From the day he’d cried and then gone looking for trouble with those idiots at No. 21 Middle School, all the way to punching Lü Ze yesterday — Fan Jun had sensed that Zou Yang had been holding something in this whole time.

He wasn’t entirely certain, because most of the time Zou Yang seemed fairly controlled on the surface.

Until now. Zou Yang sitting on the floor, expressionless, delivering that single word: “Satisfying.”

Yeah. He’d been holding it in alright.

“Did you bring your gloves?” He checked Zou Yang’s wrist once more, confirming that while the frostbite was real, it wasn’t severe.

“Hm?” Zou Yang looked up at him.

“Did you bring your gloves?” Fan Jun asked.

“Yeah,” Zou Yang said.

“Put them on then,” Fan Jun said. “Let me see your level.”

Zou Yang was quiet for a moment, then stood up and looked at his wrist. “That’s going to hurt like hell.”

“Bear with it,” Fan Jun said.

Zou Yang said no more. He turned and headed back to the changing room, took out his gloves from his bag, and walked toward the training area wrapping his bandages as he went.

He had no idea why Fan Jun suddenly made this offer, and he was too lazy to ask.

All he felt was a vague, rising excitement.

Even with the worry about his wrist, he was still excited — the question of whether it would hurt didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

Fan Jun was already geared up, pads in hand, waiting for him in the training area.

“You’re not going to fight me?” Zou Yang eyed the pads.

“Then you’d just be getting hit,” Fan Jun said.

“…Your uncle,” Zou Yang muttered, then swept a glance at the protective gear Fan Jun had on. “And yet you’re wearing all that padding.”

“Can you actually stop yourself from kicking and throwing me?” Fan Jun said.

Zou Yang said nothing — just made a short click of his tongue.

“Alright then,” Fan Jun said. “Five laps to warm up.”

“What?” Zou Yang blinked.

“Five laps to warm up.” Fan Jun repeated, and this time his tone was noticeably more serious — he sounded like an actual coach.

…Right. He was actually his coach.

Zou Yang changed his shoes and sprinted five laps around the training area.

Tan Ru’s enthusiastic student was there again today, and as Zou Yang ran past, gave him a wave: “Hey buddy — are you training long-distance too?”

…Instructor Tan’s sessions clearly aren’t intense enough.

Normally warm-ups wouldn’t be this simple, but today Fan Jun made an exception. He watched Zou Yang return from the laps and patted the pads. “Come on.”

Zou Yang stepped his right foot back, turned slightly sideways, and settled into his stance.

The fighting stance — weight balanced, body angled — was quite clean. Zou Yang had clearly been trained.

The moment the pads went up, Zou Yang fired a crisp left jab into them, immediately followed by a right cross. The speed of both the strike and the retraction was sharp, and the right cross had real power behind it.

Fan Jun stepped back half a step. Zou Yang shuffled in and closed the distance, pressing forward — a burst of straight punches followed by a hook. Fan Jun retreated. Zou Yang stepped with him, then landed a front push kick square into his chest.

Fan Jun was pushed back a step. He said: “Good.”

“Shut up,” Zou Yang said.

When Fan Jun tried to press back in, Zou Yang didn’t hesitate — he threw a spinning back kick. Fan Jun raised his knee to block. Zou Yang immediately threw a punch, then followed with a knee strike.

Fan Jun quickly side-stepped and blocked with a rising knee of his own.

With his glasses on versus off, Zou Yang was an entirely different person. Right now, attack after attack came in a continuous flow, each strike cutting through the air — though the wrist was still probably affecting him somewhat, because he leaned more heavily on his legs.

Front kick, push kick, roundhouse… which was exactly why wearing padding had been the right call.

Fan Jun matched his attacks and defenses while keeping an eye on Zou Yang’s technique.

Honestly, Zou Yang had clearly trained for a solid stretch of time — he was better than a lot of the long-standing students at the gym. But right now he was working through some emotion, and after several rounds of offense, his footwork and breathing occasionally fell apart.

If this were a normal training session, Fan Jun would have pointed it out. But right now he just stood there silently holding the pads.

After another flurry of straight punches from Zou Yang, Fan Jun seized the opening and shot a right cross back at him. Zou Yang reacted fast — slipped to the left to dodge — then bent low, drove his shoulder into Fan Jun’s right ribs, forearm cutting across his chest, and as he continued pushing forward and down, his left arm wrapped around Fan Jun’s waist.

A textbook shoulder throw.

“That’s my man, Yang-ge!” Hou’er shouted from the sidelines.

