Li Si pulled off the heavy hood, soaked in sweat.
The heat was brutal. Thankfully, ever since loading the template, his body had improved significantly. Otherwise, wearing this thick killer suit during training would've knocked out most people with heatstroke.
Master Chen walked over and gestured toward him.
"In that punch just now—I taught it to land on the chest. But if you raise your hand that high, you're going straight for the throat."
Li Si smiled, polite and easygoing. "Got it."
He resumed practice, but not long after, Master Chen frowned again.
"Hey! Don't kick your leg there."
Li Si nodded obediently.
A few seconds passed.
Master Chen called out a third time, voice edged with frustration: "Stop being so accurate."
He sighed. "Come on. Spar with me."
The issue with Li Si's moves wasn't clumsiness—it was precision. Deadly precision. He was always targeting the wrong spots. What should've been a clean shoulder strike would veer toward the neck. A kick meant for the calf ended up aimed at the crotch.
It was like his body had a mind of its own—like a deeply ingrained instinct he couldn't shake.
So Master Chen decided to step in as a live training dummy and help correct Li Si's muscle memory.
Li Si didn't argue.
He stripped off the thick overalls, swept his wet hair back, and stepped into position with calm, loose posture.
"Raise your left hand... a bit higher. That's it. Now flatten the punch—it should land clean on the chest," Master Chen guided him, adjusting Li Si's arm.
"Perfect. Now run through the motion again—full speed."
Li Si paused to think for a beat, then shot his left hand forward.
Master Chen barely dodged.
His balance wobbled, and he nearly fell. A chill ran down his spine.
Li Si had aimed for his throat.
He'd seen it—those fingers slicing through the air like a blade. And if he hadn't moved in time…
Master Chen broke into a cold sweat.
In most forms of martial arts, throat strikes were strictly banned. Too risky. Too easy to go wrong. In a proper fight, you'd be disqualified immediately. But this wasn't a match. This was training.
"You did that on purpose!" Master Chen blurted out, half in shock, half in anger. He felt like he'd been ambushed by some street punk—not a rookie actor.
Li Si looked genuinely apologetic. "Sorry, Master Chen. Want to go again?"
Again?
Master Chen shook his head violently.
His mind replayed the last move—Li Si's fingers brushing his Adam's apple. It wasn't just a graze. It was deliberate. Precise.
There's a lethal move in Mantis Boxing called "Diao Shou." First, you feel for the throat with two fingers—then yank.
Master Chen suddenly had a realization.
This kid's done real fighting before.
Not staged. Not choreographed. Real.
He was accurate. He was ruthless. For a moment, Master Chen had honestly believed Li Si was trying to kill him.
But what if Li Si wasn't doing this on purpose?
What if the problem wasn't poor training—but muscle memory? What if he'd been conditioned to fight like this?
That thought chilled him even more.
It's a peaceful era. Why would someone have that kind of reflex?
Don't think about it, he told himself. Just don't.
Still, ideas swirled in his head—gang background? Underground fighter? Professional killer?
How a person like this ended up in a film crew, he didn't know. But better to stay out of it. He cast a meaningful glance at Director Sun, silently wishing him luck.
Director Sun stared back, confused. "Why are you blinking like that? Got something in your eye?"
After a full morning of training, Master Chen finally sat down for a break. He'd barely raised his water bottle to his lips when Li Si appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and handed him a bottle of Coke.
"Pfft!" Master Chen spat out a mouthful of water.
He clutched the Coke like it was a grenade. "What—what do you want?"
His brain scrambled through worst-case scenarios, each more terrifying than the last.
But Li Si looked sincere. "I'm really sorry about earlier, Master Chen. I used to train alone... did I hurt you?"
Master Chen paused. "...Trained alone?"
Li Si nodded and handed him a lunchbox. Master Chen peeked inside—two chicken legs. Then he glanced at Li Si's, which only had vegetables.
…This kid.
Silently, Master Chen moved the chicken legs into Li Si's box. "Don't tell me you're self-taught."
"No," Li Si shook his head. "My father taught me. It's just something passed down in the family."
The original body's parents were both gone anyway. He might as well lie.
Master Chen was still skeptical, but somehow... 70% convinced.
He ate a few bites of rice, took a swig of Coke, then looked up seriously.
"Look, your techniques might've been fine thirty years ago, but now everyone talks about the law. Being that aggressive will get you in trouble."
Li Si nodded. "You're right."
He was genuinely listening. Master Chen could see that. The advice wasn't falling on deaf ears.
In real life, fights were messy, unpredictable. If someone like Li Si lost control—even once—he'd be looking at twenty years behind bars.
Master Chen still looked uneasy, even after finishing his meal. He wiped his mouth, then glanced at Li Si.
"When does your shoot wrap up?"
"In a week."
"Good." He stood up. "I'm also doing martial arts direction for another crew nearby. When you're free, want to come lend a hand?"
He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You've got talent. And I think... someone needs to guide you."
---
To be Continued...