At this moment, James Carter had already recovered his strength.

“Turns out, practicing martial arts without medicine will eventually drive you to hang yourself. Feels good…” Scott Miller let out a long sigh as he was being massaged, and said a martial arts proverb in somewhat stilted Chinese: “You Chinese farmers are truly amazing. Working the fields all day, surely without using any medicated oil for massages, and yet you can keep at it for a lifetime.”

“Scott Miller, why did you come to China to learn kung fu? I see your fighting skills are quite good, and on the world fighting competition stage, there’s never any sign of Chinese kung fu. Everyone doubts that Chinese kung fu is a scam and can’t actually fight, yet you still believe in it so much. Have you ever seen a real master?” While helping Scott Miller with the massage, he voiced his inner question.

He had been at the martial arts school for two days and hadn’t seen anyone with outstanding martial arts skills. What they were learning was very simple—just digging and turning over soil. Could that really be used for fighting? He would never believe it.

James Carter wasn’t afraid of hardship, but he was afraid of working hard with no results, going down the wrong path.

“A match is a match, and a fight is a fight. You absolutely can’t confuse the two.” Scott Miller fell into reminiscence: “I first learned Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, which is a ground technique. It’s very useful in competitions, and I even won a few small regional championships. But once, in a street fight, I locked up a thug, but during the scuffle, my head hit the corner of the street and I bled a lot. That’s when I realized Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is only suitable for the ring. On the complicated streets, if you’re grappling on the ground, you never know what accidents might happen. So I learned boxing, but then I got knocked out by someone’s kick. I went on to learn Muay Thai and kickboxing, but once I ran into a gang member, a Black guy who practiced Chinese kung fu—Hung Gar. My skills were better than his, but he was as fierce as a tiger. Facing his attacks, I didn’t even dare to confront him and was utterly defeated. That’s why I came to learn.”

“You’ve got a lot of real fighting experience.” James Carter had long noticed the many scars on Scott Miller’s body, all from street fights—maybe one against many, maybe with weapons involved, all sorts of situations.

“Scott Miller, if I want to quickly improve my fighting skills and be able to beat people, what should I do?” James Carter asked a key question.

Chapter 2: A Thousand Years of Martial Arts, Blossoming Inside, Fragrant Outside

“Do more real fighting.” Scott Miller said with certainty: “Not the kind of ring fighting, but real-life brawls. When you’re facing a vicious enemy charging at you, all your techniques are useless, your mind goes blank, and the fight is all instinct—tearing and wild punches. Only when you’ve trained yourself to stay calm in the face of a fierce enemy can your techniques come into play. Of course, you can start practicing with ring matches first. What do you call this in Chinese kung fu? Let me think.”

He patted his head, then suddenly remembered, “Oh, it’s called first courage, second strength, third skill. Without courage, any technique will fail.”

“I only have two months. When summer break ends, I have to go back to school. In two months, what can I actually achieve?” James Carter kept absorbing knowledge and experience from Scott Miller.

This foreigner who often fought not only helped him practice his spoken English, but also provided fighting experience, helping him avoid detours.

Scott Miller had done a lot of research on Chinese kung fu, and had traveled across the ocean to come here. This spirit and thirst for knowledge were both things James Carter admired.

“Oh? Two months, James Carter, you’re not joking, are you?” Scott Miller almost jumped up. “You can’t even build muscle in two months. You know, I’ve been training for seven or eight years. I really can’t help with that—unless you practice shooting. Bang! A bullet can solve a lot of problems for you.”

James Carter fell silent, knowing that wanting to learn fighting and become a master in two months was indeed impossible.

Reality isn’t like novels or movies, where you eat some kind of elixir, get handed a hundred years of power, or have your body cleansed by spiritual energy, instantly transforming you.

“That guy has trained for years in Sanda, fighting, wrestling, and is a top expert, spending every day in the gym. If I learn fighting the same way as him, I’ll never beat him. But I can’t let him keep harassing my sister.” Thinking of his own humiliation, James Carter felt angry. That’s why he came to the traditional martial arts class, instead of the Sanda, Muay Thai, or MMA classes at the martial arts school.

There were many fighting training classes at Minglun Martial Arts School, but on the contrary, very few people signed up for the traditional martial arts class. Even those who did were mostly foreigners.

“This really is a case of flowers blooming inside the wall, but the fragrance is outside.” That’s how James Carter described it.

A day of digging and turning soil training passed like this. In the last hour, coach William Clark explained what posture to use for digging, turning, knocking, lifting, and dropping.

Other than that, he taught nothing else—no martial arts moves or fighting techniques at all.

“Coach, aren’t we here to learn martial arts? When will we start training in fighting and real combat?” At this moment, a student couldn’t help but ask.

“I’ve already told you how to make money, do I also have to teach you how to spend it?” Coach William Clark said coldly, shutting the student up.