Jiang Feng was unaware of Zhao Wuxia’s wild thoughts. After a hearty meal, he regained some strength. He asked Zhao Wuxia to ensure no one disturbed him, then pulled the blanket over his head and fell into a deep sleep.
Seeing him asleep, Zhao Wuxia lingered by the bedside briefly. She wanted to ask Jiang Feng about the car accident and why he risked his life to save her. The attack at the police station’s entrance was clearly premeditated, not a random incident. She even suspected it might be connected to Jiang Feng, though she couldn’t fathom who he’d offended so gravely that they’d want him dead.
Could it be the Li family?
Zhao Wuxia considered this but quickly dismissed it. Though the shooting in the detention room was hushed up by the police, the Jiang family had caught wind of it, and so had she—otherwise, bailing Jiang Feng out wouldn’t have been so easy. The Li family was already on shaky ground; they wouldn’t be foolish enough to target Jiang Feng again so soon. Unless they were ready to completely sever ties with the Jiang family, acting at such a sensitive time was unthinkable.
If not the Li family, then who? Unable to piece it together, Zhao Wuxia felt a mix of gratitude and confusion—Jiang Feng had saved her life, yet he slept on, ignoring her entirely. Feeling both complicated and disappointed, she quietly left the room. The moment she was gone, Jiang Feng sat up.
When he saved Zhao Wuxia the previous day, his body’s potential had been pushed to its limit. The inner qi he’d cultivated scattered, leaving him extremely weak. Yet every setback had its silver lining. That burst of potential had brought him to the threshold of the second layer of body refinement.
He’d also gained a fleeting insight at the police station. Though the hospital wasn’t ideal for cultivation, he couldn’t afford to slack off. He had to seize this chance to grow stronger—another incident like yesterday’s, and he might not survive.
Jumping off the bed, Jiang Feng threw a punch, his figure weaving as he performed a set of body-refining fist techniques. He’d stumbled upon this method in a sacred land’s scripture pavilion. Known for its domineering ferocity, the technique demanded robust inner qi. With his current strength, Jiang Feng could only perform its basic form, barely tapping into a fraction of its explosive power.
Still, the technique’s greatest merit was its ability to mobilize every part of the body—joints, membranes, even blood—in perfect harmony with each punch. Before breaking through to the first layer of body refinement, Jiang Feng could scarcely manage ten punches of this empty form. Now, having reached the first layer, he had a foundation of inner qi. Though that qi had scattered into his organs, this fist technique could gather it back.
His punches quickened, the wind they stirred growing louder. His blood surged, generating heat, and the essence of the medicines he’d taken was gradually absorbed. Sweat poured from him, only to evaporate, leaving a fine layer of salt on his skin—impurities accumulated over years in this body.
As those impurities were expelled, the medicine’s essence steadily improved Jiang Feng’s constitution. His once-stiff movements grew smooth and fluid. After half an hour, a glint flashed in his eyes. His motion stilled, and with a long exhale of turbid air, a satisfied smile spread across his face. The second layer of body refinement was his.
Jiang Feng was staying in a deluxe suite, and Zhao Wuxia had prepared clean clothes for him. He took a hot shower, washing away the expelled impurities. He felt lighter, his body more agile. The second layer, while not a massive leap from the first, was a critical milestone in early body refinement. Beyond increased strength, it fortified his organs, bones, muscles, and membranes—a vital foundation for future cultivation. A weak base here would make the third layer exponentially harder, let alone the mid-stage, where the body’s structure began to subtly transform.
Originally, Jiang Feng hadn’t planned to break through so soon, given his body’s frailty. But yesterday’s ordeal had scattered his inner qi, risking permanent injury if not addressed. He’d taken the gamble, and now, having succeeded, he breathed a small sigh of relief. A blessing in disguise, perhaps.
Freshly dressed, he stepped out of the bathroom just as Ma Lianhao burst in like a whirlwind, shouting, “Young Master, Young Master, are you okay?”
“What could be wrong with me?” Jiang Feng sidestepped, dodging Ma Lianhao’s enthusiastic embrace.
