Chapter 118: The Phone Rang

Due to the impact of the burly man whom Lin Fan had kicked into the crowd, many soldiers had been knocked down. Now, stung by Lin Fan’s words, they stared at him with intense hostility. Having failed to even touch him a moment ago, they were unwilling to accept such a defeat.

This time, they were far less reckless. A dozen men formed a circle around Lin Fan, moving cautiously. The burly man who had been manhandled by Lin Fan was among them, his stomach still aching. He refused to believe that Lin Fan could remain standing against the coordinated assault of so many Blue Banner Army soldiers. As a soldier, he did not know what lay ahead, but he knew that as long as he could still stand, he could not retreat.

Lin Fan stood still, his smile gradually fading, replaced by a cold, murderous aura. Beneath his slightly tousled bangs, his phoenix eyes flashed with sharp intensity. It had been a while since he had properly stretched his limbs. Suddenly, he moved like an arrow released from a bow, lunging toward one of the men; he had no intention of letting them hem him in, as that would only make dealing with them more troublesome.

In the world of martial arts, speed is the only way to remain invincible, and the Yanqing Fist fit this philosophy perfectly. Combined with the systematic combat training he had received over the years at Dragon Soul, as well as the numerous techniques he had honed through countless real-life battles, Lin Fan’s strikes were swift, accurate, and ruthless—each one capable of a finishing blow.

On the training ground, Lin Fan’s movements were elegant yet powerful. His punches balanced hardness and softness, his grappling skills were perfectly timed, and his techniques were broad and sweeping, possessing the overwhelming momentum of a crashing tide. "Lost Track Fist, it’s the Lost Track Fist," Jin Zhengyang exclaimed in surprise as he witnessed the style. The Yanqing Fist was an ancient Han martial art; given his background, Jin was naturally familiar with it. However, to his knowledge, many of the techniques and footwork associated with the style had been lost to history in modern times.

Hearing Jin Zhengyang’s words, Xu Qiang frowned slightly, looking puzzled. He knew that Lin Fan had studied under a master at Falcon, and he had assumed his leader was practicing the Yanqing Fist. He said nothing, however.

Jin Zhengyang watched the brawl with wide, astonished eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. Lin Fan moved through the crowd like a martial arts master from a bygone era. His footwork grew increasingly rapid, and his strikes grew more ferocious. At times, he would shift his position in a heartbeat, leaving the soldiers unable to predict where he would appear next. Cries of pain reached the ears of Xu Qiang and Jin Zhengyang, and within a few short minutes, all dozen men lay on the ground, incapacitated.

This was only because Lin Fan had held back. Since this was not a life-or-death struggle, he naturally did not strike with lethal intent; otherwise, even ten more men would likely have been no match for him.

To Lin Fan’s surprise, the burly man had collapsed and lost consciousness at the end. Walking over to him, Lin Fan pinched the man’s neck firmly, causing him to slowly open his eyes and wake. Recalling what had just happened, a flash of fear crossed the burly man’s eyes, and he remained shaken. Yet, he accepted his defeat wholeheartedly and showed no signs of dejection.

In his view, had it not been for Lin Fan’s mercy, all of them would have been sent to meet the King of Hell. Lin Fan was a true warrior, and he felt no shame in losing to such a powerhouse.

Seeing this, the remaining soldiers watching from the sidelines were thoroughly convinced. The man had the right to be arrogant because he was backed by formidable strength. Just moments ago, Xu Qiang’s marksmanship had stunned them all, and now, Lin Fan had conquered them with his own prowess. The soldiers gazed at Lin Fan with nothing but respect; this was a true powerhouse, and without question, such people commanded reverence wherever they went.

Jin Zhengyang walked over, patted Lin Fan on the shoulder, and said, "Brother, if I am not mistaken, you just used the Lost Track Fist, didn't you?"

Lin Fan paused slightly, evidently not expecting Jin to recognize his style. "Brother Jin has a sharp eye. I only learned a little bit of the basics in the past," Lin Fan replied with a faint smile.

"Oh? I happen to know that since the Yanqing Fist was passed down to modern times, many of its techniques and footwork have been lost. Judging by the footwork you just displayed—light as a swallow, moving through the crowd with such ease—can you really say you only learned the basics?" Jin Zhengyang retorted immediately.

Lin Fan could only chuckle and shake his head, remaining silent. When Jin Zhengyang called out the alternative name for the Yanqing Fist, "Lost Track Fist," Lin Fan knew he had encountered someone who truly understood the art. He knew that a few perfunctory words would not satisfy him.

In truth, he had entered the fray not just because he was itching for a fight, but primarily to intimidate Jin Zhengyang and reinforce his confidence in the partnership with Dragon Soul. He had not expected the man to recognize his martial style.

"I wonder who your master is, Brother Lin? Would you be able to tell me?" Jin Zhengyang asked earnestly. As a descendant of the Aisin Gioro clan, he had a deep fondness for ancient martial arts, especially the Yanqing Fist, which had been at its peak during the Qing Dynasty. Naturally, he did not want to miss this opportunity to learn more.

"My master? Haha, it’s been many years since I last saw him," Lin Fan said with a hearty laugh. It was true; since returning to China, he had been so busy that he had not managed to visit his master. Fortunately, Lin Haotian had recently told him that his master was doing well, which had put his mind at ease.

Seeing that Lin Fan would not give a direct answer, Jin Zhengyang realized he was avoiding the subject. Since the man did not want to speak of it, he would not press further. As long as Lin Fan was powerful and Dragon Soul was strong, it could only benefit him and the Blue Banner Army.

That evening, Jin Zhengyang treated Lin Fan and Xu Qiang to a lavish feast, acting even more hospitable than before. Naturally, the memorable "Immortal’s Drunkenness" was served; having started their meeting with it, Jin felt it would be rude to switch to anything else.

During the meal, Jin Zhengyang took a phone call and then informed Lin Fan and Xu Qiang that he had uncovered information regarding Li Nanxing. Lin Fan was immediately excited and pressed for the location. Ever since he learned that his brother had run into trouble, he had been unable to rest, sensing that his brother’s sudden disappearance was far from simple.

After a moment of silence, Jin Zhengyang replied, "According to reports from my subordinates and the documents you provided, your Dragon Soul brother failed in his assassination attempt on 'Scorpion' and was captured on the spot. He is currently being held."

Scorpion was the alias of the major drug lord, the target of Li Nanxing’s mission. Hearing that his brother had merely been captured, Lin Fan felt a sense of relief. He had absolute faith in Li Nanxing’s capabilities; logically, he should not have failed against a mere drug lord. Just as Lin Fan was pondering this, the phone in his pocket suddenly rang.