No one could have predicted that the grandmaster Samuel Lee would actually entrust the essence of Bagua Palm to the Jingwu Athletic Association—and to Jack Young, of all people. Even Henry Huo hadn’t expected Samuel Lee to be so generous with his sect’s secret technique.
After all, breaking down barriers isn’t something that can be achieved with just a few words. Although Henry Huo is dedicated to this cause, he never imagined that even a grandmaster would be so open-minded.
Of course, Henry Huo wasn’t exactly shocked. Samuel Lee is, after all, a kindred spirit, and it was only a matter of time before he joined the Jingwu Athletic Association. Leaving his skills here made sense. The real surprise was that he placed the technique in Jack Young’s hands after their very first meeting—that was intriguing.
Henry Huo pondered for a moment and understood Samuel Lee’s intentions. He smiled and let it go. The others didn’t get it and wouldn’t ask. As for Jack Young, he truly didn’t care what deeper meaning Samuel Lee’s action might have—he just wanted to master the technique.
By now, Jack Young was starting to feel that maybe this wasn’t just a dream. He knew perfectly well that he’d never learned any martial arts before. Dreams are built on reality, and if you have absolutely no concept of something in real life, there’s no way it could be so vivid in a dream.
Back when he busted up Black Dragon Stronghold, he didn’t know any internal skills or Crimson Palm Strike, but at least he’d heard of them. As long as things felt familiar enough, it didn’t matter if he understood the details—like filming a TV show, nobody cares if the moves are authentic.
But today was different—very different. Maybe it’s because the world of martial arts felt closer to what Jack Young could grasp. When he sparred with Lillian Snow earlier, every thought, every insight, every realization was crystal clear—nothing felt vague or uncertain.
It was this clarity that made him start to doubt whether all this was just a dream—or at least, not only a dream.
So, almost unconsciously, he began to take everything here more seriously. Since he had the secret manual in hand, why not start training?
Of course, he had things to do before training. Daily lessons were a must, but the Jingwu Athletic Association was a martial arts school, not a regular classroom. There was more time spent practicing than teaching—just an hour of class every afternoon. After class, John Zhao and the other instructors would drop by, all curious and eager to learn about the essence of Bagua Palm.
With Henry Huo’s tacit approval, Jack Young didn’t stand on ceremony. He laid everything out in the open. The other instructors had solid foundations, and their back-and-forth gave Jack plenty of new insights—he started to understand some of the trickier bits.
Since these instructors had joined the Jingwu Athletic Association, they weren’t the secretive type. They each showed off a few of their signature moves. After a few rounds, Jack picked up quite a few techniques.
By the time the enthusiastic instructors left, it was already night. Jingwu Athletic Association was in Shanghai’s Zhabei District. Back in those days, Shanghai was called the Magic City of the East, but it wasn’t lit up like a modern metropolis. The schoolyard didn’t have streetlights—just the warm yellow glow from a few windows.
Jack Young stepped into the training ground. The moon was dim tonight, and it was a pretty dark evening. But Jack was a natural night owl, and thanks to mastering the first level of the Insight Technique—heightened hearing and vision—he could handle low-light conditions just fine.
Actually, Jack figured he wasn’t just at the first level—he was probably close to the second level of Insight Technique: Snowfall Perception.
Of course, 'Snowfall Perception' was a name Jack made up himself. The original Sanskrit was just a bunch of descriptions—no catchy title. According to the Sanskrit, once you reach the second level of Insight Technique, your vision gets even sharper. If snowflakes are falling, you can see each one spinning in detail, as if the world is in slow motion.
That slow-motion feeling he got while sparring with Lillian Snow today was probably a sign. He couldn’t control it yet, so he hadn’t reached the second level, but he was close.
"Is this how you walk? No, no, something’s off with the footwork." Jack practiced his steps in the training ground, comparing them to the Bagua Palm manual left by Old Man Lee and correcting his mistakes. "Something still feels weird—oh, I get it! I was thinking about it all wrong. You can’t just focus on the footwork; the real skill is in the hands. Hands and feet have to move together to get the feel!"
Jack put down the manual, spread his hands, and started swinging his palms and throwing punches in sync with his steps, shouting as he moved. Soon, he felt much more coordinated. Knowing he was on the right track, he nodded and picked up the manual to review it again.
Just then, a voice called out from nearby: "What a mess."
Jack Young turned around and saw Dr. Thomas Tang standing not far away. Counting this morning, Jack had only met Dr. Tang twice, but those eyes left a deep impression. Jack cupped his hands, "Are you saying I’m practicing wrong, sir?"
Dr. Tang nodded, "If you keep practicing like that, you could train for a lifetime and still be second-rate—just street performer level."
Jack couldn’t help but think of the phrase 'farmhand kung fu.' If he kept training like this, he’d just be a farmhand—someone a young girl like Guo Xiang could kick aside in one move.
Jack scratched his head, "I really don’t have any martial arts experience, but I did ask the other instructors for advice. According to them, this is how you’re supposed to start learning."
'Them?' Dr. Tang was blunt. "You think they’re any better than street performers?"
"Uh..." With an attitude like that, Jack was at a loss for words.
Strangely, though, even though Dr. Tang spoke so harshly, there was no trace of contempt on his face. It was just matter-of-fact. Like calling a pig a pig—it’s not an insult, just stating the obvious.
That was the vibe Jack got from Dr. Tang—just stating the facts.
Maybe this was one of those moments where a master shows up to offer guidance?
Jack was a straightforward guy, so he just asked, "So, sir, are you planning to teach me?"
Dr. Tang wasn’t surprised. He calmly nodded, "Yes, I want to teach you martial arts."
"Why?" Jack figured he barely knew Dr. Tang—so why did this guy suddenly want to train him?
Dr. Tang smiled warmly, "Of course there’s a reason, but I can’t tell you now. Just think of it as me appreciating your potential."
"Everyone’s always so cryptic and mysterious..." Jack squinted at him.
"So, are you going to learn or not?"
"Of course I’ll learn!" Jack said. "But do I need to kneel and formally become your disciple?"
"No need. I’m not really your master—just think of me as a senior helping out a junior." Dr. Tang turned and walked away, his voice echoing: "Meet me at sunrise tomorrow. Don’t be late."