Chapter 22: Shang Jiuxu taught me himself. Do you have a problem with that?

The training instilled in Su Mian by Shang Jiuxu years ago had honed her hearing and reflexes to an exceptional degree.

Memories of a summer when she was seventeen surfaced from the depths of her mind, lingering for only a second before the intensity of the rapid-fire combat pulled her back to reality. The water in the fish tank smelled more pungent than a natural waterfall, though fortunately, the bar maintained strict standards, and the water had likely been changed recently.

Su Mian dodged left and right, the flying glass shards unable to touch her. As the parrotfish tumbled out, she instinctively bent backward, arching her body like a crescent moon. Her vest flapped open, and she used her embroidered thin blouse to catch the falling fish.

While rescuing the final one, a piece of glass proved unavoidable, slicing through her slender, fair arm. She winced slightly in pain. Considering the entire tank had shattered toward her, escaping with only an arm injury was a bargain.

However, the dark-skinned man from the Koyama family seized the moment she was distracted and appeared behind her. Su Mian seemed not to notice, slowly straightening up. Just a split second before his hands could grab her, she bent her left knee and delivered a fierce, precise strike to his groin.

Attack the weak point; end it quickly.

Done.

"Agh!" The Koyama man let out a miserable shriek. The young man by the bed watched with great interest, his eyes narrowing as if he could feel the phantom pain himself.

Luo Bingda was guarding the door. He had already received orders from Shang Jiuxu that Su Mian’s decisions were not to be obstructed, so he dared not force his way in. He was waiting anxiously, praying that nothing would happen to the "little aunt" on his turf, when the door finally opened.

The sight of the glaring wound on her right arm nearly scared the soul out of him!

"Good heavens!" Su Mian ignored his wailing and handed him a plastic bag filled with plump parrotfish. He took it blankly; the bag was heavy and full of water. "Find a place to settle these fish."

With that, the door closed again, leaving Luo Bingda to face the heavens, clutching the fish with a bitter face while ordering his subordinates to call Shang Jiuxu.

As soon as the call connected, he began to howl: "Brother Xu, this is madness! You said those men couldn't beat her, so I didn't intervene, but how did she get such a deep cut on her arm? It's still bleeding! She’s gone back inside, and we’re locked out. The guy in there is a real savage!"

Inside the room, the soundproof security door blocked out every sound. Su Mian glanced at the wound on her right arm; it wasn't deep, just a long, thin gash slightly shorter than a palm, stinging slightly from contact with water.

She ignored it, walked quickly to the bed, and cast a cold, warning glare at the young man. She gently peeled the tape off Zhao Ruolan’s mouth, who immediately collapsed into her arms, having fallen unconscious from prolonged oxygen deprivation.

"Do you have any idea that this is a crime?" Fire erupted in Su Mian’s almond-shaped eyes as she pulled out her phone to call her private doctor.

If she had seen the message any later, and if Zhao Ruolan had suffered irreversible brain damage from the lack of oxygen, it could have resulted in a vegetative state or even death.

"Your moves just now—they aren't the traditional Shang-style, but rather..." The young man spoke in a leisurely, measured tone, ignoring Su Mian's fury. She couldn't be bothered with this madman. As the call connected, she held up a finger to silence him. "Dr. Qian, are you home? Please, the North Ice Ocean Bar is nine hundred meters from your place, straight down Longxing Street and turn left. I'll send you the location; there's a patient in need of emergency care."

"Suffocation and oxygen deprivation. Yes, air supply has been restored. I checked the pulse; it’s normal. No CPR or artificial respiration needed, right? Good. I’ll wait for you. Just state my name when you arrive and come to the third floor."

After hanging up, the young man looked at Su Mian with a sinister glint, continuing his previous thought: "Traditional Shang-style starts with the right hand. Why do you always use your left?"

"I'm left-handed." Su Mian frowned impatiently, checking the back of Zhao Ruolan’s neck. No injuries—good.

"But from your daily habits, you instinctively lead with your right hand." The young man stared at her intently. Su Mian paused, her voice growing colder. "You're meddling quite a bit. Do you want me to beat you up as well?"

