simply to gaze at the pitch-black surface.

With his constitution now at 1.98, his nearsightedness and astigmatism had improved greatly—he could see far into the night.

He stared at the gentle undercurrents occasionally rippling the calm surface, quietly reciting, “When the Eight Immortals cross the boat, the power of entering water forms on its own.”

In a swift motion, he dashed down the steps and leapt onto a moored boat.

Unfastening the rope, he rowed the boat to where the undercurrent surged.

This was where the reservoir’s flood gate was—a whirlpool spun on the surface, clearly visible even at night.

“The power of entering water forms on its own?”

Staring at the swirling vortex for a long time, Chen Jue muttered to himself, as if entranced. He suddenly launched himself from the boat, performed the opening move of the Eight Immortals Stance—“Zhongli Sits on the Drum”—took a deep breath, and, with a splash, plunged into the center of the whirlpool.