297: Chapter 297 One punch sends a 200-pound giant flying

"Next, I'll let you witness what a true combat technique really is."

Su Zhe's cold, flat declaration—as if he were looking at a dead man—echoed throughout the luxurious banquet hall in Beverly Hills.

Taishan leaned on the broken, solid-wood high stool, panting heavily.

Sweat mixed with the cream from the cake he'd smashed earlier, clouding his eyes and turning his vision a hazy red.

Combat technique?

Hearing these words, Taishan's fleshy face twisted into a ferocious grin.

As a former UFC heavyweight champion, in his dictionary, a 'combat technique' meant tackling an opponent to the ground, locking their neck in a chokehold, and listening for the desperate crack of their cervical spine.

The consecutive misses from earlier had made him lose all face.

He conceded that this Chinese man's dodging speed was fast—like an elusive loach.

But dodging didn't win fights.

He only needed to catch him once!

Just once!

His terrifying two-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame could flatten this slender Asian man into a pulp of flesh, just like a steamroller!

"Chinese monkey, you're a dead man!"

Taishan let out a roar like a wounded beast and tossed aside the cumbersome broken chair in his hand.

His eyes were bloodshot, and his muscles swelled to their limit.

He didn't throw another punch.

Instead, he abruptly lowered his center of gravity.

With his arms spread wide, he looked like a raging grizzly bear, fully enraged and ready for a lethal embrace.

"Boom!"

Taishan's thick legs kicked hard against the heavy carpet, and his massive body lunged straight at Su Zhe, carrying a suffocating, violent gust of wind.

It was a lethal UFC finishing move—a ground-and-pound submission!

Once caught in his embrace or dragged into the dead-end of a ground fight, even a world boxing champion would only be left with broken limbs.

"Oh no!"

The Hollywood superstars and action directors watching from the sidelines gasped in shock at the sight.

Director Smith was so terrified he squeezed his eyes shut.

Those who knew their stuff could see that Taishan was going for the kill!

Given the absolute disparity in weight, once caught in a close-quarters grapple by such a behemoth, that young Chinese man wouldn't just lose his jaw—every bone in his body would be snapped.

Yet, facing his opponent, who loomed over him like a wall of flesh, Su Zhe stood his ground, not retreating a single step.

A sharp glint erupted in his eyes, like two bolts of cold lightning piercing the dark night.

His [Mastery of National Martial Arts] was pushed to its absolute limit at that moment.

Traditional martial arts were never just for show.

In the era of cold weapons, the techniques passed down by the ancestors were all lethal skills aimed at one-hit kills!

"Baji delivers a strike that even the gods cannot save you from."

A low, guttural grunt escaped Su Zhe's throat.

Just as Taishan's thick arms were about to close, on the verge of locking him into a dead end, Su Zhe moved.

He lifted his right foot and stomped forward half a step.

He sank his Qi to his Dantian, drawing power from the ground.

"Bang!"

A standard Baji Quan 'Shock Stomp.'

Su Zhe's right foot, like a ten-thousand-pound hammer, slammed fiercely onto the banquet hall's expensive, vibration-dampening hardwood floor.

The muffled thud exploded in the enclosed banquet hall like a sudden clap of thunder on a clear day.

The immense recoil surged through the wooden floor joists, radiating outward so violently that the surrounding Hollywood guests could genuinely feel a sharp, tingling numbness in the soles of their feet.

The champagne towers on several tables even wobbled precariously from the vibration.

Harnessing this terrifying recoil from the ground, Su Zhe's body transformed within a tenth of a second into a heavy, armor-piercing shell fired from a cannon.

He didn't choose to dodge.

Instead, he lunged straight into the massive body lunging at him, using incredible explosive speed to crash into the vulnerable inner gap of his opponent's guard.

One inch closer, one inch deadlier!

At this moment, the distance between their bodies was less than an inch.

Taishan was stunned.

Before his outstretched arms could close, he realized his target had already stuck to his chest like a ghost.

Too close!

He was so close that Taishan couldn't even swing his long arms to strike, and even the space for a knee strike had been completely sealed off.

