No endorsement is given to streaking; in these days of continuous streaking with the city's X-ray vision, support would be appreciated.

What Liu Jieming said was far from modesty; in fact, he was terrified of Wang Zhuo to the point of death, and admitting it in such a manner was practically gilding his own lily.

It must be known that Wang Zhuo was not the type to resort to violence at the slightest provocation, yet his tone served to ugly Wang Zhuo's image, describing him as a rabid dog prone to biting—this was inherently a tactic to garner sympathy and seek protection.

The woman he respectfully called "Sister-in-law" let out another soft snort and was about to say something when Kuchi suddenly moved, throwing a probing left jab toward Wang Zhuo’s face!

At this moment, over a hundred people were gathered on the deck of the Royal Princess, including magnates and military/political officials from all corners of the globe. Wang Zhuo and Kuchi stood on the fighter jet runway, with the eagerly watching crowd on one side and the vast blue sea on the other. The loser was supposed to jump into the ocean!

“Whoosh!”

The wind of the punch rushed past his face.

As soon as Kuchi attacked, Wang Zhuo realized the man possessed a certain level of boxing skill. This straight punch was a feint; if Wang Zhuo retreated, Kuchi would pull back and reconsider his plan, but if he dodged, a torrential barrage of combination punches would follow.

Knowing that retreating was the safest and most prudent option, Wang Zhuo suddenly ducked his head to the left to evade. Kuchi's boxing technique was nearly instinctive, and he immediately threw a right hook toward the direction Wang Zhuo was evading.

Unexpectedly, Wang Zhuo’s evasion was another fake move. After appearing to slip sideways, he actually stepped back half a pace upon tilting his head. Kuchi’s right hook immediately misjudged the distance, whipping past Wang Zhuo’s face in vain.

In Wuxia novels, fight scenes often feature a concept called "the move being used up," much like in soccer where the goalkeeper dives only to realize the ball is half a beat late, but his body can no longer recover—this is called being "used up."

Boxing, soccer, and duels between martial arts masters share striking similarities. Kuchi's missed punch left him, much like a martial arts master exposing an opening, or a goalkeeper unable to recover his save, with the right flank of his attack exposed to Wang Zhuo.

And this opportunity was precisely what Wang Zhuo had calculated, right within his expectations.

He suddenly used his right hand to deflect Kuchi’s hook outward. A heavyweight punch like that would leave a mark upon contact. Wang Zhuo wasn't entirely confident he could grip his wrist, so he merely used force to push it, momentarily throwing Kuchi’s balance off. Simultaneously, his left arm shot out a sharp jab, landing squarely on Kuchi’s floating ribs!

What seemed like a long description happened in less than a second: Kuchi’s probing left jab, Wang Zhuo’s feigned side-slip luring the aggressive right hook, followed by Wang Zhuo, who had calculated everything, deflecting the misplaced force of Kuchi’s right punch and landing one shot on the exposed soft spot under his right arm.

Wuxia novels speak of mystical acupoints, but the body’s vital spots are real. A kick to the backside might sting slightly, but a light touch to the perineum can drive a man insane.

The floating ribs are a vital area in free combat, often causing the "numbness" or "breath-losing" effect. No matter how strong a bodybuilder is, they cannot develop thick muscle in this region. Beneath the thin skin and muscle, fragile internal organs press against the ribs, utterly unable to withstand the shock generated by a heavy blow!

“Bang!”

The sound wasn't loud, but Kuchi’s body immediately lurched sideways. The violent impact on his lung caused his breathing to hitch, as if he were about to spit blood. He staggered two steps back, his face rapidly flushing purple.

Wang Zhuo didn't press the attack; he merely shrugged and smiled at Kuchi, his expression full of mockery.

The connoisseurs saw the nuance, the general crowd enjoyed the spectacle. Sparse cheers and applause erupted—those who hadn't understood assumed Wang Zhuo had gained a slight advantage during the probing phase. But those who understood felt a chill; Wang Zhuo’s seemingly casual punch revealed his ability to completely control his opponent. The fight didn't need to continue; Kuchi might even struggle to throw another heavy punch.

“So that’s what they mean by superior skill overcoming brute force. Turns out Wang Zhuo is trained.”

The man addressed as Brother Jing by Liu Jieming nodded appreciatively, chuckling to his female companion, “No wonder Little Liu fears him. Based on that one punch just now, out of ten men, only one or two would still be standing afterwards.”

“Is he really that strong?” the woman asked, surprised.

Brother Jing smiled, pointing to his own chest, “Oh yes, strong enough to make me vomit blood.”

The woman sucked in her breath. Liu Jieming also wore a wry smile; he’d heard Wang Zhuo had a habit of slapping people. If he were to land a full-force slap, wouldn't it deafen someone?

“Kuchi, wait!”

“Don’t trade technique with him, just grab him and hit!”

“Avenge Cole! Beat him into a pulp!”

The Americans cheered for Kuchi. Their perception was clearly inferior to Brother Jing’s; they assumed Kuchi had only been caught by a surprise hit, and judging by the speed of the strike, Wang Zhuo’s punch couldn't have carried much power, posing no real threat to Kuchi.

