In exchange for teaching Xiao Jingzhao the military boxing techniques, Jiang Huai also learned some highly practical fighting skills from Xiao Jingzhao.

“You’re at a disadvantage doing this,” Xiao Jingzhao said bluntly. In his view, if Jiang Huai could dedicate more time and effort, his boxing techniques wouldn’t fall short of others.

Jiang Huai was well aware that he was technically on the losing side of this deal, but he needed to get up to speed quickly. Practicing boxing daily wasn’t feasible—after all, most of his time was spent under the watchful eyes of the guards and prisoners. Any unusual movement would easily attract attention. It was better to learn some low-profile but lethal moves.

To learn such techniques, a skilled teacher was necessary. Apart from Xiao Jingzhao, there was no one else he could turn to for this.

It was clearly against the rules for a prisoner to practice martial arts. Xiao Jingzhao didn’t use standard teaching methods but instead directly demonstrated on Jiang Huai’s body, pointing out various vital points. After a few days, Jiang Huai had gained considerable knowledge about the human body’s weak spots.

Although they tried to avoid other guards and prisoners, their training sessions appeared uncomfortably intimate. To the other guards, it seemed evident that Xiao Jingzhao had “claimed” Jiang Huai—otherwise, why would the two be so close?

If Xiao Jingzhao had forced himself on Jiang Huai, Zhang Tou would have intervened. But Zhang Tou could tell that Jiang Huai willingly stuck to Xiao Jingzhao, leading him to assume Jiang Huai had consented. In this case, Zhang Tou saw no need to act rashly.

However, Sun Yong, who had recently cozied up to a prisoner to satisfy his own desires, still harbored thoughts about Jiang Huai. When he heard about this, his anger boiled over.

Jiang Huai, meanwhile, remained oblivious to all of this. Xiao Jingzhao noticed it but simply didn’t care.

After Jiang Huai had absorbed the theoretical knowledge, it was time to move on to practical combat. During a break, Xiao Jingzhao pulled him into a secluded corner to practice the techniques on him.

“This… isn’t really appropriate, is it?” Jiang Huai hesitated, vividly remembering how dangerous those vital points Xiao Jingzhao had taught him were. A slight strike to some spots could cause serious injury.

“I know what I’m doing. Go ahead,” Xiao Jingzhao said calmly.

Since Xiao Jingzhao insisted, Jiang Huai decided not to hold back. After all, his part of the deal was not insignificant. The knowledge he had shared, while intangible, was deeply treasured in his previous world and not something he would casually trade away. Since he had already made the exchange, he wanted tangible benefits in return.

But saying was easier than doing. When it came to actual combat, Jiang Huai found himself hesitant. Having never fought someone in this way before—or perhaps never at all—it felt more like he was one-sidedly attempting to beat Xiao Jingzhao. His punches were heavy, but as they neared Xiao Jingzhao, he would unconsciously hold back.

It wasn’t just fear of hurting the other person. Something deep inside him—a moral restraint instilled since childhood—kept pulling him back. Hurting others went against Jiang Huai’s habits and beliefs.

Even after realizing that his punches had little effect on Xiao Jingzhao, Jiang Huai gradually increased his force. But as soon as his blows landed on Xiao Jingzhao, he still instinctively softened them.

“Stop. Don’t hit anymore,” Xiao Jingzhao interrupted him.

Jiang Huai paused, aware of his own problem, and pursed his lips in disappointment with himself.

“Do you ever get angry?” Xiao Jingzhao asked.

“Angry?” Jiang Huai thought for a moment. There were things in his past life that had upset him, but now, in hindsight, they seemed more nostalgic than anger-inducing. After all, those moments were part of a modern life he could never return to. Thinking about his current circumstances, Jiang Huai tightened his fists.

Even though he understood his transmigration was an accident, not orchestrated by anyone, it didn’t stop him from feeling a wellspring of resentment.

Seeing the storm of emotions on Jiang Huai’s face, Xiao Jingzhao grew curious about what exactly Jiang Huai was thinking. Despite the hardships of their journey into exile, Jiang Huai usually appeared cheerful, not at all like someone harboring such deep anger.

Then again, Xiao Jingzhao’s own grievances might surpass Jiang Huai’s.

Recalling his own past, Xiao Jingzhao’s composure wavered. If not for the unfinished lesson, he might have found it difficult to continue teaching.

“You need to get angry. When you’re angry, your actions carry more strength.” Xiao Jingzhao patted Jiang Huai’s shoulder. “Now, can you go all out?”

“But if I hit like this, someone might die,” Jiang Huai said, knowing his words sounded overly idealistic. Life was precious, and though he had been given a second chance, he still couldn’t bring himself to casually take another person’s life.

“When do you think you’d actually be willing to kill?” Xiao Jingzhao countered. “When that time comes and you hesitate, it’s your life that’ll be forfeit.”

“Of course, killing someone does bring complications. If your goal is just to subdue them without taking a life, then…” Xiao Jingzhao cut off Jiang Huai’s argument, locking eyes with him. “Even someone who’s trained for ten years can’t achieve what you’re suggesting. If you enter a fight thinking about sparing your opponent’s life, you’ll only lose your own.”

