The Red Army, Liverpool, secured their first league title since the inception of the Premier League, and the new owner’s substantial financial backing, coupled with the deliberate hiring of the Portuguese ‘Special One,’ Mourinho, significantly boosted the team's fighting strength.

Liverpool fans across the globe erupted in celebration, believing that a new era belonging to the Reds was about to dawn!

Naturally, amidst this fervor, there were those who viewed the new Liverpool owner with suspicion. These skeptics delved into copious records and pulled every string available, eventually discovering that Ye Wen’s total assets amounted to roughly two billion pounds. Having already poured one hundred million into Liverpool in the first year alone, the question became: how long could Ye Wen actually sustain support for the club given his wealth?

Some fans began to harbor worries, but their concerns were swiftly eclipsed by a report originating from the United States that sent every Liverpool supporter into raptures.

Google officially filed its prospectus and, following a series of rigorous reviews, formally listed on the American stock exchange. On the surface, this was merely standard financial news. The crucial element was that Google's initial listing price was set modestly at just $85 per share. Yet, within a single day, the price surged past $100, with no sign of the upward momentum slowing.

A month later, Google’s market capitalization had risen by approximately fifty percent. This represented a monumental increase in the net worth of Ye Wen, who held a substantial stake in the company, and according to the trend, an end did not appear to be in sight anytime soon… (Aside: During its peak, Google stock approached $700 per share, with a total share capital of roughly 300 million shares.)

“Right now, it’s not just the British who won’t stop talking about your assets; the Chinese are debating it endlessly too, believing the world is about to gain another prominent figure of Chinese descent!”

Hua Yi sat awkwardly, leaning slightly to the side in a pose that looked utterly peculiar. Despite being dressed in a business suit, wearing non-prescription glasses, and maintaining a stern expression, Ye Wen couldn't help but smile when he looked at her.

“Still feeling uncomfortable?”

Hua Yi rolled her eyes at Ye Wen. Now that she was gradually regaining her true, playful nature, she dared to challenge him. Coupled with the vigorous activity of the previous night, while she was undeniably happy that Ye Wen desired her so intensely, her body was genuinely struggling to keep up.

Ye Wen considered channeling his Zhenqi to soothe her condition, but Hua Yi shook her head, refusing the gesture. “I’ve already used Zhenqi to regulate things, but it still feels a bit… off!” Fundamentally, she remained unaccustomed to it. Even though Hua Yi enjoyed playful chaos and tried her best to accommodate Ye Wen in bed, this particular aftermath was proving taxing…

“The school is now fully constructed. When are we planning to open?”

Ye Wen and his entourage had returned to China. Their arrival caused a media frenzy at the airport, though Ye Wen found it strange that those hecklers demanding he be brought low never materialized.

A moment’s thought revealed their strategy: they intended to show up and tarnish the reputation of his newly established martial arts and liberal arts academy. Before returning, Ye Wen had already leaked news about the school’s impending launch and formally begun recruiting high-caliber teaching staff. CCTV even dedicated a segment to publicizing these efforts—admittedly, Ye Wen had paid a price, but such paper currency was of little consequence to him.

The already completed teaching blocks, student dormitories, and exclusive villas reserved for faculty had been broadcast repeatedly on television. Combined with the promise of high salaries, such excellent benefits had naturally attracted a host of applicants. Ye Wen’s next task was simply to select the appropriate instructors before the school could officially commence operations.

Regarding the teaching staff, he only needed to vet the instructors for liberal arts subjects. As for martial arts, that role would naturally fall to himself and his two women. How could he possibly identify truly promising disciples without personally providing instruction?

Of course, if any highly qualified martial arts masters applied for teaching positions, he would welcome them enthusiastically. Moreover, within this existing body of accomplished martial arts instructors, there might be hidden gems worth recruiting into his own Shushan Sect.

“Who says disciples can only be chosen from the student body?”

This thought had only recently occurred to him. Previously, his mind had been too rigid, assuming he could only recruit from the pupils. Since training was best undertaken at a younger age, especially for internal martial arts, he had operated under that constraint. However, after mentoring Chris and Tommy, he realized that adults held significant potential for development—more critically, he possessed two suitable cultivation methods in hand.

The Seven-Color Battle Qi technique, already proven to be perfectly executable, was one matter. The Absolute Domain method, which focused purely on physical conditioning, tempering strength through constant physical reinforcement to forge powerful internal energy—this perfectly suited those who had spent a lifetime practicing external arts without grasping the essence of internal techniques. If cultivated well, his Shushan Sect could gain another master.

After managing the various figures coming from all directions upon his return to China, Ye Wen finally found a moment of respite. He sat in the vast, indoor training hall, personally interviewing the waves of applicants applying to be teachers.

This training hall was enormous, easily spanning the area of two basketball courts combined. Yet, this was the smallest indoor wuguan in the entire school; the largest could host a full-fledged soccer match, complete with spectator seating.

The advantage of locating the school deep within remote mountainous terrain was the ability to commandeer vast tracts of land without friction, and at a reasonably fair price.

