Zhang Yu stared wordlessly at Le Mulan inside the training hall. “You're dressed like that—how are we supposed to spar?”

Le Mulan was currently bundled in several layers of clothing from head to toe, gloves on her hands, a mask on her face, looking more like a bloated pillow than a fighter.

Zhang Yu cursed inwardly. Seriously? That level of germophobia?

“I got sterilized on the way into school,” he said. “Don’t you think this is a bit much?”

Le Mulan waved him off. “It’s fine. Let’s start.”

After two months of training, Le Mulan believed she had greatly improved her tolerance for Zhang Yu.

But with this being their first combat spar in two months, she decided to ease in—by layering up, for instance.

Zhang Yu could only shake his head. Still, she was a client paying twelve thousand per hour. Eccentric or not, he had to go along with it.

He thought to himself, “Man, it must feel great to be rich. You can even hire a genius high schooler like me for combat practice.”

Le Mulan said, “Let’s start with basic combat. Try to drag me into a ground fight.”

Moments later, they faced off. Le Mulan inhaled deeply, beckoned him forward. Zhang Yu dashed in.

Boom! Her Starfall Sword Aura clashed against his Martial Qi, the impact reverberating through the room.

The collision sent terrifying force and massive mana crashing toward Le Mulan.

She was already at a strength disadvantage, and the layers of clothing made her movements sluggish. Zhang Yu quickly closed the gap to within a meter.

Then everything spun.

With a deafening bang, she was slammed to the ground.

A pair of large hands reached for her.

Seeing Zhang Yu’s hands approaching, a flicker of instinctive revulsion crossed Le Mulan’s face. Her gut practically screamed: “Ew.”

She immediately raised her arms to resist.

Though she'd learned plenty of grappling and takedown techniques over the past two months, she was still no match for Zhang Yu.

Her arms got locked down, and as he moved to entangle her legs, she frowned. “Stop! Stop! Cut it out!”

Zhang Yu pulled back, looking exasperated. “Now what?”

Le Mulan sprang to her feet, mentally grumbling, “I can tolerate it, but this... ugh. Poor people’s bodies…”

Still, she reminded herself this was precisely why she’d hired Zhang Yu: to overcome her psychological block, to switch Heart Techniques smoothly under pressure.

But the thought of his “poor-person hands” groping her mid-fight filled her with intolerable disgust.

Especially since she regularly saw his Moments posts—those same hands had handled crusty old bottles, touched river water, street food, and Bai Zhenzhen...

“Having a poor guy’s hands pawing at you during a fight… It’s way worse than just holding hands.”

“Definitely need to take this slow.”

She took a moment to think. “Next round, you only defend. I’ll try to control you in ground combat. You’re not allowed to attack me.”

Zhang Yu gave a careless nod. “Same pay, whatever we do.”

And so, the moment they hit the ground again, this time it was Le Mulan who went on the offensive.

She reached around to lock his neck from behind, legs trying to hook around his thighs and abdomen.

But she quickly realized trying to control him felt like wrestling a dragon. The sheer strength between them surged, clashing wildly as he resisted her every move.

They had both grown considerably stronger since two months ago.

Amid the back-and-forth, Le Mulan’s high-quality training pants began to tear with a sharp rip. Layer by layer, they shredded, revealing her pale, powerful legs.

Zhang Yu’s pants fared no better, also ending up in tatters.

As they tangled, he suddenly felt Le Mulan’s thigh pressing tight against his—cold and smooth, the contact strangely distracting.

This wasn’t like those sessions with Song Hailong.

Le Mulan, meanwhile, felt his thigh against hers and her disgust intensified. She reflexively shifted her leg away.

But the moment she did, Zhang Yu almost broke free. Le Mulan quickly reminded herself, “Endure! You have to endure! You must overcome this weakness!”

Luckily, Zhang Yu was distracted too. Not only did he fail to escape, but Le Mulan found an opening.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs coiled tight around his waist. Her toned thighs tensed like twin pythons, and with a violent rip, Zhang Yu’s shirt tore wide open.

Feeling her legs clamped around his waist, Le Mulan thought, I’m squeezing him like a bag of garbage.

Though her eyes were filled with loathing, she gritted her teeth and endured.

Then Zhang Yu raised one hand to block her chokehold—and the other went straight for her thigh, trying to pry it loose.

Slap!

His hand landed right on the meat of her thigh.

Le Mulan’s body was tough—after channeling mana, her flesh was harder than stone.

But under Zhang Yu’s grip, her thigh felt fleshy again, even sinking slightly under his fingers.

Her body instantly stiffened.

That hand…

In that instant, her mind flashed through every image she’d ever seen in his Moments feed.

That hand had touched bus railings, subway poles, synthetic food, Songyang High bathrooms… and Bai Zhenzhen, more times than she could count…

Now it was gripping her thigh?

It was like that nightmare on the arena stage two months ago was repeating itself—only now it was clashing violently with her Heart Technique.

Le Mulan clenched her teeth, tears welling up as the pressure on her thigh deepened.

Meanwhile, Zhang Yu—still fending off her attacks—noticed a strange scent in the air.

“What’s that smell?”

As she locked him in a choke again, he caught the scent coming from her sweaty arms. That’s when it hit him.

“Wait a sec. Her sweat smells… sweet?”

“No—this isn’t normal…”

As their bodies clashed, his temperature skyrocketed. Le Mulan’s skin was still cool, but sweat was now seeping from her palms and thighs, soaking his face.

“This isn’t just sweat. It reeks of medicine… This has to be Purple Cloud Pharmaceuticals' solution!”

“It’s that Super-Metabolism Surgery… She’s sweating out residual drugs like some kind of human pill extractor!”

As the scent thickened, Zhang Yu’s blood surged and his nerves sharpened.

“Nope. Who knows what kind of dangerous stuff is still in her system. I’m not letting that mess with me…”

He knew that if it were some juiced-up cultivator here, they might’ve tasted it to analyze the ingredients.

But Zhang Yu was a proud advocate of Natural Body Forging—no drug-user nonsense for him. He clamped his mouth shut and held his breath.

As her body grew slick with sweat—especially her thighs—his grip started slipping.

Finally, Le Mulan managed to lock him down completely and cheered inwardly: Got him!

But the moment she succeeded, she sprang off like a rocket, rolling back over ten meters.

Zhang Yu lay on the ground, face red. A human-shaped puddle of sweat steamed beneath him.

Le Mulan asked, “What happened at the end? You didn’t go easy on me, did you?”

Zhang Yu shot her an annoyed look. “You were sweating like a waterfall. Your legs and hands were slippery as hell and stank of medicine. I was holding my breath the whole time!”

Then he glanced at her. Her upper layers were torn but still mostly intact.

Her legs, though—those long, smooth legs—were fully exposed, pants shredded to ribbons. One thigh even bore a big, dark handprint.

Seeing the bruise, Zhang Yu felt awkward. “Your leg okay?”

Le Mulan, still thinking about his complaint, glanced down. “It’s nothing. I’ve got self-healing medication in my system. It’ll close up soon.”

“But why were you holding your breath?” she asked, confused. “The Super-Metabolism Surgery gives me top-tier drug absorption and processing.”

“All the potions I use are high-grade. Once I metabolize them, the stuff that sweats out is just leftovers—but still meets safe consumption standards. No toxins or side effects.”

“You could drink it, honestly. No need to hold your breath.”

“But…” She frowned. “You’re not allowed to lick me.”

Zhang Yu nearly exploded.

Are you kidding me?! I’m a Natural Body Forging guy! Who the hell wants your leftover sludge?!