Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

He Xu could keep up with Jonathan's running pace, but combat training was a completely different matter.

The first day of basic training was relatively mild—Mike led them through a set of core activation and joint mobility exercises, and demonstrated a few of the simplest blocking and dodging movements.

He Xu followed along quite well. The logic of those movements was similar to that of dance, such as the shift of the center of gravity, the trajectory of the body in space, and the order of exertion—he understood them faster than others expected.

But starting the next day, the situation was completely different.

Based on the amount of screen time they had to share in the script, Mike naturally paired He Xu and Jonathan together, letting them practice basic close-quarters grappling moves.

He Xu stood on the soft cushion, looking at Jonathan opposite him.

The man was slowly wrapping bandages around his hand; his knuckles were thick, and his movements were unhurried, just like an old man doing his morning exercise in the park.

"[The following dialogue is in English] Don't worry, I'll be gentle," Jonathan said.

Before He Xu could respond, Jonathan had already made his move.

The large, thick hand gripped He Xu's wrist as if it had eyes, pulling him to the side.

He Xu felt his center of gravity suddenly shift, and the world spun around him—his back slammed onto the soft cushion with a dull thud.

Jonathan pressed down on his hip with one knee and placed one hand on his chest. The pressure was light, but the position was so precise that it was impossible for him to exert any force.

"...Damn it." He Xu's muffled voice came from the mat.

Jonathan looked down at him, his expression a mischievous old man's delight: "Do you never lower your center of gravity when you dance? If you had done that move in a different direction, you would have flown away."

He Xu lay on the ground, staring at the ceiling, feeling that he had never been taken down so easily in his life.

He braced himself against the ground with his palm, trying to roll over, but Jonathan's hand on his chest remained motionless.

"Stop struggling, the more you struggle, the tighter you'll be pressed down."

"...Let me go."

"Call me teacher."

"What?"

"Call me 'sir,' and I'll let you up."

He Xu glared at Jonathan, his temples throbbing. Jonathan, seeing his expression, smiled even more broadly: "What's wrong? Can't say it the first time? It's okay, you'll get used to it after a few more times."

He Xu took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and squeezed out, "...Sir."

Jonathan released him, stood up, and casually reached out a hand to pull He Xu up from the ground.

The force was as steady as when he pressed down on people, like lifting a cat that wouldn't cooperate.

After standing up, He Xu dusted himself off and glanced at Jonathan, asking, "...How many years have you practiced that move you just made?"

"More than thirty years." Jonathan cracked his knuckles. "He's been training since before you were even born."

"So, if you train with me, isn't that a bit like bullying me?"

"A little," Jonathan said matter-of-factly, "but it's always fun to bully newbies—come on, let's do it again, this time I won't throw you as hard."

He Xu: "..."

For the next week or so, He Xu was slammed around on the training mat by Jonathan a dozen or twenty times almost every day.

He didn't even realize what was happening when he was first thrown.

The second time, he tried to lower his center of gravity the moment Jonathan grabbed his wrist, but Jonathan simply changed direction and he flew out again.

The third time, he was smarter. The moment he was grabbed, he took a step forward, trying to use his weight to disrupt Jonathan's balance—but Jonathan dodged to the side and used his forward momentum to pull him back, sending him crashing face-first into the mat.

"...Your idea just now was good." Jonathan squatted down next to him, his tone carrying the kind of benevolent tone of an elder watching a junior mess around, "but your center of gravity was too far forward. I didn't even have to exert any effort; you just delivered yourself to the spot."

He Xu pulled his face out of the cushion, turned his head and glared at Jonathan. His hair was messed up, and there was a red mark on his cheek from the cushion.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but found that he couldn't come up with any other words besides profanity.

Jonathan laughed even harder at his flustered expression: "Your expression is exactly the same as my tabby cat's—it got its tail stepped on by me and couldn't fight back, so it could only glare at me."

He Xu got up from the mat, dusted off his knees, and said expressionlessly, "Is your cat still alive?"

"It's doing just fine. It learned a long time ago not to go head-to-head with me." Jonathan stood up and stretched his shoulders. "You should learn from that—if you can't beat them, try a different approach."

He Xu took a deep breath and swallowed back the thought that he had been thinking, "That old geezer really went all out."

He knew Jonathan was right.

In the following training sessions, he began to consciously observe Jonathan's movement habits.

Jonathan's way of exerting force is different from the standard movement demonstrated by Mike—his center of gravity shifts earlier than written in the textbook, always anticipating the opponent's intentions in advance.

When he grabs his opponent's wrist, he presses his thumb against the outside of the joint instead of gripping it directly, which makes it difficult for the opponent to exert force.

When he performs a sweeping leg movement, his knee is not fully straight; it remains bent, allowing him to adjust his direction at any time.

He Xu wrote down these details one by one, and then pondered them repeatedly during the gaps in his fall.

But speculation is one thing, and practice is another.

He was still being tossed around by Jonathan every day until he was completely disoriented.

Once, Jonathan used a dive and leg takedown to throw him to the ground. He Xu's back hit the soft mat, and he was so shocked that his vision went black.

He lay there, his chest heaving, staring at the ceiling, listening to Jonathan say from above, "That block you just made, your hand was too high—I lowered it and you missed. You were guarding my shoulder, not my center of gravity."

"...Could you..." He Xu gasped, "...at least let me lie on the ground for a while before giving my comments?"

"You lie down, I'll talk, it won't take up any time."

He Xu closed his eyes.

He felt he had never been bullied like this in his entire life.

He used to bully others when he was a teacher at Banxing, and later when he became a mentor on the show, he still looked down on people and berated them.

Now look what's happened; he's being humiliated by an old man who's almost sixty.

Mike, who had watched the whole thing, once chuckled and remarked, "Jonathan, do you particularly enjoy throwing him around?"

Jonathan was pulling He Xu up from the ground when he heard this, and without turning his head, he said, "He has a good feel for falling, reacts quickly, and doesn't hold grudges after falling."

"I hold grudges," He Xu's voice came from the side, still slightly out of breath. "I just can't beat you right now."

Jonathan patted him on the shoulder, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy: "Then hurry up and practice, I'll wait for you."

He Xu felt that the old man was provoking him, and he was indeed provoked.