It’s just before dawn.
The grayish light of morning penetrates through the seam of the curtains, dispersing so of the darkness in the living room.
Ah Le is awoken by the noise of the sanitation truck downstairs dumping garbage.
He groggily opens his eyes, seeing Shen Wei sleeping soundly on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, breathing steadily.
Turning to the other side, the door to Fang Cheng’s bedroom is half-open, appearing empty, and the quilt is neatly folded.
Gone out so early?
Ah Le rubs his sowhat aching temples and turns over.
The wound on his abdon throbs faintly, completely erasing any trace of sleepiness.
Lying on the hard floor, thoughts begin to run wild in his mind.
One mont pondering how to avoid the mole today and seek out "Rat Qiang" for information, the next mont devising a plan to retaliate against the Flying Crane Gang.
Of course, the most recurring thought is about the scene Shen Wei described last night.
Fang Cheng single-handedly faced off against a fully ard Abnormal rcenary Group and even barehandedly destroyed an ard helicopter.
Does such non-human fighting capability really exist?
Although he already believes it around seventy to eighty percent, without witnessing it firsthand, a part of him remains skeptical.
In late May in the East Capital, even in the early morning, the air carries a sense of sultry heat.
Ah Le simply cannot fall asleep; he presses against the cool mat with both hands, enduring the tugging pain in his abdon as he climbs up.
After pausing for a few seconds, he cautiously stands with the support of the table.
Fearful of stirring Shen Wei, he forgoes the slippers, casually puts on a jacket, and walks into the washroom.
Scooping cool water onto his face, he gazes at his bearded, slightly weathered reflection in the mirror and shakes his head with a bitter smile.
After a simple wash-up, Ah Le puts on his shoes, quietly opens the security door, and sneaks out.
The corridor of the tubular building is dimly lit, the only light coming from the gray daylight filtering through the hallway windows.
The air is sowhat stale, mixed with the sour scent of leftover kitchen waste fernting and the sll of coal balls accumulating in the corridor corners for years.
In the distance, the sounds of neighbors waking up drift in: the shuffle of slippers across the floor, dry heaves from brushing teeth, and the murmurs from an unknown household of a child refusing to get up.
Having not experienced such a peaceful life atmosphere for a long ti, Ah Le unexpectedly feels a trace of indescribable emotion rising in his heart.
He walks aimlessly, reaching the window by the stairwell, and glances down.
Beside the street downstairs, a breakfast stall has just drawn up its shutters.
White steam billows out from the stears, and the owner skillfully flips the fried breadsticks in the oil pan.
"Just right, let’s get so breakfast for the Chairman and Mr. Fang."
Just as Ah Le is about to step down the stairs, his gaze accidentally sweeps over the stairway leading to the roof terrace.
The iron gate above is half open, with a slightly cooler breeze blowing down from above.
Since it’s still early, going up to get so fresh air seems like a good idea.
Thinking this, he turns around and starts ascending step by step along the concrete stairs.
Upon stepping onto the roof terrace, his view suddenly widens.
Here, there aren’t any oppressively tall buildings like in the city center; instead, all around are low, old-style residential buildings, scattered neatly.
On the distant skyline, a hint of fish-belly white gradually spreads, gently dyeing streaks of orange clouds.
Ah Le takes a deep breath of the subtly cool morning air, feeling much of the congestion in his chest dissipate.
He spreads his arms, ready to do so stretching exercises to loosen up his muscles.
Suddenly, his movent freezes.
In his view, in the center of the roof terrace on the huge concrete water tank, stands an inverted figure.
Like a spear, impaled straight at the edge of the water tank.
It’s Fang Cheng.
Ah Le fixes his gaze, recognizing him, and is about to approach to say hello.
In the next second, his pupils contract sharply, his step halting abruptly in mid-air.
Fang Cheng isn’t using his palms to support the ground.
Supporting his towering body and entire weight is rely one index finger of his right hand.
That index finger, like cast iron, firmly pins itself to the rough cent lid of the water tank, unmoving.
"Is he practicing Kung Fu?"
Ah Le holds his breath, eyes widening.
Fang Cheng’s inverted body begins to rise and fall rhythmically.
Every descent, the top of his head almost touches the concrete surface of the water tank.
Each push-up, his entire body springs up abruptly like a coiled spring.
His muscles, under the morning sun, burst forth like cables twisted from cast iron.
The deltoids swell loftily, triceps sharply defined, and latissimus dorsi stretch out like a full fan.
With each flex and stretch, incredible explosive power and control are displayed.
Sweat flows down his broad back, gathering at his cheeks, dripping, dripping onto the cent platform.
Ah Le watches intently.
Having practiced Kung Fu for twenty years, he considers his physique far above the ordinary, often able to do single-finger push-ups.
But single-finger handstand push-ups?
These are entirely different matters!
They not only require terrifying core power to maintain balance but also necessitate finger bones and tendons with hardness surpassing steel.
If an average person dares play this way, their finger bones would shatter instantly.
Just as he’s thinking this, Fang Cheng’s movents pause.
Seemingly finished with one set, he briefly adjusts, switching to another hand.
This ti, using the index finger of his left hand, steadily supporting his entire inverted body.
Without much of a pause, he resus rising and falling.
"One, two, three..."
Unconsciously, Ah Le counts silently in his heart.
Watching that finger, like a hydraulic rod, rise and fall stably, his scalp tingles, counting more and more astonished.
This movent frequency not only doesn’t slow down but appears even more stable and powerful, with his body showing no sign of shaking.
User Comments
0 comments from readers