"A right-handed person who fights with their left, making the left hand stronger than the right. When you carried that bag of fish, you initially reached with your right, but because it was too heavy, you switched to your left, didn't you?"

Su Mian was getting dizzy from his left-and-right talk. Seeing that Zhao Ruolan was temporarily stable, she sat on the edge of the bed and met his gaze. "What are you trying to say?"

The young man appeared to be of mixed heritage, with structured, charming features, deep blue eyes, and fair skin. His hair, styled in a sharp, American-inspired cut, held a golden sheen. His voice was clear and pleasant, and his Mandarin pronunciation was gentle, carrying an air of nobility.

"You are right-handed, yet you fight with your left." He repeated, "The person who taught you the Shang-style must be left-handed. Am I right?"

Su Mian raised an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting this little half-breed to deduce the truth from such details. He was correct; Shang Jiuxu was indeed left-handed. When he taught her the orthodox Shang-style as a child, she insisted on learning it exactly as he did, so her movements were mirrored.

Because she had fought with her left hand for so long, it had become stronger than her right. Although she used her right hand for daily tasks, in situations requiring strength—like carrying the fish—she switched to her left.

"So what if you're right, and so what if you're wrong?" Su Mian checked Zhao Ruolan’s breathing again. It was light, but much steadier than before, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Shang Jiuxu taught me himself. Do you have a problem with that?"

The young man's blue eyes flickered, looking incredulous as he muttered to himself: "Shang-sir..."

"No wonder you were able to get in here. Everyone I blacklist gets overridden by the higher-level whitelist set by Shang-sir..."

He was acting like he’d lost his mind. Su Mian was used to the reaction people had when she mentioned Shang Jiuxu’s name—the more experienced they were, the stronger their response. It seemed this guy really did have a significant background.

"Who are those three thugs of yours?" Su Mian had caught a whiff of gang activity during their fight.

"My father's influence is on the West Coast of the United States. He selected a few elites from the Tiger Assault Team to protect me." In a flash, the young man adjusted his expression, returning to his indifferent facade.

Elites from the U.S. West Coast Tiger Assault Team working as private bodyguards? What a massive display of power!

"Have you seen Shang Jiuxu fight?" Not many people recognized the Shang-style, and even fewer could identify it so precisely. Su Mian was curious—had Shang Jiuxu fought on the West Coast?

The young man nodded, then shook his head. "My father was fortunate enough to possess recordings of Shang-sir participating in counter-terrorism drills in the U.S. during his youth. I’ve watched them countless times since I was a child."

Since he was a child... and countless times... Su Mian found it amusing. "How old are you, watching him since you were a child?"

"I’m eighteen." An eighteen-year-old rarely fails to feel proud of his age.

Shang Jiuxu was twenty-seven this year, Su Mian calculated silently. Well, I suppose that counts as watching him since he was a child.

"Do you worship Shang Jiuxu?" Who else would obsess over a videotape like that?

"Shang-sir is a legend on the West Coast. Within the global circles, he is the only one whose surname represents the individual. He doesn't conform to the family because he has already surpassed it. After him, no one in the Shang family dared to use the surname to refer to themselves. He made the Shang name great."

Su Mian felt like rubbing her nose—this kid was quite the "chuunibyou" (delusional youth). It was hard to imagine he had committed such a brutal act. She would contact the police and the embassy to have him arrested soon.

"Shang-sir is my idol. Could you take me to see him?"

Su Mian thought, *I'm taking you to see the police.* "Why would I agree to that?"

The young man’s gaze was earnest. "Because I have fallen in love with you."

Su Mian couldn't be bothered to give him another look. She brushed aside his head, which was blocking her view, and heard a child crying in the inner room. Strangely, the sound wasn't annoying at all.

She gently turned the handle and walked inside. A girl, as lovely as carved jade, was sitting there. She looked about two or three years old, with short arms and legs that were incredibly endearing.

The little girl looked up when she sensed someone entering.

Su Mian froze. The little girl looked exactly like Shang Jiuxu!