Inside the rundown factory, Kevin and the others anxiously hovered nearby, while Jack Young just lay there on the ground, silent as a stone. They were all worried sick about Jack, but nobody dared to touch him. Only the faint rise and fall of Jack's breathing reassured them he was still alive—barely.
None of them noticed that Jack's left palm was starting to glow, a side-profile image appearing right there. Even Jack himself, half-conscious, had no clue that a life-giving energy was slowly flowing from the golden pattern on his hand, soaking through his whole body. It was the same power that had shown up on Jill before—a healing energy only triggered when you’re close to mastering the fourth level of the Dragon Elephant Technique.
When Jack’s life was hanging by a thread, some mysterious force from who-knows-what dimension swooped in, offering just the right kind of help.
Time ticked by. Jack’s breathing grew stronger and steadier. Around midnight, he suddenly sat up, cross-legged on the ground. Out of nowhere, he produced slices of meat with his left hand, and—eyes still closed—started wolfing them down. His breathing got even louder, like a turbocharged air pump sucking in air. Instincts for self-repair kicked in, powered by life essence and a flood of oxygen, and Jack’s metabolism went into overdrive.
Right before their eyes, Jack’s skin started growing a mossy layer. That was all the dead cells being flushed out, while fresh muscle rebuilt itself underneath. Jack’s nostrils even started puffing out white steam, like a boiler blowing off pressure.
By two in the morning, Jack’s breathing had mellowed out, deep and steady. His skin had developed a pattern like snake scales—just a natural buildup, forming a thin cocoon around him.
No sight, no sound, no movement, no surprises—just pure, peaceful silence. Nobody had a clue what Jack was going through as he sat there, but from Kevin’s angle, the vibe coming off Jack was getting weirder and deeper by the minute.
Five in the morning, and Kevin’s crew was so sleepy their heads kept bobbing. Suddenly, a giant old mosquito buzzed by. Some mosquitoes make it all the way to late autumn—those ones are usually huge, and this one was a real monster. It circled above, clearly drawn to the strong blood energy coming off Jack, then swooped straight toward him.
The mosquito landed on Jack’s shoulder and felt a thin membrane covering his skin. But come on, a little film wasn’t going to stop this beast! Its big needle was itching for action. The mosquito jabbed its long, sharp proboscis straight into Jack’s skin.
But in the very next instant—if mosquitoes had faces, this one would’ve turned pale. The spot it stabbed suddenly tightened up. Just a tiny patch of muscle, but those fibers clamped down, trapping its needle, no escape. Then the skin at the landing site turned into a raging ocean. Those tiny arrector pili muscles, usually just good for goosebumps, now became a swarm of iron fists, pummeling the mosquito senseless.
Bang! The skin flexed and sent the mosquito flying. Dizzy from the beating, it spun around a few times, tried to regroup—and then, something inside it surged. Pop! With a tiny sound, the mosquito exploded midair into a spray of bits and blood.
Internal martial arts—using the tiniest muscles, Jack Young unleashed a move so intense it triggered the mosquito’s own 'qi', making it self-destruct!
If any kung fu master had seen this, they’d have lost their minds. Not even a feather could land, not even a mosquito could settle—combining such microscopic control with internal martial arts, Jack Young pulled off the impossible! Smashing a mosquito with just a patch of skin? That’d blow anyone’s mind.
Anyway, Kevin was totally gobsmacked watching all this. He stared at Jack Young like he was seeing a monster—or maybe a god.
After the mosquito got splattered, Jack Young went right back to being silent and still. It was like all that action was just some sleepwalking dream move—didn’t mess with his vibe at all. His long, peaceful breaths made him look like he really was just napping.
The whole night passed—nothing happened.
Next morning, engines roared from afar. Kevin and the crew snapped to attention, looking outside—seven or eight cars screeched to a halt at the door. The Brotherhood boss kicked his car door open, looking absolutely crazed. He’d spent half the night tearing up every spot Cool B mentioned, worked himself ragged, and finally realized one thing: he’d been played.