Kuchi took a deep breath. His lungs felt a faint, sharp pain accompanied by some rattling sounds. His heart clenched; he knew this punch was not as easy as it looked and had already caused him some internal injury.

While having a few ruptured alveoli was commonplace for Kuchi, he now dared not underestimate Wang Zhuo. When the gap in skill reaches a certain level, it can compensate for a lack of strength. Kuchi realized he had met a true master today!

He clenched his fists again, walked forward two steady steps, and adopted a defensive posture.

“Tap, tap, tap…”

Wang Zhuo began moving his feet lightly, somewhat resembling the rhythmic footwork of a boxer, yet subtly different. Kuchi knew this was a precursor to an attack and immediately heightened his alertness to the maximum.

Suddenly, Wang Zhuo hitched his right shoulder while powerfully pushing off the ground with his feet. Kuchi, already prepared, immediately raised his left arm, intending to block Wang Zhuo’s right punch.

What is a technique? A technique is essentially a feint! What is countering a technique? Countering a technique means breaking the opponent’s feint while simultaneously confusing them to achieve an effective attack!

The move in Wuxia novels called "seven plum blossoms from one sword strike" is, frankly, illusion hiding reality. All the plum blossoms are mere distractions; the final thrust aimed at the opponent's body is the true purpose. Wang Zhuo’s shoulder hitch was the illusion, and Kuchi’s blocking stance might not necessarily be reality either—it depended on whether Wang Zhuo suddenly changed tactics mid-motion!

Boxers favor head weaving, basketball players favor lateral movement; these are all feints. Those who recklessly hack downward with a machete in a fight are brutes. The experienced Kuchi was a powerhouse, but Wang Zhuo was the cream of the crop, further bolstered by the invincible artifact of X-ray vision, putting him in an unassailable position.

As soon as Kuchi moved, Wang Zhuo had already judged his opponent's assessment and reaction to his attack, immediately shifting from illusion to reality. This punch landed with a solid thud on Kuchi’s blocking arm.

The force was neither light nor heavy, but Wang Zhuo’s second punch followed instantly.

With lightning speed, Kuchi could only continue to parry. What followed was a rather dramatic scene: Wang Zhuo rained punches down on Kuchi’s head, while Kuchi desperately swiped his arms to ward off the attack, appearing utterly haphazard.

Zhao Yu suddenly burst into laughter. Wasn't this the "Turtle Boxing" they used to play when they were kids messing around!

Before the laughter faded, Kuchi was hit.

“Bang!”

Wang Zhuo’s usual style was nine fakes to one truth; when sparring with fighting masters like Baozi, Lao Wu, and Da Long back home, he used this approach. But today, he employed nine truths to one fake. Every punch aimed at Kuchi was real, until one suddenly turned false. Kuchi quickly moved to block, but Wang Zhuo paused his momentum, and as Kuchi’s arm came forward, the straight punch transformed into a hook, catching Kuchi precisely on his newly exposed chin.

“Bang!” “Bang bang!”

Upon landing the hook, a combination flurry immediately followed. Kuchi, having lost his guard from the hook, was now wide open across his face. Straight punches, swinging hooks, slaps, and eye-poking hammers—none were overwhelmingly powerful, but each was just fast enough for him to fail to dodge or block, instantly turning the American giant into a pig’s head!

Kuchi was five centimeters taller than Wang Zhuo, but Wang Zhuo’s first punches were all aimed at his face, ignoring the exposed stomach. Amidst a cacophony of impacts, Kuchi staggered straight backward. Wang Zhuo pressed his advantage with a continuous flurry, then suddenly leaped into the air, swinging his right leg in a wide arc, delivering a spectacularly flashy kick that struck Kuchi’s right arm, which he was using to guard his face, sending him flying!

More than just landing on his rear, Kuchi tumbled out, rolling twice clumsily on the deck before stopping. He managed to prop himself up tentatively, but the world spun and he couldn't distinguish north from south. Comically, he nudged the deck with his head, even feeling upside down!

This was... a total victory! The crowd erupted in an uproar, cheers and applause following one after another. Even the best Chinese Kung Fu movies were staged fights; nothing special. To witness the grace of genuine skill firsthand today was simply too spectacular, too wonderful. Perhaps only when Bruce Lee dominated Hollywood in his day was it comparable?!

“Much more satisfying than e-sports!”

“I never thought that American guy was so clumsy, he couldn't take a hit.”

“That man can fly! His last kick was so cool!”

“Perfect, absolutely perfect! Why didn’t I record it? My son would love watching that!”

“Coach Wang is mighty! Haha, Brother Wang did great, bringing glory to the nation!”

“The Chinese King—that nickname is truly imposing…”

Amidst the fervent discussion, Wang Zhuo walked up to Kuchi. The man had just managed to sit up, but the impact on his cerebellum hadn't fully subsided, impairing his balance so he couldn't stand yet.

Cole and the others hurried over, and Lieutenant Colonel Moning also rushed over with two soldiers, fearing Wang Zhuo might decide to "not be satisfied" and add a few more shots to Kuchi, which would escalate matters too far.

Of course, there was at least one person hoping Wang Zhuo would do so: Liu Jieming. But he could only wish, as Wang Zhuo would never stoop to such a low act.