081 Why Practice Martial Arts Without Money?

“A rare guest—please, come in.”

There’s an old saying: you don’t hit a smiling face. Besides, the woman was laden with gifts. Though Du Ruo wondered why she had come, he nonetheless offered the proper courtesies and ushered her into the house.

His mother soon emerged and, upon seeing Li Yu, seemed to recognize her. She washed some fruit, offered a brief greeting, and then headed next door to the neighbors’.

It wasn’t the right time to ask questions, especially since the things Li Yu brought were all supplements meant for Du Ruo’s parents.

“Li… Li Yu, is there something you need today?”

Du Ruo skipped the small talk; after all, they’d only met once before. Handing over a cup of tea, he got straight to the point.

“Yes, I’m here today to discuss a business matter with you, Mr. Du.”

As Li Yu spoke, she tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing her delicate neck, and lounged sideways on the sofa—quite unlike the rigid posture she’d held during their matchmaking meeting. Now, her pose accentuated every curve.

“Oh? Please, go on.”

Du Ruo smiled, gesturing for her to continue. He had to admit that while she might not be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, she certainly knew how to display her allure.

Pity, though, that such charms had no effect on him. Since taking up martial arts, Du Ruo had found a calmness and resolve within himself; beauty no longer swayed him, especially from women like her—getting entangled could only spell trouble.

“I have a client with a bit of trouble, hoping you’ll lend a hand. The pay is at least five million.”

Seeing Du Ruo unmoved, Li Yu cut to the chase, even waving her hand in front of him for emphasis.

“Heh, five million? For that much, there must be plenty of people willing to commit murder or arson. But you’ll have to excuse me, I’m just a small-town nobody—I don’t touch anything illegal.”

Du Ruo took a sip of tea before answering, not caring that it scalded his tongue.

Truth be told, the mention of five million did tempt him. That sort of money would smooth over so many of life’s obstacles; with it, even the local girls would somehow seem prettier.

Yet Du Ruo had his principles. Murder and arson aside, he wouldn’t harm an innocent for any sum. A martial artist must first cultivate virtue; character always came before skill. Commit a shameful act and even one’s fists would lose their force.

“Mr. Du, you joke. A ‘nobody’ couldn’t possibly handle such things.”

As she replied, Li Yu took a handkerchief-wrapped item from her bag, placed it before Du Ruo, and bent to unfold it, revealing the shattered coffee cup Du Ruo had crushed. She continued, “Rest assured, Mr. Du. While the job does involve murder and arson, it’s not here at home. The targets are in the Philippines—hardly paragons of virtue themselves. In fact, you might as well think of them as animals.”

Du Ruo frowned, pondering silently whether he could afford to be flexible with his boundaries. After all, her argument wasn’t entirely unreasonable. His principles applied to his own people, his own land; as for those outside his kin, perhaps they didn’t count.

“I’m sorry—”

He began to refuse again, but times had changed. He knew a bit about the Philippines thanks to recent events. It was a small yet chaotic place, rife with kidnapping and illicit trades, its eighty-one provinces divided among more than two hundred families. Guns were common; for Du Ruo, it would be a perilous venture. Five million wasn’t worth risking his life.

“Don’t be so quick to refuse, Mr. Du. This isn’t a one-off job. In finance, we deal with all kinds of people, many of them wealthy, often traveling abroad or facing complex rivalries. They frequently need bodyguards or experts like yourself.

This time, Mr. Yang isn’t even the wealthiest among them. But if you make a name for yourself, the rich will spare no expense to protect their lives and will seek you out.

To be frank, this is a great opportunity for both you and us. We’ll take none of your fee from the clients; we can even facilitate your work. What we want is the network—the connections to these magnates.”

Seeing that Du Ruo was about to refuse, Li Yu knew she had to offer something of real value—after all, in finance, capital rules all. If the bait wasn’t enough, she’d simply sweeten the deal. She leaned in, lowering her voice:

“Mr. Yang has a zoo in the Philippines he wants to sell. There’s a Bengal tiger there that’s mauled someone and is scheduled for euthanasia. If you accept this job, we can arrange for the whole tiger skeleton to be shipped here as a gift for you, regardless of the outcome. And there’ll be an additional hundred thousand as a travel allowance.”

Li Yu’s success wasn’t down to looks and figure alone—her grasp of human nature was exquisite. After learning about Mr. Yang’s troubles, she’d managed to meet him with nothing but the video of Du Ruo’s display in the café. She never mentioned investments, only sang praises of Du Ruo’s abilities.

She knew that martial artists needed medicinal liquor and that tiger bone wine was highly prized among them. Once she piqued Mr. Yang’s interest, she named her price. The story about the zoo was a fabrication—it wasn’t hard to source a tiger in the Philippines; the challenge was bringing it in legally.

But Mr. Yang had the right channels. Once the deal was set, she used this as leverage for Du Ruo. If he accepted, she’d profit on both ends. As for whether Du Ruo would be in danger—or even die in the Philippines—that was none of her concern.

If it failed, she’d still gain favor with Mr. Yang. If it succeeded, she could work her connections and profit even more. No wonder she was going all out.

“You needn’t say more.”

Du Ruo waved his hand, making Li Yu’s heart sink—had all her efforts been for nothing? But then he continued:

“I don’t care about tiger bones or money. What I can’t stand is seeing those Filipinos recklessly targeting our countrymen. Tell me the details; I’ll take the job.”

Du Ruo’s words sounded noble, but his true thoughts were: “I’ll have Yuan Yuan process the tiger bones—should be enough to make a few hundred pounds of liquor. Wealth is to the martial artist as poverty is to the scholar—without money, who can train? This world, without money, you can’t afford the medicinal wine or supplements needed for training, can’t even buy good beef, let alone pay for the treatments and remedies martial arts injuries require.”