The hoodlum ran out of the martial arts school and dashed away, soon vanishing from sight.
A moment of silence.
Wu Xiaode sneaked a glance at Qian Mingkui, who seemed to have frozen in shock.
"It's okay, Elder Qian, we'll join forces later and take care of these ruffians," Wu Xiaode said with ease.
"Why must we, who practice martial arts, always fight?" Qian Mingkui sighed.
"He who possesses a sharp blade will harbor thoughts of killing," Wu Xiaode replied.
"What about those who don't practice martial arts? What should they do?" Qian Mingkui asked, confused.
Wu Xiaode smiled and said, "Even without martial arts, there are other sharp tools, such as power, money, connections, rumors—anything can be a weapon if one wishes to kill."
"I'm at a loss for words— we who practice martial arts do so only to strengthen our bodies; why must there be love and hate, conflict and strife, and why must we rest only after our enemies are all cut down?" Qian Mingkui said wearily.