Searching for someone in northern Myanmar, and you call that earning tuition fees?

The basement door closed behind me, completely shutting out the hustle and bustle of Chinatown.

A strong smell, a mixture of rust, mold, and cheap disinfectant, hit me, even stronger than the three-day-old stale tea that Old Zhao from the security department had left out overnight.

Old Gun groped along the wall and turned on a dim, yellow light bulb that was hanging in mid-air.

The lights barely illuminated the roughly twenty-square-meter underground space.

"The conditions are a bit basic, but it's safe enough. After all, the most dangerous place is the safest place." After saying that, Old Gun took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit it, and the smoke he exhaled twisted and rose under the light.

Su Ming ignored his sentiments and glanced at the so-called command post behind enemy lines.

The only decent furniture here is a wooden table with peeling paint and two chairs that are about to fall apart.

Suddenly, a strange rustling sound came from the darkness in the corner, and a tall, dark figure stood up abruptly.

"ha!"

With a powerful shout from deep within his dantian, a burly black man nearly two meters tall, dressed in a white training uniform, leaped out of the shadows. He assumed a perfect horse stance in front of Su Ming, his arm muscles bulging, striking a pose reminiscent of a black tiger plucks out its heart.

He glared at Su Ming with his large, bell-like eyes and roared in a clear, resonant voice, "Who goes there! State your name!"

Old Gun was so startled by his shout that he almost dropped his cigarette. He cursed irritably, "Jack! What the hell's wrong with you now! These are our own people!"

The burly black man named Jack paused for a moment, then lowered his stance, scratched his bald head, and gave a憨厚 smile: "Hey, Gunner, why didn't you say so sooner? I thought some cops had sneaked in, and I was just about to carry out my duty."

He walked up to Su Ming, extended his fist the size of a clay pot, and enthusiastically patted Su Ming's shoulder: "Brother, hello! My name is Jack, the only overseas designated successor of the seventh generation of Bajiquan!"

Su Ming was jolted by his punch, and the strap of his backpack slipped down halfway. He straightened the strap without expression.

"He's a local intelligence broker, specializing in tracking and street spies," Old Gun explained from the side. "He's not very bright, but he's quick on his feet, has connections, and knows all the gangsters in New York."

Jack puffed out his chest proudly: "Gunner's right! For enough money, I can get you information on what color underwear the mayor is wearing today!"

Su Ming walked past him, sat down at the creaking wooden table, and said directly, "Qian Weiguo, codename Huamei, entered Chinatown an hour ago. I need all his subsequent movements."

Jack's smile froze.

He looked at Su Ming, then at Old Gun, his expression turning serious, even taking on a scrutinizing air as someone from the martial arts world.

"Brother, I have the intelligence," Jack said in a deep voice, "but according to the rules of our line of work and the martial arts world, if you want intelligence, you have to show me your skills first. My intelligence is only given to true powerhouses!"

Old Gun choked on a puff of smoke, coughing violently.

Damn it, when did this basement in the slums get involved with the martial arts world?

Su Ming raised his eyelids, glanced at Jack with a contemptuous look, as if he were looking at a monkey performing acrobatics.

"I don't have time," Su Ming said.

"No way!" Jack's attitude was firm. He took two steps back, assuming a new stance. "The strong never fear a challenge! That Thrush is cunning, with top-notch counter-surveillance skills. If you don't have some skills, even if you get the intelligence, you'll just be sending yourself to your death! I'm doing this for your own good!"

As he spoke, he began to dart and weave in the cramped basement, delivering a series of powerful punches while accompanied by sound effects.

"Drink! Ha! Stick to the mountain! Push against the heart with your elbow!"

Jack grew increasingly excited as the fight progressed, finally stomping his foot so hard the concrete floor shook three times. His eyes gleamed as he pointed at Su Ming: "Come on! Let me see your kung fu! Is it Wing Chun or Tai Chi? Let me see!"

Old Gun covered his face, feeling utterly humiliated by this scoundrel.

