Chapter 71: Balance Between Relaxation and Restraint

After finishing their meal of grilled fish, Chen Jue lingered, chatting with Yu Yue and the others. These young fishermen, seasoned by years of drifting across the seas, had stories far more novel than those of the nine-to-five city folk. Life at sea was perilous, and besides their sun-darkened skin, each bore visible scars and scabs—testament to the knocks and scrapes earned while working on board. The pay for ship and fishing crew was high, but they were wagering their bodies against the ocean, just as the ancestors who had invented the unique “Boat Fist” martial art had once done.

Fishermen in ancient coastal regions did not merely struggle against the ocean with crude nets and gear; at times, their lives were forfeit in battle against invading pirates or foreign marauders. Such scenes, Chen Jue imagined, must have been truly heroic. Out of ordinary lives, greatness was forged, and these images of ancient fishermen were the ones Chen admired most.

Their conversation and games stretched into the early afternoon until nearly one o’clock, by which time Chen noticed his companions yawning repeatedly. No doubt their biological clocks signaled it was time for the midday rest, their fatigue undeniable. After clearing away the remains of their barbecue, each retreated upstairs for a nap. They were, after all, only home to rest and recover during the typhoon break, conserving their strength before heading back to sea.

Not wishing to disturb them further, Chen Jue slipped back to his own small villa at the end of the row and enjoyed a blissful nap himself. The approaching typhoon had turned the weather gray; the sea wind howled, dropping the temperature by several degrees. Burrowing under the covers to sleep was a special comfort—akin to curling up in a warm bed on a rainy winter weekend, loath to rise.

Having perfected his “Thirteen Guardians Iron Body” technique that morning, and with the satisfaction of a delicious lunch of grilled fish and fried noodles, Chen Jue slept soundly until four in the afternoon—a full three hours. On waking, he didn’t rush to practice or train, but let himself relax for the afternoon, knowing he would be living by the sea for some time yet. There was no need to hurry.

True cultivation required both tension and release; relentless intensity could not be sustained. Steadiness and endurance were Chen Jue’s ideal.

After washing his face with hot water to shake off the last drowsiness, he ascended to the rooftop terrace to take in the afternoon seascape.

Dark, gray clouds crowded ever more densely overhead, and the waves on the sea were visibly rougher than in the morning. The wind howled mournfully at his ears. Checking his phone for the typhoon’s path, he saw it wasn’t headed directly for Dongdao County, though several projected tracks suggested a near miss. Already, the coastal winds had reached force seven or eight, and not a single vessel was visible on the waves—they must all have returned to port to ride out the storm.

As he switched off his phone and slipped it into his pocket, Chen Jue suddenly felt the skin on his right side prickle—goosebumps rising without warning. Curious, he turned to look and saw, on the roof of the neighboring villa—which had supposedly been vacated—a burly, middle-aged man in a suit, who had appeared without his noticing.

The man’s hair was cropped close, his physique solid, his gaze sharp and wary. He stared at Chen Jue for a long moment before finally looking away.

“Has a new guest moved in next door?” Chen Jue wondered. Perhaps someone had checked in while he napped, but who would come to the seaside during a typhoon? It didn’t add up. And this man, dressed in a suit and exuding the air of a bodyguard, didn’t fit the profile of a typical holidaymaker. Who would bundle up so tightly for a beach vacation?

Peering over the edge, Chen Jue spotted another similarly attired bodyguard stationed at the gate, scanning the area with clear vigilance.

“Probably some rich businessman on holiday,” Chen Jue guessed. Back when he worked in Hangzhou, he’d seen senior executives from the parent company come by for inspections, always surrounded by drivers, secretaries, and bodyguards—dressed much like these two.

Still curious, he went downstairs and messaged Yu Yue for news.

Yu Yue’s reply confirmed that the two neighboring villas had indeed been rented out by a wealthy individual—one for himself, the other for his staff. The story went that the tycoon, out sailing with his family, had been caught unluckily by the typhoon and had to dock his yacht at the village pier. Naturally, the best lodgings in the area were these newly built villas owned by Uncle Yu, so the choice was obvious.

In their chat, Yu Yue sent over a few photos of the tycoon’s yacht, snapped by friends passing the dock. The vessel, with a white upper deck and a black hull, clearly spanned several levels—a true superyacht. Moored beside the villagers’ humble fishing boats, its sheer size dwarfed them, drawing every eye.

Chen Jue had only ever seen such imported luxury yachts on short video apps. The construction cost alone was likely in the hundreds of millions—a clear sign of serious wealth.

“So, a rich man has arrived?” Chen Jue closed WeChat, not giving it much thought. He’d encountered plenty of wealthy people in Hangzhou—if you weren’t of their class, there was no point trying to force your way in.

And even if you tried, they might not bother with you.

Besides, living in a detached villa with its own enclosed space, Chen Jue had no need to interact with the tycoon next door. He could simply close his door and carry on with his own life of cultivation.

But just as Chen Jue returned to the living room downstairs, planning to watch a documentary and while away the time before dinner, something was happening in the neighboring villa. Inside the tycoon’s rented living room, a young man, athletic and dressed in casual sportswear, sat absorbed in an old book.

Catching sight of the bodyguard coming down from the rooftop, the young man put down his book and asked, “Ajun, anything unusual next door?”

The crew-cut bodyguard stepped forward and replied quietly, “Boss, the neighbor is a man in his twenties. Looks like he’s trained in martial arts—very sharp reflexes. The moment I stepped onto the roof and looked at him, he immediately sensed me and turned around.”

“Oh?” The young man’s interest was piqued.

“Didn’t expect to run into a real practitioner in a random fishing village. What a coincidence…” He hesitated, then gestured, “Find a chance to check him out, but don’t leave any loose ends. My father is very cautious—if we can’t figure out who the neighbor is, he won’t sleep well tonight.”

“Yes, sir! When Ajun and the others get back from buying groceries, I’ll switch shifts after dinner and look into it,” the bodyguard replied.

“Good. I trust your judgment, Ajun. Go on back to your post.”

“This typhoon’s timing is truly unfortunate—otherwise, we’d already be in Shanghai by now.” The young man waved him off and returned to his book.

The cover of the ancient tome was clearly printed with the words: “Xingyi Boxing Classic—The Legacy of Guo Yunshen.”