When Fan Jun landed on the mat, Zou Yang’s arm was still pressing across his chest.

It felt good.

That kind of good — straining forward, swinging hard, keeping the pressure on.

Even his breathing felt better than usual.

Fan Jun dropped the pads and tapped the mat twice.

Zou Yang came back to himself, quickly released his arm, and dropped straight back onto the mat.

“You,” Fan Jun said, still lying there, pointing at Hou’er, who was watching the spectacle, “go jump rope.”

“I literally just got here!” Hou’er shuffled his feet without moving. “I’m not even training today, I just came to—”

“One thousand,” Fan Jun said.

“Yes, sir!” Hou’er spun around, ran to grab a jump rope, and started skipping out on the corridor.

“How’s the wrist?” Fan Jun sat up to face Zou Yang.

“It’s alright. My attention wasn’t on it,” Zou Yang said, pulling off the gloves and unwrapping the bandages to check. The wrist looked the same as before — no particular pain, at least not right now.

Though the pressure marks left by the bandaging did look a bit grim.

“Satisfying?” Fan Jun asked.

“Yeah,” Zou Yang smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“For what,” Fan Jun said.

“For taking the fall on purpose,” Zou Yang said.

“It was real,” Fan Jun said. “I genuinely didn’t expect you to go for a throw right after the kick.”

“That’s a little weak of you,” Zou Yang said. “No read on that at all?”

“Where did you train before?” Fan Jun asked, with a slight smile.

“Never formally,” Zou Yang said. “There was a trainer at the gym I used to go to in high school who had a martial arts background. I just picked things up from him casually.”

“You’re being modest,” Fan Jun said.

“I’m pretty sure you’re being sarcastic,” Zou Yang said, glancing at him.

“I’m not,” Fan Jun stood up and held out his hand. “Based on what I just saw — let me correct a few details for you.”

“Alright,” Zou Yang grabbed his hand and stood up.

His mom had been right. Fan Jun taught carefully, and with a lot of patience. Some of Zou Yang’s imperfect movements had already become muscle memory — things he defaulted to incorrectly without thinking…

He tried imagining that with Lü Ze instead. He pictured it. They’d probably end up in another fight on the spot.

No — he’d probably be the one getting beaten on the spot.

But Fan Jun’s mood was remarkably steady. Correction after correction, repetition after repetition — even when Zou Yang’s patience started fraying, Fan Jun barely registered a ripple.

And the clean, fluid demonstrations Fan Jun used to show him each movement helped considerably with keeping the student calm.

Visually pleasing. That was the word for it.

An hour slipped by without feeling like much at all.

“Shan-jie said you’re coming for lunch?” Fan Jun asked.

“Yeah,” Zou Yang opened his locker in the changing room and took out his clothes and bag.

Fan Jun glanced at the time. “You could go a bit later.”

“Why?” Zou Yang looked at him.

“…Lü Ze eats fast,” Fan Jun said.

“Then I’m going now,” Zou Yang said, pulling on his jacket and picking up his bag and heading straight for the door.

Fan Jun caught his arm.

“Relax,” Zou Yang said. “I’m over it. I just don’t want to look like I’m avoiding him.”

Fan Jun looked at him without speaking.

“Besides, I can’t actually beat him,” Zou Yang added.

“You can out-talk him,” Fan Jun said.

“Come on,” Zou Yang leaned against the lockers and laughed. “I’m not going to go off on him. No matter what, I’ve got to give Uncle Lü some face. And my mom some face.”

“Fair enough,” Fan Jun let go of his arm.

As they walked out of the changing room, Zou Yang spotted Tan Ru mid-session with a student. He leaned in close to Fan Jun’s right ear and said quietly: “Hey, my friend — he genuinely wants to sign up for Instructor Tan’s class.”

“That’s fine,” Fan Jun said. “She just joined. She has few students right now, so scheduling is flexible.”

“How’s her teaching?” Zou Yang asked.

“For your friend,” Fan Jun said, “teaching ability probably isn’t the deciding factor. You could teach him yourself.”

Zou Yang was quiet for a few seconds. “You’ve got real range, Instructor Fan. Got two people in one shot.”

“…That wasn’t what I meant,” Fan Jun said.

Zou Yang’s phone buzzed several times in a row. He pulled it out and glanced at the dorm group chat. He normally had that group on mute — these guys spent the whole week in the same room together and then spent the weekend texting like they were in a long-distance relationship. Extremely noisy.

Right now, all three of them were tagging him at once.

