Of course, the reason he hadn’t revealed his martial arts before was because he hadn’t yet mastered Tiger Roar Golden Bell Shield and Dragon Chant Iron Shirt. Either of these two internal arts is extremely difficult to master on its own, requiring exceptional talent, unwavering focus, and decades of relentless hard work.

When the two internal arts are fused together, it’s no longer something that talent and diligence alone can accomplish—it requires a true spirit of seeking the Way.

Talent and diligence are not lacking among many young people in this world, but the spirit of seeking the Way is one in ten thousand.

The so-called spirit of seeking the Way means that, apart from the Way, nothing else matters; to hear the Way in the morning and be willing to die in the evening. This requires great courage, great wisdom, great sacrifice, and great aspiration.

Ethan Thompson is such a person. He possesses the spirit of seeking the Way, so in the process of practicing martial arts, he fused the two internal arts together, gradually transforming, and has already begun to walk the path of the “inhuman.”

After successfully fusing the two internal arts, he became as swift as a ghost, struck like lightning, his body as strong as steel, his vitality immense—now he could finally display his martial arts in front of others.

Passing through layers of grand courtyard gates, corridors, and gardens, Ethan Thompson arrived at the courtyard where his family lived. Along the way, many guards were stationed, but they all recognized him and did not stop him.

His home was a typical siheyuan, with three entrances and three exits, exuding the aura of a wealthy household. The courtyard was lush, ancient trees towering, moss mottled beneath the eaves, light and shadow interlacing, creating a solemn atmosphere.

Beneath the ancient trees in the courtyard stood a tea table, with two chairs placed casually beside it. Seated were two men, each about fifty years old. One was Ethan Thompson’s father, the other he did not recognize, but judging by his authority and presence, he was clearly someone who had held a high position for many years.

Chapter 4: Victory and Defeat

In the grand courtyard, the two elders sat quietly.

His older brother Ryan Thompson stood by, attending to them. Besides him, there was another man, also standing and attending, about thirty years old, dressed in military uniform, who immediately caught Ethan Thompson’s attention. This man stood as straight as a spear piercing the sky, as if a domineering force contending with the heavens was contained within him—this was not something that could be cultivated by mere rank and power.

High rank and power are illusory, bestowed by others, and only then does one wield authority—this is the art of power. All who wield power, deep down, revere spirits and heaven, because they know this is not their own strength, but fortune. Even ancient emperors were no exception; they had to offer sacrifices to heaven and the gods.

But cultivators are different. Through arduous cultivation, they become strong, their will unyielding, breaking through all obstacles, contending with the heavens, killing gods if gods block their way, killing Buddhas if Buddhas block their way. Their power comes from themselves, not from others.

An emperor can be betrayed by all in a single day, but a cultivator cannot. His power comes from within and cannot be taken away.

This is the difference between immortals and emperors.

The aura within that thirty-year-old soldier was that of a true cultivator. He was the same kind of person as Ethan Thompson.

There were four people in the courtyard: two sitting, two standing.

Ethan Thompson’s father and Ryan Thompson were a father and son pair. The other pair also appeared to be father and son. This was a private meeting, or perhaps just a casual chat.

“Why are you only just arriving?” Ryan Thompson saw him enter the courtyard and reproached him.

“Big brother, my apologies.” Ethan Thompson was calm as still water, displaying proper etiquette. “Dad, you look well.”

“You still know to come home!” His father, named Chris Thompson, saw him enter, his face darkening, extremely stern: “All these years you’ve been loafing around outside, and now you’re already 24. It’s time to get married and have children, settle down with a stable job. By the way, this is my comrade-in-arms, General Oliver Carter, and his son, David Carter. You should address them as uncle and elder brother.”

“David here is the personal bodyguard of the highest leader, never leaving his side,” Ryan Thompson added. “In the future, look after my good-for-nothing little brother. Also, Ethan, this time you’ve come back, the old man has decided you’re to marry that Grace Fisher. This isn’t just a simple blind date. And from today on, you can’t loaf around anymore. The old man has arranged a position for you, working as a civil servant in a ministry. Work steadily and climb the ranks. Give our Li family more sons.”

“I don’t want to get married, and I don’t want a job.” Ethan Thompson shook his head.

“Ethan, what are you saying?” His older brother Ryan Thompson’s face darkened rapidly, anger written all over it. “At your age, you’re still being willful? You’ve never listened since you were a child, always running around, running away from home. I thought you’d calm down as you got older, but you’re getting more and more out of hand. What exactly do you want?”

His father Chris Thompson also fell silent, his face gloomy. In his view, Ethan Thompson was simply too unruly, contradicting his elders in front of outsiders—especially in a strict military family like this, having such a rebellious son was a disgrace to the family’s reputation.

“Guards.” Chris Thompson, with a soldier’s decisiveness, stood up directly: “Put him in confinement, let him cool off.”

“All right, Uncle Li, let me talk to Ethan.” The thirty-something David Carter strolled forward, patting Ethan Thompson on the shoulder in the manner of an elder brother advising a younger one.

However, before his palm could land on Ethan Thompson’s shoulder, the latter’s shoulder moved, sharp as a sword, pointed as a needle, a bone rising up and aiming directly at the center of his palm.