Chapter 6 – The Staff and the Beating

Jack grinned, rolling his shoulders as he faced the old man in the courtyard. "So, Master Perv, you really wanna throw hands?"

The old man stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back, not even bothering to get into a stance. "I told you before—address me properly."

Jack cracked his knuckles, ignoring him. "Alright then. Since I'm forced to stay here, might as well make the best of it. Let's see if you can back up all that ancient kung-fu wisdom, old man."

Jack exploded forward, foot slamming against the ground as he lunged in with a right hook aimed straight at the old man's jaw.

Then—

His fist hit nothing but air.

The old man was gone.

Jack's eyes widened—then he felt a sharp tap at the back of his neck.

BAM!

His face crashed into the dirt, a sharp pressure on his spine keeping him pinned.

The old man sighed. "That was reckless. Try again."

Jack gritted his teeth, pushed up, and spun around with a low sweep.

Missed.

The old man had already stepped away, watching him with the same bored expression as before.

Jack sprang back up, adjusting his stance. "Alright. Got lucky that time, old man."

The old man tilted his head. "Lucky?"

Jack grinned. "Yeah. That won't happen again."

The old man sighed. "Let's test that theory."

Jack rushed in again.

But no matter how fast he threw punches—the old man was faster.

No matter how hard Jack tried to predict his movements—he was unreadable.

No matter how many tricks Jack used—they all failed.

Every punch, every kick, every feint—dodged effortlessly.

Jack had fought dozens, maybe even hundreds of people in his past life. He knew how to brawl, how to street fight, how to win dirty.

But none of that mattered here.

Because the old man?

He wasn't just strong.

He was on a completely different level.

Jack lunged forward, trying to grab the old man's wrist—

SMACK!

A sharp strike landed against his forearm, sending a numbing jolt up his entire arm.

"Tch—!"

He barely registered the pain before—

BAM!

A palm strike hit his chest, sending him stumbling backward.

Jack's feet scraped against the dirt, barely keeping him upright.

His ribs burned.

His lungs ached.

His body was already starting to scream in protest.

The old man didn't even look like he was trying.

Jack panted, glaring. "Alright, alright. Maybe you're a little fast."

The old man tilted his head. "Fast?"

Jack grinned. "Yeah. Like an elderly roadrunner. But don't worry—I'll adjust."

The old man sighed. "I see your arrogance remains intact."

Jack dashed forward again, trying to use his speed to close the gap.

This time, he didn't aim for a direct attack.

Instead, he threw dirt up from the ground, trying to blind the old man.

But before the dirt even reached his eyes—

SMACK!

Jack felt a sharp impact against his wrist, forcing his hand open.

The dirt scattered harmlessly.

Jack's mind reeled. How the hell—?!

Then—

A foot slammed into his stomach.

Jack felt the air leave his lungs as he was lifted off the ground.

"GHH—!"

His body crashed onto the dirt again, rolling before coming to a stop.

He groaned, coughing as he pushed himself up. "Motherfu—"

Before he could even finish cursing—

The old man's foot was on his throat.

Jack froze, blinking.

The old man stared down at him, unimpressed. "Dead. Again."

Jack gritted his teeth.

The old man removed his foot and stepped back, waiting. "Get up. Try again."

Jack groaned, rolling onto his stomach. "Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

The old man gave a faint smirk. "Perhaps a little."

Jack coughed, spitting to the side. "Sick bastard."

But despite his aching body, burning lungs, and throbbing limbs—Jack stood up again.

And he charged in.

And he lost again.

The training continued like this for weeks.

Every single day, Jack fought.

And every single day, Jack got his ass kicked.

At first, he fought like his old self—wild, unpredictable, dirty. It didn't work.

Then, he tried fighting defensively. It didn't work.

Then, he tried pure aggression. That REALLY didn't work.

The old man never used full force.

And yet, Jack never won once.

His bones bruised.

His muscles tore and rebuilt.

His breathing became sharper.

The old man never gave him an easy answer.

Every time Jack asked for a technique, a shortcut, or a trick—

"Figure it out."

Jack learned by getting beaten down.

But the thing about Jack Hou?

