3: Chapter 3 Fist Power

The Jili Fitness Center is located on the fourth and fifth floors of a commercial complex in the center of Li City, with a total area of over 1,000 square meters, making it one of the largest gyms in the city.

Just past ten in the morning, Lili, the receptionist on duty, was organizing the day's class schedule. Looking up, she saw Chen Mo push the door open and greeted him with a smile: "Good morning, Coach Chen."

"Morning." Chen Mo nodded, scanned his wristband on the punch-in machine at the front desk, and walked inside.

The gym wasn't very crowded just after ten; a few familiar faces were warming up by walking slowly on the treadmills, and there were only a scattering of two or three people in the equipment area.

The air was filled with a faint scent of disinfectant mixed with rubber floor mats, and a pop song with a steady rhythm was playing over the speakers.

He bypassed the cardio area, walked through the equipment area, and entered the private training area in the very back.

Xu Lei had already arrived and was standing next to the stretching rack doing shoulder warm-ups, his movements not quite standard.

Having trained for over a year, he had long since memorized what needed to be taught.

"Brother Lei."

Chen Mo walked over and placed his water bottle and towel on the shelf nearby.

"Coach Chen, right on time."

Xu Lei stopped his movements and grinned at him.

The man in his early thirties had a belly a size smaller than when he first arrived, and his overall Mental Power seemed to have increased significantly.

"We're training chest today."

Chen Mo patted the back of the bench press, "Start with two warm-up sets with the empty bar, then we'll add weight gradually."

The class proceeded exactly as it always did.

Chen Mo stood next to the bench press, counting reps while watching Xu Lei's form, occasionally reaching out to gently nudge his elbows to help adjust the angle.

When Xu Lei reached his sixth set, he started to lose strength. Chen Mo helped him unload the barbell and took the opportunity to correct the positioning of his waist when he arched his back.

The lesson passed quickly.

Just past eleven, Xu Lei wiped off his sweat and finished his training. He picked up his phone with his other hand to check WeChat, then looked up at Chen Mo: "I'm in good shape today; I pushed one more rep on that last set than before."

"If you control your diet well and get enough rest, your condition will naturally be good," Chen Mo said.

He was just doing what a coach should do: teaching, spotting, correcting form, and giving the student confidence.

After Xu Lei changed his clothes and left, Chen Mo stood in the private training area for a while, turning something over in his mind.

He needed to find a punching power tester.

A punching power tester wasn't a rare piece of equipment; many fighting clubs had them.

He wanted to verify if the 216 kilograms on his system panel was real data, and how it was measured.

At noon, Chen Mo ate a set meal at a fast-food restaurant downstairs from the gym, refilled his rice twice, ate until he was about eighty percent full, and then followed the map on his phone to find a nearby fighting club.

Pushing the door open, he was hit by a wave of sweat and the smell of leather.

The small space was filled with hanging sandbags, and a few young people were surrounding a coach doing combination pad training, with mats on the floor so worn that their original color was no longer visible.

As soon as the receptionist saw someone enter, they immediately greeted him enthusiastically and began pitching membership cards, rambling on for nearly two minutes about everything from annual passes to private coaching packages.

"A single-visit pass," Chen Mo interrupted, "I'll try it out first."

He swiped his pass, walked through the training area, and found the punching power tester in the corner.

This machine looked like it had seen better days; the paint on the pillar was pitted and battered from being hit, but the display screen was still lit, which meant it was still usable.

The punch pad was a circular leather cushion filled with high-density foam, about fifty centimeters in diameter, connected to the pillar by a sturdy metal arm.

The force of the strike would be captured by sensors, converted into kilograms, and displayed on the screen.

Chen Mo stood in front of the machine and loosened up his shoulders and wrists.

No one around noticed him; the group of young people were still hitting pads with their coach, making much more noise than the punching power tester.

He tried one punch first.

Standing with feet parallel, a pure right straight punch, no body rotation, no pushing off the ground, just the explosive power of his arm.

The moment his fist hit the pad, the leather let out a dull thud.

The machine's screen flickered and settled on a number: 169kg.

Just using the power of his arm, he had already exceeded the upper limit of a full-force strike by an average adult male.

Chen Mo looked down at his right hand.

The punching power data on the system panel was 216 kilograms, and the punch he just threw really only used his arm.

If he added the power from his rotation, waist, and legs, the number should be even higher.

He took a deep breath.

This time, he didn't hold back.

He pushed off the ground with his right foot, the force traveling up from the ground, knees slightly turned, hips thrusting forward, waist twisting to generate power, shoulder and back muscles tensed to their limit, and his right fist, wrapped in the power of his entire body, smashed into the target—bang.

The target shuddered.

The screen flashed a new number: 210kg.

The data on the system panel must be the real data that could only be achieved if the technique was executed perfectly and with full effort.

Chen Mo slowly withdrew his fist and flexed his slightly numb knuckles.

He stared at the number, then remembered that if he used the speed of his body to throw the punch, the punching power would likely be even higher. It seemed the data on the system panel was just the force generated by his own body, without relying on momentum or anything like that.

He didn't stay any longer and turned to leave the fighting club.

The receptionist tried to chase after him to add him on WeChat, but he waved his hand, said he'd come back next time, and didn't even look back.

Inside, a small, scalding flame was burning, filled with excitement.

After leaving the fighting club, Chen Mo returned to the gym.