Wu Yang slowly turned his head, only to see the "master" who had been ranting moments ago now trembling like a man paralyzed by anesthetic needles. The heavy walnut in his hand and his precious tea set had clattered to the floor, yet he remained oblivious, his face twitching uncontrollably.

After what felt like an eternity, a man seated near the front finally couldn’t hold back. He leaped to his feet and bellowed, "Master, show them what you’ve got!"

BOOM!!!

Like a clap of thunder waking a sleeper, those words jolted the crowd into realization.

Wait a second… we don’t need to be afraid, do we?

Wasn’t there a bona fide "martial arts grandmaster" sitting right here among them?

"When you see injustice, shout it loud—Master, do something!" "Come on, give it to them, we’ve got your back!" "Don’t hold back, Master—our whole bus will testify that you’re acting in self-defense, not violence!"

The master: "..."

Damn it all to hell—have you lunatics lost your minds?! Can’t you tell the difference between bragging and reality?! If I had real skills, would I need you idiots egging me on?! I’d’ve slapped that bastard silly ages ago!

"Master? What master?"

The crowd blinked, their gazes naturally drifting toward the trembling figure in the aisle. The tumor-headed thug scratched his scalp and grinned, striding up to the master with a sickening familiarity. "So you’re the famous master? What kind of master, exactly?"

"Cough cough… well, you see…" The master scrambled for an excuse, but before he could speak, one of his "devoted followers" blurted out, "He’s the sixty-third lineage successor of the Tai Chi sect, proficient in Bagua, Wing Chun, Baji, and Xingyi quan—a master who’s cultivated both internal energy and external strength to perfection. If you know what’s good for you, surrender now, or else… uh…"

His voice trailed off.

At the same time—SMACK!!!

The tumor-headed thug’s palm slammed across the master’s left cheek with bone-cracking force. Blood trickled from the corner of the master’s mouth as his face swelled grotesquely, now resembling a puffy pig’s head.

"Stop it!! Don’t push me—I swear, if you keep this up, I’ll lose control and scare even myself!" the master roared.

"SMACK!! Still calling yourself a master?!" The thug spat in his face, delivering another brutal slap.

"Bastard, did you hear me?! STOP IT!"

"SMACK!! And your precious Baji-Wing Chun crap?!"

"I…"

"SMACK!! And your Tai Chi-Bagua garbage?!"

"You…"

"SMACK!! And your damn arrogance?!"

Slap after slap, insult after insult, the thug didn’t stop until the master crumpled to the floor, moaning incoherently.

The passengers were stunned into silence.

What the hell just happened?! Where was the promised kung fu master? Where was the "disarming techniques with bare hands"? Where was the "decades of martial arts mastery"?

The atmosphere turned even more eerie.

Wu Yang glanced around, then at the master’s swollen, bruised face, sighing dramatically. "Look at this… I told you all—martial arts are dangerous, and violence leads to injury. But nooo, you wouldn’t listen. Now look what happened—the master’s hurt!"

BULLSHIT!!!

The passengers glared daggers at him. If they’d made a "Most Hated Passenger" list right then, Wu Yang would’ve topped it—not the robbers, not the fraud of a master, but this smug, camouflage-clad bastard.

"Heh, kid, you’re real considerate, huh?" The tumor-headed thug grinned, wiping blood from his lip. "Fine, fine, blades are dangerous, violence is messy. So why don’t you all be good little victims and hand over your valuables… Huh?"

His words died in his throat as his eyes landed on the young woman seated beside Wu Yang.

She wasn’t dressed flashy—just a simple tank top and denim shorts—but her figure was unmistakably curvaceous, the kind no mundane clothing could hide.

The girl, sensing his predatory gaze, felt a surge of despair. Instinctively, she tried to shrink toward Wu Yang, but then stopped herself.

This guy? The same one who mocked everyone earlier? A coward? Relying on him for safety would be pathetic.

"Heh, who’d’ve thought? Today’s my lucky day, boys!" The thug licked his lips. "Keep an eye on the others—I’m gonna have a little fun first, haha!"*

"N-no!!" The girl shrieked, flailing her arms wildly in a futile attempt to block his advancing hand. Her body, in its panic, pressed involuntarily against Wu Yang’s side.

Wu Yang’s brow furrowed slightly. A cold glint flickered in his eyes—gone before anyone could notice. Then, with a lazy grin, he reached out and seized the thug’s wrist. "Big bro, stealing money’s fine. No need to go this far, right?"

"Fuck you, who’s your big bro?! Stop sucking up to me!" The thug snarled, raising his machete for a vicious slash at Wu Yang’s chest.

"AHHH!! WATCH OUT!!" The girl screamed, squeezing her eyes shut, already imagining blood spraying across her face.

But the expected pain never came. Instead, the bus plunged into an unnatural silence.

She opened her eyes—and froze.

The thug who’d been about to assault her was now sprawled on the floor, his massive machete snapped clean in half beside him.

The bus fell deathly still.

The other robbers, mid-loot, exchanged terrified glances.

What the hell?! Playing possum? Did we just run into a real martial arts master?!

Meanwhile, the "master," his face now a swollen mess, had already pissed himself.

Damn it… I thought making him "demonstrate techniques" would humiliate him. But this freak could probably send a 200-pound man flying with a flick of his finger. If we’d really fought… I wouldn’t even know how I died.

As for the girl beside Wu Yang—her delicate face, once pale with fear, was now as red as a ripe apple. Her starry eyes gazed at him in utter awe.