Donghua Country, Wuhai.
The sun rose in the east, bathing the world in dawn's light.
In a room of villa A203 in Longyuan District, the soft morning light cascaded like a waterfall through a transparent glass ceiling, showering down upon Zhou Yuanjue.
Zhou Yuanjue had a clean-cut, short hairstyle. He wore a black compression shirt and a simple pair of athletic shorts.
The lines of his muscles were full and fluid without being exaggerated. Every inch of his flesh seemed like a perfect work of art, the pinnacle of human beauty as sculpted by the legendary masters of old.
At this moment, he held a peculiar stance.
He balanced on his right foot, his left foot lifted and tucked in toward his abdomen, knee slightly bent. His entire center of gravity was low to the ground.
It was a pose in which it was extremely difficult to maintain balance, one where he could teeter and fall at any moment. Yet, he stood as immovable as a mountain, projecting an aura of tall and steady strength.
His arms were raised like an eagle spreading its wings. His shoulders were shockingly broad—not from muscle mass, but as if he possessed the frame of a giant. A distinct, spiral-shaped birthmark was visible on his upper arm.
The Soaring Form of the Red Falcon Fist.
WHOOSH... HISS...
WHOOSH... HISS...
Zhou Yuanjue maintained the eagle-like stance, his chest and abdomen rising and falling in slow, deep motions.
His breathing was so powerful that it stirred the air throughout the dozens of square meters of the room. A normal person standing there would probably feel a cool breeze, as if surrounded by standing fans.
Of course, before they could feel that coolness, they would more likely suffocate from lack of oxygen first.
In fact, the four sealed walls of the room were dotted with inconspicuous holes. These were part of a state-of-the-art air exchange and purification device, designed to rapidly circulate gases and ensure the room's air remained clean and its oxygen levels above normal.
Dawn's light streamed in as currents of air swirled around, buffeting his body.
In that instant, Zhou Yuanjue seemed to find the feeling of soaring through the sky, carrying the heavens on his back and defying the celestial gales—an eagle striking across the vast expanse.
He snapped his eyes open, like a falcon locking onto its prey.
Blood rapidly flooded his arms. The flesh swelled slightly, turning a purplish-red.
SCREEE!!
In the next moment, countless afterimages of his fists, moving faster than the naked eye could follow, covered every corner of the room.
The ferocious power and speed tore at and grated against the already chaotic air currents, producing a sharp sound like the cry of a bird.
Just hearing that piercing sound was enough to make one's hair stand on end and scalp tingle. If those blows landed on a human body, who knew what terrifying damage they would inflict.
Thirty fists...
Sixty fists...
Ninety fists...
Hundred Falcons' Cry!!
After throwing the hundredth punch, Zhou Yuanjue's movements came to an abrupt halt, and he stood motionless.
The sky full of fist afterimages vanished, and the turbulent air in the room quickly settled.
WHOOSH!!
He slowly exhaled a long breath.
TSS!!
As he breathed, the pores that had been sealed shut during his exertion opened. A potent aura, heat, and sweat mingled, creating a momentary mist around his body in the midsummer morning.
'Hundred Falcons' Cry... It's finally complete. With this, the Red Falcon Fist has truly reached Great Success.'
His intense body temperature rapidly dropped after he stopped moving. The mist disappeared, and fine beads of sweat appeared all over Zhou Yuanjue's skin. He looked slightly fatigued.
An ordinary person would feel exhausted after throwing less than ten consecutive punches with all their might. A professionally trained person might be able to last a bit longer. But to do what Zhou Yuanjue did—unleash such terrifying explosive power for over a hundred consecutive punches with perfectly even force and no drop in power—was unimaginable.
It required terrifying lung capacity, a powerful heart, resilient blood vessels, unimaginable muscle strength, and power-generating techniques honed through relentless practice. Lacking in even one of these areas would make it utterly impossible.
For this reason, the Hundred Falcons' Cry was the killing move of the Red Falcon Fist, designed to crush all of an opponent's defenses with a frontal assault of stormy, continuous attacks. At the same time, it also served as a benchmark for a Martial Artist's cultivation level in the Red Falcon Fist and their physical conditioning.
Being able to fully execute the Hundred Falcons' Cry meant one's cultivation of the Red Falcon Fist had reached its peak, and one's physical abilities had attained a level unimaginable to ordinary people. In the entire recorded history of the Red Falcon Fist, very few had ever reached this realm.
Even if Zhou Yuanjue's master were reborn, he would likely be astonished that Zhou Yuanjue had managed to train the Red Falcon Fist to such a terrifying degree.
This was the stuff of legend.
Eight years of martial arts practice had finally led him to this point.
Zhou Yuanjue's eyes were downcast, his expression devoid of joy or sorrow. He was not moved in the slightest by his martial arts reaching a new peak.
He had always firmly believed that sooner or later he would reach this stage, and even go beyond it.
To him, this realm was not a new peak, nor was it the limit of the Martial Dao. It was merely a new beginning.
He was never satisfied with his current achievements, even if those achievements were what many considered an absolute peak.
Life does not cease, and neither do the challenges.
After finishing his morning practice, Zhou Yuanjue washed up and checked the time. It was exactly seven in the morning.
He took his pre-prepared medicinal breakfast from the smart rice cooker. The faint, herbal aroma was enough to stir the appetite.
DING!!
Before he could start enjoying his breakfast, his phone chimed. It wasn't a text message, but a special encrypted email.
Zhou Yuanjue entered his password and opened the email.
"Tonight at 9 PM. Binjiang Tianhai Boxing Arena. Opponent: Wu He Mountain of Southern Myanmar, Fierce Tiger Fist."
Seeing the short, encrypted email, Zhou Yuanjue's expression remained calm as he quickly typed a reply and sent it back:
"This is the last time."
The email was sent. The other party didn't reply for a long time, but Zhou Yuanjue wasn't in a hurry. He sat upright, his eyes downcast, and began to eat his medicinal meal slowly and deliberately.
DING!!
Fifteen minutes later, just as Zhou Yuanjue was about to finish eating, his phone chimed again.
However, Zhou Yuanjue didn't look at it immediately. As if he hadn't noticed, he continued to focus on his breakfast.
When the last bite of his meal went down, he closed his eyes.
GURGLE!!
His stomach emitted a deep rumble, like some kind of machine at work.
About three minutes later, the rumbling in his stomach stopped. Only then did he open his eyes again and pick up his phone.
"You win. We can discuss anything."
The reply was equally brief.
Zhou Yuanjue didn't reply. He calmly locked his phone screen, tidied the table, washed the bowl and chopsticks, and changed into a set of slightly more formal clothes. At half past seven on the dot, he left the house, got in his car, and drove out of Longyuan District toward Wuhai University.
At eight o'clock sharp, he had an early morning class. His identity as Heiwei Yuan, a senior duel master, was merely his hidden profession. His main, public-facing job was actually a lecturer in the history department at Wuhai University.