BODYGARD

Chapter 15: What's Your Name?

Indeed, Jack had thrown the ball into the other team's basket.

"I already said I don't play basketball, but you insisted!" Jack took a deep breath, standing his ground, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Mia, the girl who had tried to charm Jack into passing the ball earlier, pouted her cherry lips and quipped, "But you aimed pretty well!"

"Mia, you’re still talking? You were actually trying to seduce him?" another girl accused.

"Don't put it so crudely, what’s wrong with you? That wasn't seduction, that was strategy!" Mia retorted with a coy huff.

Though she voiced this, internally she was secretly impressed by Jack’s quick reflexes; she had thrown the ball, but he had swiftly blocked it.

Soon, the girls' attention returned to Jack.

"You're fooling us, aren’t you? You've played basketball before!" they accused.

Jack felt a sense of resignation and decided not to elaborate further.

Was that what they called a shot? It was more like a fling. To be honest, for him, getting something into something else wasn't that hard.

"He really doesn't know how to play basketball!" Sophia stated emphatically, looking into Jack's eyes to confirm her defense.

"See, she said it!" Jack retorted, feeling slightly vindicated.

"Right!"

At that moment, something seemed to click for Jack. He quickly pulled out his phone and checked the time.

"Shoot!"

"Only five minutes left!"

Jack was taken aback.

Playing basketball with these girls, he had nearly lost track of time.

"Which way is out of this basketball court?" Jack asked.

"How did you get in?" Sophia looked at Jack, her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth slightly agape, voicing her doubt.

She was still somewhat confused. How had this man managed to enter the basketball court?

The gates were already shut by them to prevent any peeping Toms - after all, it was normal for girls to let loose while playing basketball on the field.

Other than climbing over the wall, how else could this man have come in? But she found it hard to believe. How could this smooth-skinned man have entered?

If Jack knew, that Sophia was thinking this way, he would undoubtedly burst into laughter.

Why would he laugh when Sophia clearly looked down on him?

Because Sophia honestly thought of him as a man, not a boy!

Indeed, he looked like a man everywhere, but many people still referred to him as a boy. It's clearly because you are older, trying to recapture your youth from me. Aren't you embarrassed?

"How did you get in?"

Jack glanced at the high wall, calculated the time, and didn't bother to explain.

He got in by climbing over the wall.

So, he decided to leave the same way.

In the next moment, he planted one foot on the wall, got some momentum, reached his hands up to grab the top of the wall, made a quick vault, and effortlessly scaled the over three meters high wall, flipping over to the other side.

He flipped over.

Did he just flip over?

The group of girls, each with their mouths agape, looked on in astonishment as Jack disappeared over the wall. Clad in basketball gear and sporting short skirts, the girls resembled a troupe of feisty young rebels, except for Sophia who stood out in her shorts, cautious not to reveal too much.

Of course, her beauty shone the brightest in the eyes of her peers.

It wasn't that she was breathtaking to the point of causing the downfall of cities; her allure was compounded by her character, a unique kind of beauty that was unforgettable and invited second glances.

This girl, while not particularly busty, indeed possessed a one-in-a-million charm.

"Did he just climb over like that?"

"No way, he looks so delicate, how could he possibly climb over such a high wall!"

"But the fact is, he really did climb over!" Sophia said with a pout.

"Hey, classmate, we didn't even get to ask your name!" Isabella cupped her hands around her mouth forming a makeshift megaphone and shouted after him.

But Jack had already walked far away.

Sophia turned her gaze to the tall wall, remembering the moment Jack flipped over and chuckled, "That junior is quite cute."

"Cute?"

"Interviewing Sophia, what was your intention, or rather, what was the emotion behind calling a guy cute for the first time? You know, no guy dares to sit next to you in class, with your fabled fierce tiger-like temperament..."

Sophia raised an eyebrow and immediately retorted, "Who dares call me a tigress!"

"Hey, hey, I was joking!"

"Do you dare to say you're not? You can outdrink four guys, have thrown five over your shoulder, and have won against six in gambling!"

Jack jogged all the way and finally arrived at the classroom just before ten o'clock.

Though he was nervous about being exposed.

However, he didn't like being late, especially since it was the first class at the university.

The School of Chinese Studies was different from other majors; there was a three-day reporting period, and you could attend your first class on the third day without participating in military training.

Arriving in the classroom, Jack couldn't help but look around.

There was a large open space in the middle of the classroom.

At the moment, there were about twenty to thirty students sitting in the room, with more than twenty male students and about seven or eight female students.

"Female students also study Chinese Studies?" Jack wondered to himself in surprise.

And not just a few.

He didn't say much but found a seat and sat down.

As the back seats were all taken, Jack had to sit in the front.

Many students, both male and female, were whispering to each other. Since Jack didn't know anyone, he just looked forward and started thinking about the geographical aspects of the University of Houston.

At ten o'clock —

A middle-aged man walked into the classroom from outside.

This middle-aged man was wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, with jeans that seemed a few years old. He walked into the classroom, cleared his throat twice, then looked at the students and gave a wide smile.

"Hello!"

"Hello, teacher!" the students responded.

The teacher said, "Just entering university, are you finding it a bit strange?"

A variety of answers came from the students.

