Chapter 41: Revealing Divine Power Before the Masses!

With Chen Jue’s explosive punch, the entire venue was plunged into a deeply uncanny silence. That hush lasted barely two or three seconds before someone with a fiery temper couldn’t help but exclaim, “Holy… crap!”

Immediately, the hall erupted with shouts of astonishment. Among the thousand or so soldiers gathered, some broke into enthusiastic applause, others shouted their approval, and still others gasped at the spectacle.

They had already witnessed a dazzling array of martial arts, sanda, combat techniques, grappling maneuvers, and even the flying kicks of taekwondo. The performances had been nothing short of delightful, a visual feast in themselves. Yet none could compare to the sheer impact of that final, brutally simple punch—it was on an entirely different level.

Of all the soldiers present, the most fervent applause came from the three who had once helped Chen Jue subdue a pickpocket on a city bus. Faces flushed, hands nearly numb from clapping, they kept boasting to their neighbors, “Didn’t I tell you? This guy’s the real deal! Now do you believe me?”

Even the television crew filming from afar stared wide-eyed, as though witnessing a ghost in broad daylight. What they had expected to be an ordinary martial arts exchange had turned into a scene worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster—no special effects, just raw, unadulterated power.

Some of the cameramen were so startled their hands shook; they nearly dropped their cameras.

Meanwhile, the seven civilian masters invited to sit in the front row were left gaping in shock, unable to utter a word, only swallowing nervously as they compared themselves to the young man on stage.

That lunging punch had seemed straightforward enough, yet it had burst a standing sandbag and sent its two-hundred-pound weight flying across the stage. Such a terrifying blow—if it landed on a person, bones would be shattered, tendons snapped. The thought alone made the upcoming sparring matches in the afternoon a daunting prospect, and several of the civilian masters couldn’t help but tremble involuntarily.

As for Political Commissar Yao, who had invited Chen Jue, he was overjoyed, nudging the regimental commander and his deputy. “Well, what do you think? Didn’t I tell you I had a good eye?”

“This is martial arts beyond compare! He’s like a little Superman! I’ve never seen anything like it. With skills like his, he could win gold at the military’s grand competition without breaking a sweat.” Both the commander and his deputy nodded enthusiastically, feeling that the effort of organizing such a large-scale exchange had truly been worthwhile.

After his brief display on stage, Chen Jue relaxed his posture, sweat beading across his skin. He cupped his fists to the audience in a modest gesture. “Thank you for letting me show my humble skills.”

The hall thundered with applause, shouts for an encore rising above the din.

Chen Jue smiled faintly, pleased at his warm reception, but despite the crowd’s pleas, he quickly stepped down and returned to his seat in the front row.

With that, all the demonstrations came to an end. Political Commissar Yao took the stage once more, microphone in hand. “Was that exciting enough for you?”

The hall roared its approval. “Yes!”

“Want to see more?” he called.

“Yes!” came the unanimous reply.

Clearly, Chen Jue’s punch had left a powerful impression.

“If you want more, you’ll have to wait until this afternoon!” Yao declared. “Now, you’re dismissed. Go fill your stomachs—after lunch, you’ll have the energy to watch and learn!” With that, he officially ended the morning’s program, and applause erupted once again.

The fighting matches were scheduled for after two o’clock in the afternoon, on the same arena in the covered parade ground.

The soldiers lined up in strict order and marched off to the mess hall.

Chen Jue, meanwhile, was surrounded by Yao, the two commanders, three martial arts coaches, and several civilian masters as they escorted him to the mess hall by car.

He felt like a celebrity—everywhere he went, someone greeted him, eager for a word or two.

As the soldiers filed past, they cheered him on, calling him “awesome” and “incredible.” A few even tried to become his disciples on the spot but were shooed back to their lines by amused officers.

...

In this lively atmosphere, Chen Jue arrived at the mess hall.

The dining hall was spacious and bright, little different from a university cafeteria, with excellent hygiene and a wide variety of well-balanced dishes.

Seeing the generous fare, Chen Jue’s appetite soared. He loaded two trays with seven or eight types of dishes, ladled himself a bowl of rice, and took his seat at a table reserved for the event’s guests.

These tables were specially set aside for visitors, including the TV crew. The seven civilian masters, accompanied by their apprentices, joined Chen Jue at his table, eager to strike up a conversation as they ate.

Chen Jue welcomed their company, chatting amiably as he polished off his meal.

After lunch, the group was invited to view the unit’s “Style and Achievement” displays—walls covered with commendations and bulletins—before being shown to a rest area to await the afternoon’s activities.

In the lounge, Master Li from the sports bureau approached Chen Jue. “Master Chen, I noticed your opening stance before that punch—it looked like ‘Zhongli Beats the Drum’ from the Eight Immortals Stance. Could it be that you also practice Boat Fist?”

Chen Jue was momentarily surprised but answered truthfully, “You’re perceptive, Master Li. I have indeed studied Boat Fist, and I’ve also practiced a bit of Shaolin Kung Fu.”

He had hoped to meet this senior Boat Fist practitioner for an exchange—but hadn’t expected Master Li to approach him first.

“So we are indeed fellow disciples! I never imagined there was a hidden Boat Fist master like you in the Wen City area. May I ask which lineage you trained under?” Master Li inquired with curiosity.

“Which lineage? Honestly, I learned mostly by following your instructional videos!” Chen Jue found it a bit absurd and funny but felt it inappropriate to say so outright. With a quick turn of thought, he claimed to be a disciple of the Huang family from Huangjia Village.

Master Li, evidently having heard of Boat Fist practitioners from Huangjia Village, smiled knowingly. “Ah, so you’re from the Huang lineage! My father used to mention that there was a Boat Fist tradition in Panlong Town, but the old Master Huang passed away early, and we thought there were no true successors left. Who would have guessed I’d meet a descendant of the art today!”

“It’s truly an eye-opener!”