Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

"Of course you didn't do it on purpose. If you had, I might have thought you had good aim—" Jonathan bent down to pick up the dagger and weighed it in his hand.

"Your movement just now was aimed pretty straight. It was just that you didn't control the force and direction—hahaha..."

"Could you please stop laughing?"

"I can't control myself." Jonathan tossed the dagger back, not too hard, not too soft. "Let's do it again, this time I'll stand further away—give you a safe distance."

He Xu caught the knife, the veins on the back of his hand throbbing slightly, and said in a muffled voice, "...Please stand outside the door."

"That won't do, I still want to see you perform acrobatics."

Mike finally couldn't help but laugh out loud, but quickly covered his mouth with the back of his hand, pretending to cough: "...How about we don't practice throwing and catching yet? You can practice your grip and basic movements first."

He Xu glanced at him, then looked down at the dagger in his hand that had become his sworn enemy: "...Fine."

-

Perhaps realizing his own shortcomings, He Xu became determined to challenge himself.

He Xu found himself entering a strange, almost self-destructive rhythm.

He wakes up at six o'clock every morning, before the sky is fully light.

He got up, washed up, changed into his training clothes, and went out. His morning run was still forty minutes, but he had changed the route himself—

The gentle mountain road was changed to a sloping off-road section, and after finishing the run, three sets of sprints were required.

When I came back from the run, the sun had just risen above the ridgeline.

At 7:30, after breakfast, the first round of training began.

firearms.

Mike replaced the target paper on the target lane with smaller ones—from human-shaped targets to round targets about fifteen centimeters in diameter, increasing the distance from twenty meters to twenty-five meters.

He Xu stood at the firing position, put on his earmuffs and goggles, and raised his gun.

He fired ten shots, the spread of which was slightly wider than in the previous days, but all of them still landed within the target area.

"Do you practice in your dreams when you're sleeping?" Mike asked, holding binoculars, his tone carrying an air of "this guy is a monster."

He Xu put down the gun and cracked his knuckles: "No. I went straight to sleep last night and didn't have any dreams."

This is not a lie.

Last night, after he returned to his room and took a shower, he fell asleep on the bed without even drying his hair completely.

His phone screen lit up briefly; it was a message from Jiang Yanbai. He read it, but didn't have the strength to reply.

When I woke up the next morning, I was still holding my phone. The message on the screen was "How have you been these past two days?" followed by a question mark.

He stared at the line of text for a few seconds, replied with "Not bad," then tossed his phone onto the bedside table and went out to train.

But he knew in his heart that at least three of those ten shots missed the bullseye.

The thought was like a thin thorn, stuck in his mind, and he couldn't pull it out.

So he said to Mike, "Let's do another set, those last few shots were a bit off."

Mike glanced at him, hesitated, and finally gave him a new magazine.

He Xu raised his gun again, this time controlling his breathing and deliberately taking longer to aim each shot.

After he finished shooting, he looked at the target paper—it was indeed a bit better, but still not good enough.

He put the gun down, didn't say "that's enough," and silently began loading it.

Mike had to interrupt him: "Alright, that's enough shooting for today. You can practice again tomorrow."

He Xu then put the gun back on the table.

He had a one-hour break after shooting practice.

He Xu didn't rest; he went to the strength training room.

Squats, deadlifts, pull-ups, bench presses.

Do each set until exhaustion, rest for two minutes, then do another set.

He also did strength training when he was with the satellite, but the intensity and frequency were far less than they are now.

Dancing requires explosive power and control, while fighting requires something else entirely—a continuous, confrontational output of power, as well as the ability to quickly regain balance after losing it.

His arms were trembling slightly when he finished the last set of bench presses.

The barbell was put back on the shelf with a dull thud.

He lay on the bench press, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving for a while before he finally sat up.

There are still fifteen minutes until lunchtime.

So he turned around and went to the horizontal bar, where he did two more sets of pull-ups.

By the time he got to the last set, his arms were completely out of control, and he almost pulled himself up on the second push.

He gritted his teeth and hung there, his chin above the bar, before letting go and jumping down.

2 PM, combat training.

Jonathan used a different teaching method today.

Instead of throwing He Xu directly, he first had him perform a set of basic movements—diving, grabbing his legs, turning around, and then putting him down.

After He Xu did it five times, Jonathan called a halt: "When you dive, your center of gravity is too far forward. If the opponent blocks, you'll send yourself flying."

He Xu stood on the soft cushion and adjusted his center of gravity according to Jonathan's instructions.

The sixth time was better.

After the seventh repetition, Jonathan nodded: "That's enough, let's get to the practical application."

Then He Xu was thrown again.

I only fell five times today, fewer than the previous few days.

But when he landed, his elbow hit the edge of the cushion, scraping a small patch of skin.

He didn't say anything, stood up and continued.

The harder he fell, the faster he got up, as if punishing himself with speed.

Jonathan didn't say anything, but He Xu knew he hadn't done enough—because Jonathan used the same method every time he threw him, and he still hadn't found a way to break it.

In the fourth week, the combat training made new progress.

He Xu discovered that he could finally see Jonathan's micro-expression just before he made his move.

The old actor's eyes would blink just before he made a move—very quickly, but He Xu caught it.

So when Jonathan made his second move, He Xu shifted his weight and jumped back half a step.

Jonathan's block missed, his wrist arcing through the air without catching anything.

Jonathan stood still and glanced at He Xu.

There was no approval or criticism in that gaze, only a calm confirmation: "You saw it."

"Um."

"Then let's continue."

In the following sparring sessions, He Xu was still thrown, but the number of times he was thrown decreased.

He began to be able to anticipate Jonathan's attack direction and shift his center of gravity before being caught.

He even managed to twist in the opposite direction when Jonathan grabbed his shoulder during the third round of practice. Although he didn't break free completely, at least he didn't fall over as easily as before.

Jonathan showed a rare smile of relief—not provocation or sarcasm.