275: The incident ended and a temporary calm followed.

When Shen Mingyuan regained consciousness, the first thing he felt was the characteristic, slightly pungent smell of disinfectant and the soft touch of the bed beneath him.

He slowly opened his eyes, and what met his gaze was the simple and unfamiliar white ceiling of a medical ward.

He laboriously turned his somewhat stiff neck and looked toward the bedside. Lu Jianchuan was sitting in a chair, holding what appeared to be a report. Hearing movement, he immediately looked up at him.

"You're awake?" Lu Jianchuan put down the items in his hand, a look of relief on his face, though his brow remained slightly furrowed. "You really worked hard this time. But..."

He paused, his tone carrying a hint of both reproach and concern. "Why didn't you call me? If I had been there, that crab and starfish might have been dealt with faster, and Zhao Jinhua wouldn't have been so seriously injured."

Shen Mingyuan quirked the corner of his mouth, which tugged at his injuries and made him hiss in pain. His voice was somewhat raspy:

"Sorry... I was too overconfident. I didn't expect the opponent to be so difficult, and my preparations weren't thorough enough. My power... is still too weak."

Lu Jianchuan looked at the fatigue and self-reproach he couldn't hide on his face and sighed. He didn't scold him further, instead saying:

"Since you know your power is insufficient, then go train. GUPA is preparing specialized training facilities and programs for us.

Although the core of our power is the armor, the upper limit of the armor's performance largely depends on our own physical foundation, reaction speed, and willpower.

By strengthening yourself, the power the armor can exert will also increase accordingly."

Upon hearing this, Shen Mingyuan's eyes lit up slightly, then dimmed again due to weakness. He nodded. "Yeah... once these injuries heal, I really do need to train hard." He suddenly remembered something and asked, "By the way, where's Wei Ziqing? How is he?"

"He went back to see his Master," Lu Jianchuan replied. "But lately, he's been spending almost all his free time in the training grounds, working harder than anyone else.

He took some time to go back and explain the situation to his Master. From the looks of it, he plans to fully and wholeheartedly commit himself to things on 'this side'."

Lu Jianchuan's tone was somewhat complex. "I have to say, although it feels like his mindset... might be a bit too extreme and tense, in terms of initiative, he's frighteningly proactive now."

Shen Mingyuan fell silent for a moment, recalling the cold determination that had settled in Wei Ziqing's eyes before. He slowly nodded and only said, "I see..."

After a brief silence, Shen Mingyuan remembered something more important. He looked at Lu Jianchuan, his voice filled with obvious concern: "By the way, Zhao Jinhua... how is he?"

Lu Jianchuan's expression darkened, and his tone became grave. "The situation... is very far from optimistic. The emergency treatment at the blast site and the subsequent surgery barely managed to pull his life back from the brink of death, but that's about it."

He paused, seemingly organizing his words to describe the shocking extent of the injuries:

"Many shell fragments... or rather, shrapnel, went too deep. The locations are also very dangerous, with some right against vital organs and blood vessels.

The surgery could only remove some of them; they don't dare touch the rest for now. He's currently entirely dependent on a life support System and is in a deep coma. Whether he can wake up... and when he might wake up, are both unknown."

Lu Jianchuan picked up the water cup next to him but didn't drink. He just held it in his hand:

"With the medical technology here, maintaining his basic vital signs regardless of the cost is technically possible. But..."

He didn't go on, only shaking his head and swallowing that heavy sigh.

Shen Mingyuan understood. In those unspoken words were the massive consumption of medical resources, a long and hopeless wait, and the cruel possibility that it might all still be in vain.

What this meant for a young man with a simple background went without saying.

Silence fell over the ward once more, more oppressive than before. The ticking of the monitor felt like it was drumming against their hearts. Shen Mingyuan stared at the ceiling for a long time before he too let out a soft, long sigh.

In that sigh was the helplessness toward Zhao Jinhua's fate and the heavy burden of his own failure to prevent the tragedy.

[Wei Family Martial Arts School, Afternoon]

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the martial arts school's old-fashioned wooden lattice windows, casting warm square patches of light onto the polished wooden floor. The air was filled with the familiar scents of old wood, tea, and a faint hint of sweat. From the front yard came the faint, immature shouts of the newly recruited young students, along with the gentle voice of an assistant instructor correcting their movements.

In the quiet tea room in the back yard, Wei Ziqing sat opposite his Master at a low table.

The Master unhurriedly scalded the cups, rinsed the tea, and brewed it. His movements were skillful and steady, much like the boxing forms he had practiced countless times.

The rising steam blurred the slightly stern lines of his face, which had been carved by years of wind and frost.

Since that tournament, especially after Wei Ziqing's "outstanding performance" during the chaos, the martial arts school's reputation seemed to have brightened a bit. Parents had been bringing their children one after another, saying they wanted them to build their health and learn some self-defense.