He never gave up.

No matter how much he lost, no matter how many times he hit the dirt,

Jack always got back up.

Weeks later, Jack stood in the courtyard again, arms covered in fresh bruises, sweat dripping from his brow.

The old man watched him, waiting. "Ready?"

Jack grinned, his stance more controlled this time. "Always."

The old man moved first, dashing forward with blinding speed.

Jack read the movement.

He didn't panic.

He didn't swing wildly.

Instead—

He waited.

At the last second, Jack shifted his weight, just barely slipping past the attack.

The old man's eyes narrowed slightly.

Jack threw a counterpunch—

The old man blocked it easily.

But—

Jack saw the flicker of approval in his expression.

It wasn't a win.

Not even close.

But it was the first time he had dodged a strike cleanly.

And for now—

That was enough.

…

Jack sat at the wooden dining table, arms crossed, body covered in fresh bruises from his latest beatdown. His ribs ached, his knuckles throbbed, and his left eye was swelling shut.

But worse than all of that?

His plate.

Yet again, his lunch was nothing but vegetables—steamed greens, boiled roots, and whatever tasteless grass his master pulled from the damn garden.

Jack stared at it.

Then, slowly, he banged his fist on the table.

"I WANT MEAT."

The old man continued eating, completely unfazed.

Jack's eye twitched. "I'm a growing boy, you soon-to-be ashes! I NEED MEAT! This isn't a well-balanced diet for a child!"

The old man sipped his tea. "You're not a child."

Jack scowled. "My body is! And if I don't get some protein soon, I'm gonna start gnawing on my own goddamn leg!"

The old man shrugged. "Then you better pick the left one. It's weaker."

Jack gaped at him.

The old man set his chopsticks down. "I won't cook again. If you're not eating, I'll eat it all myself."

Jack's face twisted in betrayal.

He glanced at his plate, then back at his master, who was already reaching for his portion.

Shit. If I fight him on an empty stomach, I'll actually die.

Jack snatched the plate back, shoveling food into his mouth aggressively. "Fine. But if I pass out from malnutrition, I'm haunting your ass."

The old man gave a rare smirk. "I'd like to see you try."

…

Jack stood in the courtyard again, belly full, confidence even fuller.

He bounced on his heels, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, old man. Let's do this."

He had been training for weeks. Getting his ass kicked daily.

But now?

Now he could dodge some attacks. Counter a few strikes.

He wasn't the same weak little bastard who got steamrolled on the first day.

He was better.

Stronger.

Faster.

The old man gave him a slow, calculating look. "Hmph. You're confident today."

Jack grinned. "You better watch out. You might actually have to try this time."

The old man sighed. "Alright, then. I won't hold back as much."

Jack's grin faltered slightly. "Wait, what?"

Then the old man moved.

And Jack immediately regretted everything.

"WHAT THE FU—"

Jack barely saw it.

A blur of movement, then—a palm smashed into his chest.

Jack's feet left the ground.

He soared backwards like a ragdoll, crashing into the dirt so hard he bounced.

Coughing, gasping for breath, Jack scrambled back to his feet, eyes wide.

"You were holding back that much before?!"

The old man nodded. "Of course."

Jack cursed, wiping blood from his lip. "Sick bastard."

The old man was already in front of him again.

Jack barely had time to raise his arms before—

SMACK!

A spinning kick slammed into his ribs.

Pain exploded through his entire body.

Jack staggered back, barely staying upright.

"Shit—!"

Another strike to his leg.

Then his shoulder.

Then his gut.

Jack felt like a goddamn pinball, getting battered from every angle.

No matter how much he tried to block or counter—

The old man was just too fast.

Too precise.

Jack was losing. Hard.

And then—

His left ear twitched.

A strange, tingling sensation crawled down his earlobe.

Jack instinctively reached up, fingers brushing against his dangling earring.

The moment he touched it—

Something shifted.

His hand tightened around something solid.

A staff.

Jack blinked.

It wasn't big.

Just a small, thin rod, no bigger than a drumstick.

The old man's eyes narrowed. "So… you gained the approval of the Ruyi Jingu Bang already."