[Li] Ask Instructor Fan if he does group sessions, me and Wenrui

[Liu] Ask Instructor Fan if he does group sessions, me and Zhiyue

[Zhang] Ask Instructor Fan if he does group sessions, Zhiyue and Wenrui

[Zou] What are you all crowding in for

[Li] The way Instructor Fan pinned you to the wall yesterday was genuinely too cool

Zou Yang immediately felt a flash of exasperation and sent a quick voice message, keeping his voice low: “When did he pin me to the wall?!”

Fan Jun, who had been looking straight ahead, suddenly tilted his head ever so slightly.

“Hm?” Zou Yang immediately turned to look at him.

“Nothing,” Fan Jun said.

“You could hear that?” Zou Yang asked.

“…You’re on my right side,” Fan Jun said.

Zou Yang shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Honestly, even though he hadn’t witnessed the scene of Fan Jun pressing him to the wall himself — the only real sensory memory he had of it was the low, quiet voice near his ear when Fan Jun had leaned in close, the kind that stirred the air.

But he could picture it.

---

On weekday afternoons, the shopping center had a touch more life than usual. The shops weren’t exactly packed, but more people were wandering the corridors, and in the open center courtyard, a group of middle-aged women were doing a dance routine.

Zou Yang was just about to ask whether the dog had been brought along when he spotted a black dog head poking out from the door of the dance studio — wearing a muzzle, eyes very bright and fixed on him.

Murderous intent detected.

He stopped immediately. “Are you… taking Xiao Bai back with you?”

“No, I have afternoon sessions here,” Fan Jun made a hand gesture at Xiao Bai. The dog’s head immediately retracted back through the gap in the door.

“Does the dog usually stay in other people’s shops?” Zou Yang asked.

“Not always,” Fan Jun said. “When Rongrong is around, she brings the dog over.”

“Rongrong?” Zou Yang paused.

“The dance studio’s… head instructor,” Fan Jun said.

“Very trendy title,” Zou Yang laughed. “Are all the shop owners around here on friendly terms?”

“The neighboring few, more or less,” Fan Jun said. “Beyond that, not really — things turn over pretty fast around here.”

Business isn’t going well.

Speaking of business… Zou Yang felt the urge to ask about his mom’s “investment,” but couldn’t quite bring himself to open that conversation. Asking someone else about your own mom’s finances instead of asking her directly — any way you framed it, it was a bit strange.

He thought about it for a while. Asking about Fan Jun’s salary somehow seemed like the more natural segue.

“How much do you make per month?” Zou Yang asked.

“Hm?” Fan Jun was caught off guard.

Zou Yang realized only then how abrupt that had come out — his entire internal thought process hadn’t exactly been synced to Fan Jun.

“I mean…” he hesitated, trying to figure out how to make it sound less out of nowhere.

“It varies,” Fan Jun answered directly. “Somewhere between four and seven thousand.”

“Four to seven — I get that it varies, but that’s a pretty wild swing,” Zou Yang said.

It wasn’t a bad salary, all things considered. From the few interactions they’d had, Zou Yang got the sense that Fan Jun didn’t seem to spend much. He should have been saving. So why, when his hearing aid broke, had he just not replaced it?

…Could the dog really be that expensive to keep?!

“I haven’t actually drawn a salary these past two months,” Fan Jun said.

“Why?” Zou Yang asked immediately.

“The new gym went over budget,” Fan Jun said. “Lü Ze and I both opted out. The other instructors are getting paid as normal.”

Zou Yang frowned. His worry about his mom’s money started quietly mounting.

“Shan-jie’s money,” Fan Jun said, “Uncle Lü hasn’t touched it.”

“What?” Zou Yang turned sharply.

“Is that what you were worried about?” Fan Jun looked at him.

“…I’d be lying if I said no,” Zou Yang said, a little awkwardly.

“The new gym was Lü Ze’s idea,” Fan Jun said. “Uncle Lü was worried about the risk, so he kept Shan-jie’s money separate the whole time — afraid of losing it. Though I’m not sure of the exact amount.”

“Lü Ze doesn’t know about this?” Zou Yang asked.

“No,” Fan Jun nodded.

“Uncle Lü is really…” Zou Yang couldn’t quite find the right word.

“It’s not entirely that, either…” Fan Jun paused to think. “The money will get used when it’s needed. Otherwise Shan-jie might start feeling like she’s not really part of things — after all, she decided to share a life with him.”

“Yeah,” Zou Yang answered. “Like when, for example?”

“Like when the gym goes under,” Fan Jun said.