The Master saw through this clearly and taught with dedication, but he also knew his limits. True mastery is not the work of a single day and depends more on fate; for most children, building a good foundation and correcting their Heart-Nature was the priority.

"The school has been a bit livelier lately." The Master pushed a cup of clear tea toward Wei Ziqing, his voice steady. "When you come back, help give them some pointers. They all respect you."

Wei Ziqing took it with both hands and replied, "Yes, Master. As I should." He blew on the tea leaves and took a sip, but his gaze was somewhat distant, falling on the swaying shadows of the trees outside the window.

The Master didn't look at him. He poured a cup for himself, picked it up, and inhaled the tea's aroma before slowly speaking. His voice was like the curling steam from the cup, unhurried:

"Being a person and practicing martial arts are the same. If the string is pulled too tight, it breaks easily. If your heart is filled with too many things, your steps will become heavy."

The hand Wei Ziqing used to hold the teacup paused imperceptibly.

The Master still kept his eyes lowered, as if talking to himself. "When I was young, I also always thought of relying on my own strength to sweep away all the injustices in the world.

Later, I slowly came to understand that some 'injustices' cannot be flattened by a single punch or kick. What strength can reach are the people before you and the things around you. First, walk the path before you steadily and keep the scales in your heart balanced before thinking of farther places."

He looked up, his gaze calm yet profound as he looked at Wei Ziqing. That look seemed capable of piercing through the surface calm to see the undercurrents of pain and cold resolve churning in the depths of his heart.

"I can see that you have things on your mind, a knot. I'm not asking you to tell me everything, but I'm reminding you: no matter what decision you make, don't forget why you first raised your fist. Was it to hurt people, or to protect them? Was it to vent your anger, or to guard that bit of 'worth' in your heart?"

Wei Ziqing fell silent. The warmth of the tea seeped through the porcelain wall, but it couldn't thaw the solid ice that had frozen in his heart since the Reiko incident.

He understood his Master's words; it was a concern born of insight and a form of guidance that didn't need to be explicitly stated.

He put down his teacup, sat up straight, took a deep breath, and finally met his Master's gaze, his tone solemn:

"Master, you taught me martial arts and told me the meaning of power. I want... I want to use this power to protect more people. I want to... fight for the 'Justice' in my heart."

The Master looked at him quietly for a few seconds, put down his teacup, and asked, "What do you want to do?"

Wei Ziqing weighed his words and said, "Master, actually... after the tournament, I... joined an official organization."

He paused, noticing a flash of confusion in his Master's eyes—in the modified perception of the general public, the tragedy of that tournament stemmed from "organizer security negligence." Although there was an official investigation and cleanup, the specific details were vague.

He continued to explain, "That organization specifically handles... some dangerous and special situations, like fires, major accidents, or... stopping some violent incidents."

He chose the closest and least likely description to trigger associations. "I want to... do something like a 'firefighter' or work even further on the front lines, to prevent more tragedies like the tournament, or even worse, from happening."

The Master's brow furrowed slightly. "You want to do this? But you're still young, and those places..."

"This is an opportunity, Master." Wei Ziqing's eyes were earnest, carrying the shining persistence unique to a young person who has made up their mind. "I want to try. Really."

The Master gazed at him for a long time, his eyes searching his young yet already resolute face, as if weighing the true gravity behind those words and confirming if that determination was reliable. After a long while, he let out a soft sigh, one filled with concern, helplessness, and a faint hint of relief.

"Alright," the Master finally relented, his voice softening. "If this is a thought you've considered deeply, I... won't stop you. However,"

He changed his tone, his voice carrying a bit of scrutiny. "Would an official agency recruit someone like you... a minor?"

Wei Ziqing rubbed the back of his head, showing a slightly bashful and mischievous smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere:

"Well... maybe a special case? Like... um, exceptionally gifted, recruited as an exception? Maybe... something like a 'Genius Child' program?"

Even he thought it sounded a bit far-fetched and couldn't help but laugh twice.

The Master was also amused by this clumsy explanation, and the lines on his face softened. He scolded with a laugh, "You, a 'Genius Child'? I watched you grow up from when you were still blowing nose bubbles. Don't I know how much you're worth?"

The atmosphere in the small tea room finally relaxed a bit. Wei Ziqing chuckled, then said seriously:

"Anyway, Master, I'll do a good job. I won't bring shame to you or the school."

The Master nodded and picked up the now-lukewarm tea again. His gaze drifted to the vibrant front yard outside the window, his voice steady and powerful:

"You chose the path yourself, so you must walk it steadily. Remember Martial Virtue; remember your original intention. No matter where you are or what you do... your Master is proud of you."

Wei Ziqing's throat tightened, and he nodded vigorously, suppressing the sob that almost burst out—a mixture of guilt and resolve.