Chapter Forty-Four: Can This Really Be Broadcast?

Chapter Forty-Four: This Could Be Broadcast?

Zhang Le took a knife for Yang Xiner; the wound wasn’t deep and only required a simple bandage. Although Zhang Le’s martial arts hadn’t yet reached the transformative stage, nor had he refined his hidden strength into his bones or mastered the art of shifting his blood and energy to stop bleeding, he was still able to stem the flow somewhat.

By the time the rest of the production crew and the other three teams of guests rushed to the hospital after finishing their shoot, Zhang Le had already finished giving his statement to the police and was preparing to leave.

“So you’re all here!” Zhang Le greeted them with a smile.

“Are you all right? I heard you got hurt! How bad is it?” Lin Yang, perhaps the more anxious type, was the first to speak.

“Heh, it’s nothing, just a superficial wound. We’re about to head back to the hotel,” Zhang Le replied with a smile.

“That’s good to hear. So you guys took down over a dozen knife-wielding thugs?” Liu Zheng looked at Yang Xiner and said, “I didn’t expect you to know martial arts too, Xiao Yang.”

Yang Xiner smiled somewhat awkwardly, “I only learned a bit in the past. Most of those men were taken down by Zhang Le.”

Previously, Yang Xiner had thought herself quite skilled, but now she realized that while she could handle two or three ordinary men, she was no match for true street fighters—let alone those truly adept at combat. Zhang Le’s injury left her feeling guilty; she kept thinking that if she hadn’t tried to show off and instead listened to Zhang Le and stayed out of the way, he wouldn’t have had to protect her and wouldn’t have been hurt.

“Director Zhang, I never knew you were not just a man of letters but a martial arts master as well! Truly accomplished in both pen and sword—I’m impressed,” Liang Bin said.

“Well, why don’t we catch up at the hotel over dinner? To be honest, it’s gotten dark and we haven’t eaten yet. I’m starving,” Zhang Le suggested with a laugh.

As Zhang Le and the others left the hospital, they were immediately surrounded by journalists eager for an interview. Naturally, the focus was on the incident, not the people involved. Had this happened back home, it likely would have been the other way around.

Clearly, in America, the media cared little for the identities of Zhang Le and Yang Xiner; the incident itself was far more compelling to them.

“She’s an actress and I’m a director. In a few years, we’ll be bringing our films to America and you’ll have plenty of chances to interview us then,” Zhang Le said to the reporters with a smile. “As for what happened today, the police will fill you in. I’m afraid we have nothing more to say.”

“Will it be a kung fu film?” one reporter called out as Zhang Le and Yang Xiner turned to leave. He was a fan of Chinese martial arts and, thinking of how the two had taken down more than a dozen thugs, was keenly anticipating their action movies.

“Perhaps,” Zhang Le replied with a smile.

“With your martial arts skills, Director Zhang, making a kung fu film should be a breeze—and sure to be a hit!” Zhang Yao said with a laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it!” Zhang Le responded with a smile.

Back in their hotel room, Zhang Le, holding Yang Xiner as she gazed out at the night, asked gently, “What’s wrong? I can sense something’s off with you.”

“I got you hurt today,” Yang Xiner said, gripping Zhang Le’s hand and glancing back at him.

“Hurt me? There’s no need to talk about blame between us! Besides, you took down three punks yourself today—you were a huge help.” Zhang Le was momentarily stunned, then smiled, “Why would you think that?”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been stabbed. You took that knife for me,” Yang Xiner said, her voice full of guilt.

“Silly girl, didn’t I tell you I’d protect you? If anything, I failed to keep you safe. And honestly, without you, who knows—I might have ended up with even more wounds,” Zhang Le reassured her.

“You’re so good to me,” Yang Xiner murmured, turning to face him.

“If I’m not good to you, then who would I be good to?” Zhang Le teased, tapping her nose. “But you really surprised me today. After all this time together, I never realized you knew martial arts—real Shaolin skills, no less.”