Ye Wen stood casually in the center, surrounded by crowds of aspiring ‘masters.’ He was responsible for screening the martial arts instructors, while Hua Yi and Zhang Hengguang handled the liberal arts applicants in a separate classroom.

Ye Wen’s standards for the academic instructors were not overly demanding; being competent in teaching current primary and secondary school curricula was sufficient. He had other plans for higher learning that these individuals would not be tasked with. As for the multitude of miscellaneous subjects, he ignored them entirely, instead introducing specialized mandatory courses: such as Acupoint Recognition! and Calligraphy!

He did not plan to teach painting, though he wouldn't mind setting up a private class if a student expressed interest. However, the two required subjects—Acupoint Recognition and Calligraphy—were mandatory for all students.

Because of these specific requirements, the majority of the hired teachers were for Chinese language and mathematics. Naturally, many individuals with seemingly impressive N-level certifications came hoping to secure a position teaching English.

These applicants seemed to forget that Ye Wen currently held British nationality. Attempting to impress him with bookish English that no one could properly follow was akin to bringing a knife to a gunfight.

The most disastrous case involved an applicant who claimed to have studied in Europe and was fluent not only in English but also in German, French, and Italian. He was utterly silenced by a torrent of rapid-fire speech from Hua Yi.

“Wha—what?”

Hua Yi smiled. “The sentence I just spoke used German, French, and Italian. Did you fail to understand?”

“Uh… this… it was too fast, and I didn’t process it!” The student wiped a bead of non-existent sweat from his brow, his expression toward the woman across from him shifting from initial disdain to something else. As Ye Wen’s fame grew, the two women constantly by his side inevitably became focal points.

Ning Ruxue, bearing the title of Ye Wen’s wife, often drew comments like, “So beautiful! No wonder she snagged such an amazing husband!” Others might comment, “She’s just pretty, with a good figure, that’s all.”

Beyond that, the commentary surrounding Hua Yi was mostly negative. Terms like mistress, kept woman, and lover were thrown her way. Everyone assumed she was just a decorative vase who traded her youthful (and perhaps beautiful) appearance for favors. Many applicants here today held similar views.

But in that moment, they understood: in this era, even a decorative vase needed to be functional. Judging by Hua Yi’s flawlessly fluent command of foreign languages, she was certainly qualified as a wealthy man’s personal assistant.

Hua Yi then flipped through the man’s résumé, noticed he claimed knowledge of Latin, and could only shake her head with a smile before tossing his application into the trash right in front of him. “The instructors we are hiring do not require the talents listed on your résumé. More importantly, our school values character above all else. We have no need for a deceiver who adorns himself with lies!”

She then gestured for him to leave—a clear dismissal.

Watching the man retreat, his face pale, Hua Yi twirled her ballpoint pen. “I never thought the things I learned to pass the time over the last two years would prove useful. Otherwise, I might have actually been fooled by this person!”

Zhang Hengguang, overhearing this from the side, could only offer a wry smile. “Most people can’t even get a foothold in a year, yet this senior learned most of the major European languages just from touring those countries! Truly an exceptional talent…”

Otherwise, Hua Yi’s recruitment process was relatively smooth, the only frustration being the severe shortage of Chinese language teachers; most applicants were vying for positions in geometry, physics, and algebra.

Compared to Hua Yi’s relatively amicable session, Ye Wen’s screening was far less straightforward.

After dismissing several ‘martial arts masters’ who came for interviews, Ye Wen encountered trouble. A girl with a ponytail, slight freckles, who looked like a university student, stood defiantly opposite him, hands planted on her hips. She expressed outrage at his behavior—dismissing applicants with only a cursory glance and declaring them unsuitable.

“What right do you have to negate the abilities of us martial artists after just looking at us for a second?”

Two of the men he had just rejected were friends of hers. She had only accompanied them, happy that such a luxurious private academy was opening near her hometown. She had assumed her friends, skilled in their respective arts, would easily secure teaching roles. Instead, her friends were sent packing after only two exchanges with the young man, without any explanation, which left her deeply resentful.

Ye Wen regarded the fierce-looking girl and pointed to his own chest. “I am the founder of this school, and I will also be its principal. What right do I need?”

The crowd, which had been roused by the ponytail girl’s outburst, instantly deflated. Ye Wen’s statement was, undeniably, the ultimate justification.

He provided the funding; he controlled the employment. If you didn't meet his criteria, he was naturally not obligated to hire you. There was nothing further to argue about; they truly lacked grounds for complaint.

The ponytail girl trembled with anger. Perhaps she hadn't expected the world to be so brutally transactional. Not yet having graduated, she had held onto the naive belief that the world was inherently beautiful, but Ye Wen had unceremoniously shattered her illusion.

“I have money, I am the boss, therefore I have the right!”

This logic, which seemed utterly nonsensical to her, left her speechless. Yet, she refused to concede. Pointing at her two friends, she challenged him, “These two have practiced martial arts since childhood; their skills are wholly hereditary, nearly twenty years of training. They are quite well-known locally! Tell us precisely what you find lacking in them so that we can be genuinely convinced!”