Su Ming finally stood up.

He didn't take any stance, or even look at Jack. Instead, he slowly took off his canvas backpack, gently placed it on the table, and then unzipped his windbreaker a little to make it easier to move around.

Jack's eyes lit up, his fighting spirit soaring. His blood rushed, and his muscles trembled slightly with excitement as he awaited the duel.

"Come on! Let me witness the mysterious power of the East!" Jack roared and charged towards Su Ming, his right fist whistling as it aimed straight for Su Ming's face.

Old Gun instinctively closed his eyes.

However, no cracking sound was heard.

You could hear a pin drop in the basement.

Old Gun shakily opened one eye, and the sight before him made him swallow the remaining half of his cigarette.

Jack remained in his forward-leaning posture, frozen in mid-air, his expression frozen in a ferocious moment.

Su Ming didn't even move, remaining standing in the same spot. He simply raised his hand casually, extending one index finger to meet Jack's fist, which was as big as a casserole dish. That finger lightly touched the center of Jack's chest as he charged forward with all his might.

Jack's tall figure froze in mid-air, all his strength and momentum vanishing the moment he touched that finger.

"You..." Jack barely managed to utter a sound before cold sweat poured down his forehead. He felt as if he had crashed into an invisible wall, all the strength drained from his body, his legs went weak, and he couldn't even stand up straight.

Su Ming withdrew his finger and spoke calmly.

"You're not generating power correctly. The power from your waist and abdomen isn't being transferred to your fists, and your shoulders are losing 30% of the power. This isn't Bajiquan; it's old people's disco."

After saying that, he flicked the finger that had just poked Jack lightly on Jack's training clothes.

With a thud!

Jack's two-meter-tall, muscular body went limp, as if his bones had been removed, and he fell straight backward, crashing to the ground with a loud thud.

The basement was completely silent.

Old Gun's sharp eyes, which had been sharpened by a lifetime of street life, were now wide open in surprise.

He couldn't understand it, he couldn't understand it at all! It was neither internal energy nor an illusion, but rather like a top surgeon precisely severing all of Jack's power nerves!

Jack lay on the ground, panting heavily, his gaze towards Su Ming having changed from scrutiny to fervent worship.

"Brother! Dear brother!" Jack scrambled to Su Ming's feet, grabbing his leg and crying uncontrollably. "What was that move you just made? Was it the Eighteen Subduing Dragon Palms or the Nine Yin White Bone Claw?"

Su Ming frowned and tried to pull his leg back.

"Brother! I was wrong! That wasn't Bajiquan, I was just flailing around! Only after following you did I learn what real kung fu is!" Jack cried out.

Su Ming looked down at the nearly 200-pound weight hanging at his feet and finally couldn't help but say, "If you don't let go, I won't reimburse your medical expenses."

Jack jolted, immediately letting go and springing up to his feet. He quickly pulled a slightly wrinkled map, soaked with sweat, from his pocket, held it with both hands, and respectfully handed it to Su Ming.

"Bro! This is that bastard's route! He's very cautious, deliberately choosing blind spots in the surveillance cameras, and finally disappeared on Brooklyn Street, three blocks away! My men lost track of him!"

Su Ming took the map and glanced at it.

A winding route was clearly marked in red.

"Martial arts are for killing, not for you to do pole dancing in nightclubs."

Su Ming left those words behind, stuffed the map into his pocket, picked up his backpack again, and turned to walk towards the steps leading to the ground.

Old Gun and Jack stared at his retreating figure, speechless for a long time.

"Go to the block where he last disappeared," Su Ming's voice came from the steps, "and look for a trash can."

Jack and Old Gun looked at each other in bewilderment.

"Looking for a trash can?" Jack asked, puzzled. "Is the boss hungry? Planning to rummage through the trash for something to eat?"

Old Gun took a deep drag on his cigarette, watching Su Ming's figure disappear into the darkness, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

He knew that this young man was not like them, the intelligence brokers who made their living in the gutter.