“I learned a bit from Uncle Wei growing up, but after joining the entertainment industry, I hardly practiced anymore. I’ve gotten a bit rusty,” Yang Xiner said, smiling as relief washed over her.

“Uncle Wei?” Zhang Le asked, puzzled.

“Yes. Uncle Wei was my grandfather’s bodyguard, and also inherited his martial arts. Plus, he was personally taught by Nangong Wang, the Bagua Grandmaster of Beijing.”

“Your grandfather’s skills must be authentic Shaolin, right? Your Uncle Wei inherited from two schools—that’s something to envy,” Zhang Le replied with a laugh.

“Uncle Wei married Nangong Wang’s daughter. Nangong Wang is a towering figure in Beijing’s martial arts world,” Yang Xiner explained, smiling. “I’ll introduce you if you get the chance. With your skills and dedication, you’d have plenty to talk about.”

It wasn’t rare for martial artists to inherit from more than one tradition. In his previous life, Zhang Le was a disciple of the Wudang Golden Cicada sect, but he had also studied Xingyi and Bagua, and was well-versed in Baji as well. Times had changed, and sect boundaries had long since faded.

That said, Zhang Le had little interest in the martial arts world; in some ways, its intrigues ran even deeper than those of the entertainment industry. He had no desire for entanglement with martial circles or its people. Still, since Uncle Wei was Yang Xiner’s elder, Zhang Le smiled politely and agreed, “Of course.”

“I only realized today how amazing you are! But now that I think about it, you’ve always been up early practicing, never missing a day no matter how busy you are,” Yang Xiner said with a smile. “Grandpa and Uncle Wei always said that Xingyi master Guo Yunshen divided martial arts into three stages: clear strength, hidden strength, and transformed strength. Which stage are you at?”

“Hidden strength,” Zhang Le replied.

“What about me? What level have I reached?” Yang Xiner asked curiously.

Zhang Le let go of her, then flicked out a single whip-like strike. A crisp crack echoed through the room.

“When you can do that, you’ll have reached clear strength,” he said. Yang Xiner’s control was still a bit rusty—she was far from that level.

“I guess I’ll leave it at that,” Yang Xiner said with a shake of her head, then asked, “What martial arts do you know?”

“I know quite a lot—I’m a disciple of the Wudang Golden Cicada sect,” Zhang Le said with a grin.

“So you’re from Wudang! What’s your specialty?” Yang Xiner asked.

“Tai Chi, Taihe Fist, and Soft Palm. I’m also fairly accomplished in Xingyi, Bagua, and Baji,” Zhang Le replied.

“Can you teach me?” Yang Xiner asked.

“Of course. Which style would you like to learn?” Zhang Le smiled.

“Uncle Wei taught me Bagua Palm, and Xingyi and Baji are a bit too fierce for me as a girl. Why don’t you teach me Tai Chi?” Yang Xiner suggested.

“Tai Chi can actually be fiercer than Xingyi or Baji. Taihe Fist is a Daoist school’s own style—not really appropriate for you. I’d better teach you Soft Palm instead,” Zhang Le said with a smile.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. When Zhang Le opened it, it was the director from the production crew.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the director said with a smile.

“Not at all! Is there something you need, Director Liu? Come in and have a seat,” Zhang Le replied.

“Are you sure you’re all right after what happened? I really must apologize for the incident,” Director Liu said, looking a bit embarrassed and hesitant.

“It’s just a minor injury—it won’t affect filming. I assume the other three teams have finished filming, and only Xiner and I are left? We’re ready to reshoot whenever needed,” Zhang Le said.

“That’s actually what I wanted to discuss. Our cameraman recorded the entire incident today. If we include that footage in the program, then no reshoot will be necessary. But if either of you have concerns, we can go ahead and reshoot as planned.”

“You can really broadcast that? Won’t it have some impact on the program?” Yang Xiner asked in surprise.