Ye Wen had initially intended to ignore the girl, but upon hearing her words and observing the slightly flushed faces of the two young men—who seemed indignant at being dismissed before completing even one move of their routines—he realized he needed to resolve this issue, or the interviews wouldn’t proceed today.

The issue was not that Ye Wen disliked them; it was that their martial arts training was genuinely poor. Not only were they practicing incorrectly, but their internal cultivation was severely lacking.

“The style these two employ, if I’m not mistaken, stems from the Shaolin lineage’s Bore Jingang Palm. This palm style is inherently renowned for its brute force, its tactical variation is not overly complex. But what did your friend just turn the Bore Palm into? His movements are erratic, and his palm strikes lack any real power—it’s pure ornamentation. Does that deserve to be called Bore Jingang Palm?”

The burly man abruptly jumped onto the platform, clearly displeased with Ye Wen’s critique, and shouted, “Nonsense! My father taught me that the strikes must be fast, the variations fast, to maximize the power of this palm technique! You understand nothing, yet you pontificate here! It’s one thing to say my technique isn’t polished, but to spout such rubbish!”

Ye Wen smiled. “Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant; I am merely telling you the facts!”

With Ye Wen’s level of insight, he could naturally discern how the palm technique should be executed. The man’s initial few moves were enough for Ye Wen to spot the improper application. Although the man tried hard to display intricate variations, the Bore Palm does not rely on complexity for victory; no matter how tangled his hands became, the variations were inherently limited by the technique's intrinsic nature.

If the man had channeled internal energy through his forearms with every strike, making his power palpable, then those variations would actually achieve their intended effect. If he merely pursued speed without infusing power, the technique devolved into mere showmanship, utterly useless.

Ye Wen was not establishing schools to teach superficial forms, so such martial arts were naturally beneath his notice.

“How can what you say be the ‘fact’ concerning my family’s palm technique?”

At this point, even the onlookers felt Ye Wen was being unreasonable. However, Ye Wen immediately countered, “The Bore Palm is fundamentally a Shaolin technique. Your ancestor learned it directly from Shaolin. Why would I not know the technique’s original structure?”

In the real world, Shaolin does teach martial arts, and there are even Shaolin martial arts schools that continuously recruit disciples. The Bore Palm is genuinely a technique of the Shaolin school, and sometimes, martial artists from Shaolin can be seen performing this palm during national martial arts competitions.

This young man had seen these practitioners on television, but what insight could one gain from a screen? While he noticed subtle differences between what he practiced and what he saw on TV, discerning the critical disparity without direct experience was nearly impossible—unless one was a master on Ye Wen’s level.

However, among those present, perhaps no one matched Ye Wen’s caliber, or even came close.

“I don’t believe you!”

“Your belief or disbelief is of no concern to me. Can the gentleman step aside now?”

The man’s face flushed crimson. Finally, the ponytail girl stepped forward, unable to watch any longer. She addressed Ye Wen, “You’ve spoken a great deal, which suggests you’re quite familiar with the Bore Palm. Why don’t you demonstrate a set for us? If it truly matches what you claim, we will accept our elimination without complaint.” She then muttered under her breath, “Unless you’re just good with words?”

“Hmph! A little girl trying to use provocation on me?” Ye Wen didn't engage with her baiting but instead beckoned the burly man with a finger. “Come up and spar with me. Let’s see exactly how the Bore Palm should be struck!”

Ye Wen did, in fact, understand the palm technique. Although he hadn't dedicated years to its rigorous practice, with his level of cultivation, any technique he employed carried immense power. In this friendly spar, where he only needed to display the forms and could abstain from using true internal force, it presented no obstacle whatsoever.

As for whether his summoned Bore Palm matched the version in this world, he had considered that. Over his idle years in Europe, he had watched numerous videos of martial arts techniques. He found that while many of the skills he knew showed slight variances from the local techniques, the core principles remained largely consistent.

More importantly, the fundamental essence of any technique remained unchanged. Ye Wen surmised the key reason was that the authors of the Wuxia novels he had read often referenced real-world martial arts when composing fictional techniques, leading to this convergence.

This was also why, after the video of Ye Wen executing the Mian Zhang (Soft Palm) was released, some experts immediately recognized its lineage tracing back to the Wudang school (there are numerous Mian Zhang routines in Chinese martial arts, each with different internal connotations). Although the specific movements varied slightly, the underlying intent was identical.

The burly man was straightforward. Hearing Ye Wen’s challenge, he immediately took his stance, ready to engage. He had sparred many times over his years of practice, but never with such overwhelming resentment as today. As soon as Ye Wen commanded, “Begin!” the man lunged forward, executing the Bore Palm aimed squarely at Ye Wen’s lower abdomen. Midway through the attack, however, he abruptly shifted, splitting his palms to strike Ye Wen’s two ribs.

Ye Wen merely smiled faintly. He took a single, massive step forward. The crowd heard a loud BANG, and then they saw that Ye Wen’s second, later strike had already reached the man before his initial attack. Though it hadn't made contact, the man distinctly felt a powerful gust of force aimed at his abdomen.

“So forceful?”

He had never conceived of striking with such intent. More critically, he recognized that Ye Wen was undeniably employing the Bore Palm, and it was the exact move he himself had just launched!