Road to Power

Pain became his teacher.

After the attack, Wei Liang changed. He no longer trained for discipline or philosophy. He no longer cared about the beauty of a perfect strike or the balance of a well-executed form.

He trained to survive.

His father saw the change but did not stop him. Instead, he pushed Wei harder than ever before.

Every morning, before the sun rose, Wei ran barefoot, through the rough streets and uneven dirt roads, until his legs burned and his breath came in ragged gasps. Every night, his father drilled him in combat strikes, throws, counters until his muscles ached and his knuckles bled.

But it wasn't enough.

He remembered the alley. The fear. The helplessness.

This isn't enough.

And so, Wei sought out more.

The Underground Rings

By sixteen, he had left home, traveling across China in search of real fighters. Masters who weren't bound by tradition. Fighters who knew what it meant to win by any means necessary.

He found them in the underground fight circuits.

The first time he stepped into a ring, he was nothing more than an arrogant kid looking to prove himself. His opponent was a seasoned Sanda fighter a man who had broken noses and shattered ribs in matches before.

Wei lasted thirty seconds.

The older fighter's movements were too fast, too sharp. A kick to the ribs. A hook to the jaw. Wei hit the ground, dazed, humiliated.

"Come back when you're not a waste of time," the man had said, turning away.

Wei got up.

"I'm not done."

He fought again. And again. He lost—again and again. Broken fingers, bruised ribs, cuts across his face. But he kept coming back.

Because pain was his teacher.

Because every loss taught him something new.

The third time he faced the same fighter, he won.

Not because he was stronger. Not because he was faster.

Because he had learned.

He adapted.

The Way of the Wind

Over the next two years, Wei traveled across Asia, refining his skills.

In Beijing, he trained in Sanda, learning explosive strikes and powerful takedowns.

In Japan, he studied Judo, mastering throws and grappling techniques.

In Thailand, he trained in Muay Thai, hardening his body and perfecting his clinch game.

In South Korea, he sharpened his ground-fighting, studying submission grappling from seasoned wrestlers and Jiu-Jitsu practitioners.

In the Philippines, he studied Kali Arnis, mastering stick and knife combat, making him lethal in close-quarters weapon fights.

In America, he trained in Boxing, refining his footwork, head movement, and the raw power of his punches.

And in Brazil, he trained in Jiujitsu, perfecting his ground fighting ability to near perfection.

He didn't limit himself to one style.

He took what worked. He discarded what didn't.

And from all of it, he created something new Fengdao. The Way of the Wind.

Fast. Adaptive. Unpredictable.

The perfect storm of techniques, blending strikes, throws, grappling, and weapons into one seamless system.

By the time he turned eighteen, Wei had built a reputation. In underground fights, in back-alley brawls, in places where only the strongest walked away standing.

But something was missing.

A real challenge.

The strongest fighters weren't in China anymore. They were elsewhere. He had heard stories—legends of men who ruled the underground fight scenes.

Gun Park.

Suho Kim.

Korean fighters feared across the continent. Monsters in human form.

If Wei wanted to see how far he had come if he truly wanted to test himself there was only one place left to go.

And so, at eighteen, Wei Liang stepped off a plane in South Korea.

The storm had arrived.