Fuming, the boss swore he’d chop those guys into pieces.
He stormed into the factory, expecting to see his own boys and three lambs for slaughter—but instead, there were three women and one man he’d never met. "Who the hell are you?" the boss barked, aiming his gun at Kevin. "Speak up, or I’ll blow your brains out!"
Femi Foster jumped in right away: "Hey, folks, we’re just from the real estate company—we’re here to measure this rundown factory. Boss wants to buy the place."
"Bull!" the Brotherhood boss snapped. "It's only seven in the morning—what kind of company starts work this early? Where are my men?!"
"We have no idea."
"Nonsense! That Asian guy was locked up when I left, and now he’s just hanging out with you! I bet this is all your doing. Time to die!" the boss screamed, full meltdown mode.
He squeezed the trigger—gun ready to go off.
Right then—whack! A pebble hit the boss, not on his wrist, but way over at his side. Shouldn’t have made any difference, but his whole body jerked, his arm flung wide. Bang! The gun went off, but the only one who got shot was another Brotherhood goon, not Kevin or anyone from his crew.
For a second, the place went dead quiet.
"Who did that?!" the boss shrieked, freaked out so bad he nearly wet himself.
"It—it was him!" Big Beard pointed at Jack Young, who was still sitting there all Zen. His voice was shaking: "I saw it. He threw the pebble!"
"You—you bastard!" Just seeing Jack Young sitting there with his eyes closed was enough to make the boss's teeth chatter. But he’d already fired, so might as well go all in: "Screw it, everyone open fire! Shoot him!"
Thirty-something pistols aimed at Jack Young. The Brotherhood thugs looked both terrified and ferocious as they squeezed their triggers. Jack kept his eyes shut, but his right hand flicked across the ground—dozens of pebbles shot out like confetti, pelting the goons.
Bang bang bang! Gunshots everywhere, muzzle flashes, and screams. Kevin and his crew hit the deck, hands over their heads, praying not to get shot. But as they peeked up, they saw none of the bullets even grazed Jack Young. The shooters were flailing and firing like maniacs—their bullets only hit their own guys.
A moment later, the gunfire faded. Silence. Every last Brotherhood thug was down for the count—killed by friendly fire.
"Guess I'm still not as good as Old Master Tang," Jack Young muttered. "He could get gunmen to waste zero bullets, but me? At least half of them went flying for nothing. Thinking about it, in his world, Old Master Tang must be the top dog, totally unbeatable."
"Jack?" Kevin piped up, careful: "You okay now?"
"All good." Jack Young opened his eyes, clearer than ever. He smiled, fresh as rain on a mountain: "Not just okay—never felt better. My skills just leveled up, and I figured out something huge."
Whoosh—a chilly wind swept through, making Kevin and the others' necks prickle. Crap, Death was back! Just as they tensed up, Jack Young flicked a few pebbles, and the four of them found themselves sprinting out the factory door at record speed.
Crunch! The old factory started to fall apart, bricks and stones collapsing everywhere. Huge slabs came crashing down, aiming right at Jack Young. But Jack didn’t even flinch—no panic, no surprise, not even the usual caution. He strolled along with a faint smile, not bothering to look at the falling debris.
It was like he was out for an after-dinner walk, cool as could be. Not a single chunk of rubble touched his clothes—they all crashed into empty space. The whole factory collapsed, dust flying everywhere, wind whipping so hard Kevin and crew had to shut their eyes. When they finally peeked, there was Jack Young, walking out of the ruins without a scratch.
His clothes fluttered, the scale-like patterns on his skin turning to dust and drifting away—Jack Young looked reborn, absolutely glowing.
"I finally get it. That weird, anxious feeling—it was Death’s 'qi'. When you run your energy by will, you create 'qi', and the secret of internal martial arts is all about attacking 'qi'!"
Once you can sense the other guy’s qi, victory’s already within reach.
Jack Young grinned: "So, who wants to join me in giving Death a good old-fashioned beatdown?"