“…Oh damn,” Zou Yang burst out laughing. “Does Uncle Lü know you think that?”

“No,” Fan Jun said, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly.

---

The old gym was lively at lunchtime. For some of the younger students, this place — especially on weekends — served less as a martial arts gym and more as an after-school childcare center.

Fan Jun had mentioned the meal fees were basically symbolic. As for any childcare fee — there was none.

That was probably part of why Lü Ze had wanted to open a new location in the first place. The gym had been in this neighborhood for years. Everyone had practically watched each other grow up. The traditions that had carried on from the very beginning were not easy to change.

Today wasn’t dumpling day. On the stove were two big pots of braised dishes — spare ribs with tofu and pork with glass noodles. Over to the side, Uncle Lü was making scallion flatbread. Hou’er stood guard by the stove, and behind him were several children whose eyes were glazing over with hunger.

If Hou’er weren’t standing there, a flatbread would disappear the instant it came off the pan.

“You’re here,” his mom turned and saw the two of them come in, and smiled. “Done with class?”

“Yeah,” Zou Yang walked over to her.

“Carry these two pots over there,” she directed him, “use a cloth — they’re hot.”

Zou Yang looked around the counter and couldn’t find any cloth, so he shook his hands and just used his jacket sleeves to carry the pot over.

“Oh, you really— are you done with that jacket or what?!” his mom called out behind him.

When he turned back to get the second pot, he found Fan Jun already carrying it over — using two folded cloths as padding.

“Where did you find the cloths?” Zou Yang couldn’t help asking.

“On the counter,” Fan Jun said.

“Am I blind?” Zou Yang said.

“Apparently not,” Fan Jun said, “since you could see me holding the cloths.”

Zou Yang paused — then couldn’t hold back a laugh. Half a laugh in, he glanced up and spotted Lü Ze sitting at the far end of the long table scrolling on his phone, and the laugh died instantly.

There were four or five kids in the kitchen right now, what with the pots and the stove going — before Fan Jun had arrived, there’d only been Hou’er, a kid himself, trying to manage all of them.

Perhaps Lü Ze felt those children simply shouldn’t be there in the first place. Whatever the reason, he made absolutely no move to help manage them.

Lü Ze must have sensed the eyes on him — or maybe he’d never actually been looking at his phone, given that they’d just had a fight yesterday. He looked up, and his gaze met Zou Yang’s directly.

Zou Yang glanced at his face. Probably because Lü Ze had dark skin, and because he’d dodged fast, the punch from yesterday had left only a faint mark — not particularly visible.

Zou Yang hadn’t intended to cause any more friction with Lü Ze, at least not in this kind of setting. But Lü Ze clearly didn’t share that intention — he just stared, not bothering to conceal the hostility in his eyes, not even a little.

He was really not giving his own father any face at all, was he?

Since Lü Ze wasn’t cooperating, Zou Yang decided he wasn’t going to look away either.

He was still meeting Lü Ze’s gaze when Fan Jun very suddenly stepped into his line of sight — practically face to face, close enough that his breath grazed Zou Yang’s face.

“Sit down, everyone,” Fan Jun said, looking at him.

Hm?

“Sit down, sit down…” The children all scrambled to the table and took their seats.

“…I’m going to wash my hands,” Zou Yang said.

“Sure,” Fan Jun replied, without stepping out of the space between Zou Yang and Lü Ze’s line of sight.

Zou Yang had no choice but to turn and go wash his hands at the sink.

By the time he came back to the table, Lü Ze was no longer sitting — he’d gotten up with a bowl and was helping himself from the pot at the stove.

Zou Yang had barely sat down when Fan Jun slid the little basket of flatbread in front of him.

“I’ll get some in a moment,” Zou Yang said. “I want to—”

“Take one,” Fan Jun said.

Zou Yang glanced at him, reached in, and took one.

Fan Jun put the basket back on the table. The next second, a swarm of hands descended — and the basket was empty in an instant.

“Good lord,” Zou Yang muttered under his breath. He set the bread in his bowl and reached out to grab some of the braised pork.

The moment his hand extended, his mom’s voice cut in: “What happened to your hand?”

Zou Yang said nothing. He couldn’t immediately come up with a plausible explanation for how, in what was technically spring — albeit a spring that still had the occasional cold snap, but spring nonetheless — his wrist had come to be frostbitten.

Across the table, Lü Ze, who had been about to walk away, stopped. The shock on his face was completely unguarded.

Surprised by your own power, Champion?

The Ice Palm technique is now fully mastered, Champion.