In the 90s, you could acquire max-level skills every 14 days.

Zhang Yong was shocked.

His uncle, Zhang Dewang, is over fifty years old.

She had three sons, the youngest of whom was seven or eight years older than her.

He kept a mistress outside the marriage? And even built a house there? Keep in mind this was the 90s!

If word got out, it would definitely shock the whole street!

"Does my aunt know?"

"He said your eldest aunt lives in the village, and the younger one lives in the city, so he probably doesn't know," Xiao Li said, shrugging. "These kinds of things have to be handled locally. Besides, it's considered a family dispute, not something the police station can handle."

Zhang Yong took a deep breath.

No wonder.

No wonder they complain about being poor every year and ask for money every year.

The more than 8,000 yuan he swindled from Zhang Defa, plus the money he earned running errands for Ma Degui, he used to support his young wife in building a house.

My aunt lived frugally in the village, thinking that her husband was working hard outside to earn money to support the family.

As a result, he spent all the money on other women.

Zhang Yong was troubled. This matter could indeed be a big deal or a small deal. He should tell his parents first.

"What happened to my uncle afterward?"

"Let's formally take him into custody first," Xiao Li said, reverting to his businesslike tone.

"The charges are suspected fraud and involvement in the production and sale of counterfeit and substandard goods. They will be combined with the case in Baoding later."

"However, immediate family members can come to sign and deliver daily necessities."

"Okay." Zhang Yong stood up. "I'll go back and talk to my dad."

"Zhang Yong, you did a great job." Xiao Li gave him a thumbs up.

"Just be careful from now on. Don't let your guard down until Ma Degui is caught."

Zhang Yong nodded and left the police station.

……

The motorcycle's exhaust pipe was so hot under the midday sun that you could fry an egg on it.

Zhang Yong was riding his bike, a few things on his mind.

We'll discuss the remittance slip issue when Zhang Defa returns, and then find a time to go to the police station for mediation.

More than 8,000 yuan, and we need to get back the interest as well.

The second item—

He glanced at the system panel that appeared in his mind.

[Writing Lv.4: Progress 37% (AFK efficiency +10%, 33x speed)]

[Driving Lv.6: Progress 6% (fixed)]

[Auto Repair Lv.5: Progress 25% (AFK... 30x speed)]

The auto repair has been stalled for over a week, and the progress has climbed from 13% to 25%.

It gets slower as you go on.

Lv.5 is already an expert level, and every percentage point above that level represents a significant investment of experience.

Moreover, there haven't been many opportunities for practical experience lately, and the efficiency of pure AFK farming will naturally decrease at higher levels.

The most pressing issue right now is not car repair.

It is safe.

Ma Degui was not apprehended.

Although three of Xu Dacheng's men had been taken down, Xu Dacheng himself was still outside and might be waiting in the capital to arrest him.

The news that I sent Zhang Dewang to jail will eventually reach Baoding.

Last time, when I dealt with those three thugs in the alley, I relied on my Lv.6 driving reflexes and Lv.5 auto repair torque perception, which was enough to take down street hooligans.

But what if it were for real?

If you have three or five people who have practiced, you can only run.

To develop a proper combat skill.

Fighting, Sanda, grappling—any of them will do, but you need someone to teach you how to get started.

The system rules are clear: skills must first be unlocked to the beginner proficiency level before they can be placed in the AFK slot.

There are less than two weeks until the start of the new school term.

Two weeks, 30x speed, 720 hours a day.

If I can unlock it today and leave it running for fourteen days—it will definitely reach Lv.6 in simple combat-type games.

At that point, let alone street thugs, even if three or five serious martial arts practitioners came, he would be confident enough to stand still.

The question is—who should we contact?

Although Zhang Defa knows military boxing, if he asks his father to teach him, his father's first reaction will definitely be, "You little brat, have you been fighting outside?"

It would be troublesome to explain, and it would also make him worry.

We can only look for those outside.

In Beijing during the 1990s, martial arts were not uncommon.

Each district's gymnasium has a Sanda (Chinese kickboxing) team, a wrestling team, and some retired athletes coach students outside the gymnasium.

I saw a sign hanging near the Chaoyang District Gymnasium the other day: "Sanda Training, start anytime, coach: Yang Cheng, monthly fee: fifteen yuan."

In the early 1990s, such places were a mixed bag, with some masters having real skills and others just trying to make a living.

But for Zhang Yong, as long as he can find someone who really knows how to fight and learn from them, he's willing to take a beating—as long as the other person is a professional.

The system can then be activated.

The rest can be done at 30x speed.

Zhang Yong twisted the throttle, and the sound of the motorcycle exploded on Jinsong Road.

There's still plenty of time; let's seize the day.

Chaoyang District Gymnasium.

……

The stadium is located on the eastern section of Chaoyang Road. Several old-fashioned bicycles and a three-wheeled motorcycle are parked at the main entrance.

Zhang Yong parked his car next to the iron railing at the entrance and looked up.

The second-floor window was open, and the sounds of banging could be heard from inside, mixed with a few short shouts.

He stepped inside.

The old man in the gatehouse on the first floor was listening to "The White-Browed Hero" on a radio, and Shan Tianfang's voice was drifting out from it.

"Comrade, is Coach Yang from the Sanda team here? Does he have class today?"

The old man raised his eyelids slightly.

"Yes. It's open Monday through Saturday. Just go up to the second floor and turn left to the end."

Zhang Yong nodded and walked up the stairs.

At the end of the second-floor corridor, an iron door was half-open, and the sounds inside grew clearer and clearer.

The dull thud of fists hitting sandbags, the scraping sound of feet pushing off the ground.

And there was another loud, energetic voice shouting—

"Waist! Waist twist! What kind of whip kick is that! It looks like you're sweeping the floor!"

Zhang Yong pushed open the door and stood in the doorway looking inside.

The training ground, about a hundred square meters in size, was covered with old sponge mats. Four sandbags hung on the wall, two of which were torn and patched on top of each other.

In the middle of the field, five or six shirtless young men were practicing together.

In the corner, a lean man in his thirties stood with his arms crossed, his eyes sharp and his words fierce.

"Push harder! Lower your center of gravity, block it! Yes!"

"You haven't eaten! Use your upper arms! Push harder!"

A faded vest, highlighting the clearly defined muscles on his forearms, clearly showed he had worked out.

Zhang Yong's gaze lingered on him for a moment.

[Driving Lv.6: Environmental Awareness Feedback - The target's center of gravity is extremely stable, with feet shoulder-width apart, ready to exert force at any time, demonstrating practical combat experience.]

Zhang Yong stood at the door, not in a hurry to go in.

The middle-aged man's gaze swept over and lingered on Zhang Yong for a moment.

"Who should I look for?"

Coach Yang Cheng.

"Yes, that's me. What are you doing here?"

Zhang Yong took two steps inside.

"Coach, I want to learn Sanda (Chinese kickboxing)."

Yang Cheng looked him up and down. The young man was about 1.75 meters tall, not particularly strong, but with a well-proportioned frame, a steady posture, and a low center of gravity.

"Have you trained before?"

"I've never practiced properly."

How big?

"eighteen."

Yang Cheng took the whistle out of his mouth and hung it around his neck.

"If you're going to learn seriously, eighteen is a bit late. The youngest person I know started training at ten."

As he spoke, he pulled a pair of boxing gloves out of the side box.

"It's alright, I can teach you. Give me a punch first so I can see your skills."

"Don't be afraid, fight with all your might, don't hold back."

......