Jack stared at the tiny stick in his grip.

Then scoffed. "Approval? It's just a damn drumstick."

As if offended, the staff suddenly extended.

Jack yelled in surprise, struggling to hold onto it as it grew into a full-sized weapon.

Then—his fingers snapped.

Pain ripped through his hand.

His grip failed.

The weight of the staff was too much.

Jack collapsed onto his knees, watching in horror as his fingers turned purple, crushed under the sheer weight.

Then—

The staff shrank back into his earring.

Jack gasped in pain, clutching his broken fingers. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

The old man walked over, glancing at Jack's hand.

"Hmph. You weren't ready for its weight."

Jack glared at him. "YOU THINK?!"

The old man shrugged. "You'll walk it off in a week."

Jack stared in disbelief. "MY FINGERS ARE CRUSHED, YOU SADISTIC CORPSE!"

The old man ignored his complaints.

Instead, he simply grabbed Jack by the collar.

Jack yelped as he was dragged toward the massive tree. "OI! WHAT NOW?!"

The old man exhaled. "Since your staff is unusable for now, we will start with something simpler."

Jack groaned. "What, more punches to the face?"

The old man smirked. "Worse."

Jack gritted his teeth. "Oh, I swear to God—"

The old man plopped him down at the base of the tree.

"It's time to learn how to control your qi."

Jack froze.

Then sighed heavily.

"This is gonna be some bullshit, isn't it?"

The old man patted his shoulder. "Absolutely."

Jack groaned.

…

Jack sat cross-legged at the base of the massive tree, his broken fingers throbbing like a bitch.

The old man stood in front of him, arms folded, eyes calm as ever.

"Close your eyes," the old man instructed. "Feel your surroundings. Feel the wind carving through your stone body."

Jack sighed, closing his eyes. "Alright, alright."

He focused.

Stone… rock…

…The Rock.

…Dwayne Johnson.

Jack's eyes snapped open. "Wait, is Dwayne Johnson even famous yet in 2002?"

WHACK!

A wooden staff slammed against Jack's skull.

Jack yelped, clutching his head. "OW, WHAT THE HELL?!"

The old man glared down at him. "Stop talking nonsense and meditate properly."

Jack grumbled, rubbing his scalp. "Fine, fine. No need to go full child abuse on me, you prehistoric fossil."

The old man whacked him again.

Jack bit back a scream and forced himself to sit still.

He took a deep breath.

And for the first time in his chaotic, bullshit-filled life…

He slowed down.

No jokes. No smartass remarks. No movement.

Just… stillness.

The air felt cooler.

The ground beneath him felt firmer.

The wind traced along his skin like unseen fingers, carrying the scent of earth, leaves, and faint incense.

His own breathing became clearer—a steady rhythm against the quiet world around him.

The old man, watching him from above, narrowed his eyes.

Jack was silent.

Not moving. Not fidgeting. Not even muttering some dumbass comment.

"...Did he fall asleep?" the old man muttered.

Then, as he took a step closer—he paused.

Jack's body was still in the courtyard.

But his mind?

It was somewhere else.

Jack opened his eyes—but he wasn't in the courtyard anymore.

He stood in a vast, empty space, stretching endlessly in every direction.

No sky. No ground.

Just… nothing.

Jack's brows furrowed. "The hell is this?"

He took a step forward, his footsteps echoing despite there being nothing to step on.

Then, something shifted in the distance.

A faint, golden light.

It flickered, barely there—like a flame fighting against the wind.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "That's… new."

Before he could move toward it—

A sudden, sharp laughter snapped through the silence.

"KEKEKEKE…!"

Jack's eyes snapped open in the real world.

His master stood in front of him, arms crossed, shaking with barely contained amusement.

Jack blinked rapidly, disoriented. "…What?"

The old man let out another dry, wheezing chuckle.

"Kekekeke… If I knew it was that easy, I would have just crushed your fingers on the first day."

Jack's eye twitched.

"I fucking knew you enjoyed that, you sadistic bastard."

The old man grinned, eyes glinting.

"Welcome to the first step of qi cultivation, monkey."

Jack scowled.

And just like that—his journey into real power had begun.