“Especially in a place like Anyuan Prefecture, where people are tough and ruthless. If you don’t make a show of strength, others will see you as weak and easy to bully. By the time you think of retaliating, it might already be too late, and you’ll end up trampled into the dirt.” Xiao Jingzhao’s voice grew colder and more severe.

Jiang Huai felt his mind spin, nearly convinced by Xiao Jingzhao’s reasoning. Indeed, this ancient world was entirely different from his modern one. If he clung to his modern mindset, survival would be tough.

But suddenly, Jiang Huai remembered why he was learning martial arts in the first place.

“No, I just want to learn a few techniques to disable my opponent. If I can knock them out or render them incapable of fighting back, that’s enough. I don’t need to resort to lethal moves,” Jiang Huai argued. At this point, he forgot his usual cautious demeanor, speaking with uncharacteristic fervor.

While nothing seemed amiss, Jiang Huai felt that if he followed Xiao Jingzhao’s ideology, he wouldn’t recognize himself anymore.

Does the world’s cruelty mean I have to change who I am?

If the day comes when he must make a choice, Jiang Huai believed he would follow his conscience. For now, though, he wasn’t willing to alter his principles for hypothetical scenarios.

After all, wasn’t Wang Er, the guard from before, a good person? And Xiao Jingzhao himself, despite his extremism, wasn’t entirely bad either. Having met these two decent people, Jiang Huai believed that even in this ancient world, good people still outnumbered the bad.

Xiao Jingzhao and Jiang Huai locked eyes, both seeing the unyielding determination in the other’s gaze. Realizing he couldn’t persuade Jiang Huai, Xiao Jingzhao dropped the subject and instead taught him some less lethal techniques—moves that could knock someone unconscious without killing them.

Even so, these moves required significant energy, leaving Jiang Huai gasping for breath. Just as he was about to try again, Xiao Jingzhao caught his fist, his gaze turning cold as he looked into the distance.

Jiang Huai sensed something was wrong. Soon, footsteps sounded nearby, and a figure emerged: Song Yu, a young prisoner who Jiang Huai remembered had a somewhat ambiguous relationship with Sun Yong, earning him various benefits.

When Song Yu saw Xiao Jingzhao’s icy stare, he shuddered. His gaze quickly darted to Jiang Huai, whose face was flushed and breathing unsteady. After a brief glance at their disheveled clothes, Song Yu awkwardly smiled and hastily left.

“He didn’t see anything, did he?” Jiang Huai asked.

“No. His footsteps were heavy. If he’d gotten too close, I would’ve noticed,” Xiao Jingzhao replied, shaking his head. If Song Yu had discovered the truth, his reaction would’ve been completely different.

“Alright, I’ll head back first.” With someone having shown up and his energy spent, Jiang Huai decided to call it a day.

Xiao Jingzhao silently nodded, watching Jiang Huai leave.

Song Yu returned to the resting area ahead of Jiang Huai and quickly reported what he’d seen to Sun Yong. Due to his relationship with Sun Yong, Song Yu couldn’t help but equate Jiang Huai and Xiao Jingzhao’s actions with his own situation. Especially from a distance, the two had seemed to be in an uncomfortably intimate embrace.

Hearing this, Sun Yong’s face grew darker by the second. When Jiang Huai appeared moments later, hair tousled and face flushed, followed by Xiao Jingzhao shortly after, Sun Yong’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

What had once been speculation was now confirmed.

The other prisoners, meanwhile, looked at Jiang Huai with disdain, assuming he’d thrown away his dignity to curry favor with a guard.

Normally, Jiang Huai would’ve noticed these stares and overthought them, but he was too exhausted from practice to care. All he wanted was to rest and eat something.

The food, provided by Xiao Jingzhao, didn’t bother Jiang Huai since it was part of their deal. He ate heartily, knowing he needed to replenish his energy after such strenuous activity.

Because of the misunderstanding, both the guards and prisoners assumed Jiang Huai and Xiao Jingzhao were growing closer. However, after that day in the forest, their relationship seemed to cool slightly. While Xiao Jingzhao still gave Jiang Huai food and took him to the woods for practice, their interactions became more distant.

Jiang Huai didn’t know what Xiao Jingzhao was thinking, but he knew that apologizing would mean admitting his ideals were wrong—and that wasn’t an option.

As for other ways to smooth things over, Jiang Huai tried a few times but found that Xiao Jingzhao’s attitude remained cold.

With no other options, Jiang Huai let things be. After all, he wasn’t a pushover. Training had begun to change his mindset; at the very least, he was less fearful of the guards and more willing to endure hardship.

Their awkward dynamic caught the attention of others. Some prisoners, seeing Xiao Jingzhao’s continued goodwill toward Jiang Huai despite their apparent rift, began plotting to gain favor with the guard themselves.

Sun Yong, emboldened by the apparent change in dynamics, also set his sights on Jiang Huai. Before, he wouldn’t have dared. But now, with Xiao Jingzhao’s precedent, Sun Yong grew more confident. If a new guard could have Jiang Huai, why couldn’t he?