In this lethal space of less than three centimeters, Su Zhe clenched his right fist and held it at his waist.

Along his back, his spine seemed to awaken like a giant dragon, emitting a series of crisp, rapid-fire bone cracks.

Waist and stance unified!

The power surged from his right foot that had shattered the floor, traveled up his thigh, twisted through his waist and hips, carried to his shoulders and back, and finally, like a floodgate bursting open, flowed through his elbow and concentrated at his fist.

This was the highest level of power-generating technique in National Martial Arts: 'Inch Power!'

Accompanied by a short, soul-shaking shout from Su Zhe, his right fist—pressed less than three centimeters against Taishan's chest—exploded at point-blank range.

It was a fierce, peerless move, like a volcanic eruption: the 'Baji: Heaven-Piercing Cannon.'

It slammed solidly into Taishan's steel-plated chest muscles.

"Crack!"

A bone-chilling sound of fracturing bone echoed through the momentarily silent banquet hall, ringing with terrifying clarity in everyone's ears.

Immediately after, under the gaze of hundreds of horrified onlookers, a scene that completely defied Newton's classical mechanics—something as surreal as a sci-fi movie—unfolded before their eyes.

Taishan, the former UFC heavyweight champion who stood 1.95 meters tall and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, the giant who was like a wall of flesh, froze the moment he took Su Zhe's 'Inch Power' punch.

The expression on his fleshy face solidified, then twisted into a mask of agony.

"Argh!"

A shrill, blood-curdling scream, like a pig being slaughtered, erupted from his throat.

His feet lifted clean off the ground.

His massive body, like a kite with a broken string or a ragdoll struck head-on by a heavy truck, traced a wide, pathetic arc through the air.

He flew backward.

One meter!

Three meters!

He flew back a full five or six meters!

"Boom!"

Taishan's massive frame slammed heavily into the wooden decorative wall at the back of the banquet hall that served as a backdrop.

The immense impact smashed a terrifying human-shaped hole straight through the thick wooden paneling.

Wood splinters and plaster dust filled the air.

Taishan's body was embedded in the shattered wall.

He gasped, unable to even let out a second scream.

His eyes rolled back, white foam bubbled from his mouth, and he passed out on the spot!

...

Dead silence.

The entire luxurious banquet hall in Beverly Hills fell into an absolute, suffocating silence, like a tomb.

From Taishan's frenzied lunge to Su Zhe's step-in, and then Taishan being blasted away like a cannonball through the wall—the entire exchange had lasted less than three seconds.

Three seconds!

A fight with such a disparity in strength, which everyone had assumed would be a one-sided slaughter, had indeed ended.

But the victim of the slaughter was completely the opposite of what they had expected.

The Hollywood capital moguls and the muscular superstars who usually played superheroes on screen were all frozen in place.

They didn't even notice that the red wine glasses in their hands were tilting, spilling expensive wine onto the carpet like shocking puddles of blood.

Cold sweat streamed down their high nose bridges.

They stared with wide eyes at the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound giant embedded in the wall, unsure if he was dead or alive.

Then, they turned their heads to look at Su Zhe, who stood in the center of the banquet hall, still wearing his pristine white shirt, not a single crease out of place.

Their eyes were filled with profound fear, as if they were looking at an ancient, ferocious beast draped in human skin.

No wires!

No slow-motion editing!

No explosive special effects!

With just a pair of bare fists, at a distance of less than an inch, he had blasted a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound grizzly bear six meters away?

Was this even a level of power that a human could master?

"My God..."

Director Smith swallowed hard, his throat dry.

His legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed to the floor.

He had mocked Chinese Kung Fu as 'gymnastics' or 'dancing' in his movies countless times.

But tonight, this slender Oriental man had used the most simple and brutal physical force to swat their Hollywood-proud fighting champion against the wall like a fly.

Smith looked into Su Zhe's calm, black eyes.

A shudder from the depths of his soul swept through his entire body.

Was this... was this, by any chance, true Chinese Kung Fu?