Qin Kun felt the all-encompassing Yang energy radiating from Wen Yan, his eyes growing even more intrigued.
"Scorching Sun Fist?"
"Senior Brother Qin, you see right through me."
"Alright, kid, you come down now. Let me give him some pointers. I don’t want you running to the Grand Uncle Master, saying I bullied you."
The little zombie clung tightly to Wen Yan, puffing up her cheeks, a clear look that said: "Go ahead and hit me—just give me a reason to complain about you later."
But Wen Yan was itching for a fight; he gently patted the little zombie.
"Good girl, get down for now. Senior Brother Qin is willing to teach me—this is a rare chance. There’s still a bit of time before dawn; let’s not waste it."
The little zombie let go reluctantly, knowing this was a good thing for Wen Yan.
Wen Yan cupped his fists respectfully.
"Thank you for your guidance, Senior Brother Qin."
"Don’t hold back, use any technique you have. Go all out."
Wen Yan ran through the Scorching Sun Fist in his mind, opening with a Grand Swing Fist.
Qin Kun stood his ground. The instant he blocked with one hand, he saw the Scorching Sun energy on Wen Yan’s fist surge tenfold. With a muffled bang, even Qin Kun was a bit startled.
"Good strength, but the moment you left yourself open, you’d be dead already."
Switching his moves, Wen Yan sent his left fist upward with another strike, but Qin Kun intercepted, gripping Wen Yan’s wrist with his other hand.
But the next instant, Yang energy surged from Wen Yan’s legs, bursting forth with explosive force and speed—far beyond what Qin Kun expected.
Taking advantage of the momentum, Wen Yan slipped his arms free, leaped forward, and drove his knee toward Qin Kun’s chest.
Qin Kun didn’t dodge. His waist bent backward at the very limit, muscles quivering rapidly, dissipating Wen Yan’s force. With a sudden jolt, Wen Yan was sent flying back.
"Not bad! Just finishing the First Phase of Scorching Sun Fist and you already have such reflexes. You’ve got talent and awareness. But your boxing is way too stiff. In a real life-and-death fight, you won’t have the luxury of following the forms. Remember: just beat your enemy to death, the rest doesn’t matter. In martial training, you must first forge your will. Under any circumstance, never let your spirit be broken."
As his words faded, fierce and bold energy erupted from Qin Kun, pressing down with a soul-crushing aura as if charging into battle.
Wen Yan stood rooted, feeling like he was staring at a blood-soaked knight growing larger before his eyes—a flaming giant spear in hand, launching a suicidal charge. His mind froze: one more step and he’d be trampled to death.
But in his mind, a great Scorching Sun slowly rose, scattering the instinctive fear. He shouted, advancing instead of retreating to meet the attack head-on.
Qin Kun’s eyes lit up, and he roared,
"Good! At last, you haven’t disgraced the Scorching Sun Fist!"
But the next instant—a muffled boom exploded in front of Wen Yan.
The Uncle who had fallen in the lake suddenly leaped out, covering more than ten meters in a flash, landing right in front of Wen Yan to shield him.
Without Wen Yan calling him, Uncle opened his eyes, his hollow gaze locking onto Qin Kun. Face emotionless, a suffocating baleful aura began to rise from his body.
With a step, he and Qin Kun clashed instantly.
Qin Kun sent down a punch; Uncle didn’t dodge, attacking with the standard Big Executor Corpse Control Technique. In the instant he was struck, his claws, originally reaching for Qin Kun’s chest, suddenly twisted, leaving bloody gashes on Qin Kun’s arm.
Uncle’s chest, the black hair burned and snapped by the fierce Yang Qi, caved in, but after flying back just two or three meters, he regained his footing.
His sunken chest bones snapped audibly and just as quickly reset to normal. The baleful energy on his body grew thicker as he charged forth again.
Only then did Wen Yan react, calling out,
"Uncle! It’s a misunderstanding! Come back!"
Uncle paused in his steps, turned, and returned to Wen Yan’s side, closing his eyes once more.
Qin Kun frowned slightly, eyeing the gashes on his arm and then at Uncle’s nearly fully recovered chest, the baleful aura suppressed again.
"When did Black-haired Zombies get this ferocious? And the corpse poison is this strong too?"
He mobilized his Yang energy, and the scratches that had already started to blacken sizzled constantly. The corpse poison was forcibly expelled, a stabbing pain making Qin Kun frown.
Uncle’s reactions, power, and speed were far above any Black-haired Zombie he had seen. At first, he thought Uncle only knew how to attack, not defend, and lacked any combat awareness.
But then, watching Uncle recover in a flash, he realized he’d fallen into a mental trap. With such terrifying regeneration, trading injury for injury and deadly strikes is exactly the right tactic.
Especially that corpse poison—absurdly strong. He’d never heard of a Black-haired Zombie with such potent corpse poison, even stronger than a Green-Haired Zombie’s.
Looking up, he saw Wen Yan standing before Uncle, his words earnest and heartfelt.
"Uncle, this is Senior Brother Qin. He’s just teaching me, not trying to hurt me. Uncle, it was a misunderstanding—I’m fine, just doing some martial training."
Uncle stood with eyes shut, motionless, just like before.
Wen Yan turned around and went to stand beside Qin Kun.
"Senior Brother Qin, are you alright? That was a misunderstanding. My Uncle’s old, probably got a bit of dementia. He thought I was about to get killed, that’s all..."
On Qin Kun’s arm, the wounds kept sizzling. Another seven or eight seconds passed before the blackened blood gradually turned red again.
"No big deal, just scratched the skin."
Qin Kun looked at Uncle with a strange expression, then at Wen Yan—his eyes even more peculiar. He seemed to have some guesses, but in the end said nothing, tacitly accepting Wen Yan’s explanation.
A Black-haired Zombie with dementia—how perfectly reasonable.
"Show me a full set of Scorching Sun Fist. Let me see how you’re doing with it."
It was rare to have a big shot giving pointers, so Wen Yan immediately performed the Scorching Sun Fist on the spot. As he practiced, Yang energy flowed around his body—vast, bold, and grand, full of imposing presence.
"You’ve practiced it pretty well, but still too rigid. Zhang Laoxi is after all a cultivator—he teaches boxing techniques as a mess. How long have you been training?"
"About seven or eight days."
"Hmm?" Qin Kun was stunned, his face full of question marks. "How long???"