Ma Lianhao grinned, eyeing Jiang Feng up and down with an intensity that made Jiang Feng uneasy. “What’s with the stare?” he snapped.
“Young Master Jiang, storming the police station with three beauties by your side—I gotta see when you got so charming!” Ma Lianhao teased.
The night Jiang Feng was taken from the Red Devil Bar by Xia Dongxue, Ma Lianhao had been terrified. He’d made over a dozen calls for help, but once people heard the Li family was involved, they hung up. With no real connections in Yanjing, his so-called friends were just drinking buddies. After repeated rejections, he knew things were bad but could only wait, hoping the Jiang family would intervene.
After a nerve-wracking day and night, news of Jiang Feng’s car accident and hospitalization reached him. He’d rushed over immediately but only caught a distant glimpse of Jiang Feng, as Sister Hua and Chen Siran were there. Though he didn’t understand why they were with Jiang Feng, their presence reassured him.
“Three beauties?” Jiang Feng blinked.
Ma Lianhao smirked. “Exactly! Your charm’s off the charts, Young Master. I’m no match for you.”
“Who were they?” Jiang Feng cut through the banter.
Ma Lianhao, ever the gossip, was about to embellish when Zhao Wuxia walked in. Spotting her, he shrank back, bowing slightly. “Miss Zhao,” he greeted hurriedly.
Jiang Feng had asked for rest, so Zhao Wuxia had barred visitors. But Ma Lianhao had come to the hospital yesterday, showing genuine concern unlike Jiang Feng’s usual fair-weather friends, so she’d let him through. Now, she glanced at him, frowning. “The young master needs rest. If you’ve got nothing urgent, leave soon.”
Ma Lianhao nodded like a pecking hen.
Jiang Feng stifled a laugh—Ma Lianhao’s fear of Zhao Wuxia was unexpected. Zhao Wuxia gave Jiang Feng a look before leaving the room.
Ma Lianhao mimed wiping sweat from his brow, then gave Jiang Feng a thumbs-up.
Jiang Feng ignored him. “Go on.”
Ma Lianhao chuckled. “What’s there to say? It’s obvious! When has Zhao Wuxia ever been kind to us? Now she’s fussing over you. Tell me there’s no spark there.”
“Get to the point,” Jiang Feng said, growing impatient.
Usually, Jiang Feng loved this kind of gossip, but his lack of interest threw Ma Lianhao off. Not daring to ramble, he said, “Young Master, I came by yesterday while you were out cold. I saw Sister Hua and Chen Siran here. They both looked worried, really concerned about you.”
Sister Hua and Chen Siran?
A week had passed, and Jiang Feng knew his earlier warnings had come true—Sister Hua’s hidden ailment had flared up. He felt a pang of regret but no deep pity. He’d tried to help, and she’d brushed him off; her seeking him out now was no surprise. But showing up at the hospital? That was unexpected.
As for Chen Siran, her presence puzzled him more. They’d only crossed paths once, with no real bond. Why would she come?
Unable to make sense of it, Jiang Feng moved on. “That night at the Red Devil Bar, were you digging into the Huatian Racecourse?”
Ma Lianhao nodded. “Yeah, but I hit dead ends. Later, I figured we’d need to investigate from inside the racetrack. Only insiders might know who’s pulling the strings.”
Jiang Feng’s mind stirred—Ma Lianhao was right. Whoever tampered with things had been discreet, leaving few traces. But no matter how careful, there’d be clues. Starting from within the racetrack was the best bet.
Ma Lianhao continued, “Young Master, since Sister Hua came to see you yesterday, she’s clearly got a soft spot for you. If you visit the Huatian Club again, she won’t kick you out. It’s a good opportunity.”
Jiang Feng rolled his eyes.
Ma Lianhao was nudging him toward a honey trap—a terrible idea. Sure, he was good-looking, but not enough to make a seasoned woman like Sister Hua swoon.
Glaring at Ma Lianhao, he said, “Drop it. I’ll handle this myself.”