Seeing the students' active response, he smiled even more and said, "I am your Chinese Studies theory teacher. Let me tell you in advance, the School of Chinese Studies is the passion project of the president of the University of Houston. The president has put so much effort into this department in order to promote traditional Chinese culture. Therefore, the School of Chinese Studies is different from other academic colleges. Those general bits of university knowledge you found online? Useless here in the School of Chinese Studies!"

The students glanced at each other, clearly struck by the teacher's words.

"Are you afraid of hardship?" the teacher challenged, gazing at the students.

"No!" they replied unanimously.

"Teacher, we are here to study our national martial arts!"

"Yes, some say that national martial arts should not enter university campuses, that it promotes violence, but I don't think so. National martial arts are the foundation of our national culture, passed down from our ancestors. It's something we, the younger generation, should learn. How can it be said to promote violence?" a female student shouted.

University programs are designed to provide people with the ability to survive, to at least become useful members of society.

But who can say that possessing knowledge of the national martial arts isn't useful to society?

"The young lady speaks well!" the teacher said with a slight smile. "However, to say you're not afraid of hard work is a bit premature at this point!"

"Alright, please welcome the president of the University of Houston!"

With those words, the teacher gestured towards the classroom door.

"The president is here?"

"Where is he?"

A figure in black clothes walked into the classroom from outside. It was clear that he was over sixty, but upon closer inspection, one could see that his face was ruddy with health, his hair jet black without a hint of grey—just as vigorous as a young man.

Clearly, he was the president of the University of Houston.

The School of Chinese Studies was personally established by the president of the University of Houston.

It was evident from his bearing that the president had poured his heart and soul into the creation of this school.

Rumors suggested that the president of Houston was not only a martial arts fanatic but also a master practitioner.

The president walked in with his hands behind his back, his steps light yet brisk, showing no signs of sluggishness.

"Welcome, President!"

"Hello, President!"

The president responded with a warm smile, like a kind old grandfather. With a gesture of his hand, he quieted the students.

"Hello!"

"Hello, President!" the students greeted in return.

Smith scanned the audience and said, "You can call me Smith, my name is Smith. As Teacher Bai mentioned earlier, I painstakingly established the School of Chinese Studies. It's not like some other departments, stagnant and neglected. My principle is to promote the culture of our national martial arts."

"I heard earlier that many of you claim not to fear hard work and believe that our national martial arts are the fundamental essence of our national culture. So, I ask you, how much do you actually know about our national martial arts?"

Smith's gaze swept across the room.

His presence alone commanded respect.

Silence fell. The students were taken aback.

None of them had expected Smith to start with this question.

Many had different motives for joining the School of Chinese Studies, thinking it might be an easy way to impress others.

"I know some of you came to the School of Chinese Studies not to learn but to pick up some skills to show off, to fight, to bully others. Those who do, I'll deal with personally! You're not promoting our national martial arts culture, you're dishonoring it!" Smith sternly reprimanded without sparing anyone's feelings.

"Why?"

"Why would I start a School of Chinese Studies at the university when there are martial arts institutes and Chinese academic institutions in our country? It's to further promote the culture of Chinese academics. University students can choose from various majors; those majors represent culture, and our national martial arts, a legacy from our ancestors, are also culture. Much that our ancestors passed down has fallen into decline!"

"So much has been lost or disappeared. Nowadays, Western medicine dominates over traditional Chinese medicine, and it's the same with our Chinese studies. What I'm doing is fulfilling the duty of someone from our country."

Indeed, more and more schools no longer offer programmes in traditional Chinese medicine.

With fervent passion, Smith declared, "Therefore, I absolutely will not allow anyone to tarnish it!"

Applause erupted.

One by one, the students couldn't help but start clapping, and Jack joined in from below.

His applause came from the heart.

Though Jack's master did not teach him American Chinese Studies, his master was also a lover of American traditional culture.

Indeed, as society progresses, many have forgotten their traditions and their ancestral heritage for things that appear more dazzling on the surface.

Who still remembers these?

"I ask you, how much do you understand about American martial arts?" Smith was relentless, circling back to his initial question after his impassioned speech.

Just like at the beginning, no one stood up to answer.

Seeing no one rising to respond, Smith pointed his finger at a male student seated at the back and commanded, "You, answer this."

The student stood up but was clearly serious and said nothing. It was no joke; at a time like this, when you can't answer the question, being anything less than serious would just invite punishment.

"Can't answer?" Smith's face flashed with anger as he gestured sharply, "Sit down!"

His tone was laced with anger.

He was indeed furious.

Being a lover of American martial arts, it was disheartening to see that none of the students could answer a simple question.

He knew that many came to the School of Chinese Studies with wrong intentions—looking to show off, get into fights, or bully others.

"You!" he pointed at another student the next moment.

The student hemmed and hawed but failed to provide an answer.

"You!"

"I think American martial arts techniques are all about drawing blood..."

"Sit down!" Smith cut him off with a face full of rage. He was very angry.

Draw blood with every move?

Did he think he was watching an American blockbuster?

Smith was fuming, his face darkening with anger at the apparent lack of knowledge in this new class compared to the last.

His eyes scanned the crowd again, noticing many students sitting at the back. His gaze then moved to the front, where a few people were scattered around, and finally landed on Jack, who sat in the first row, standing out from the rest.

Jack was startled.

Smith was looking right at him.

"Student, would you please answer the question?" Smith pointed towards Jack.

Jack stood up, looked at Smith, and said, "My understanding of Chinese traditional culture and martial arts isn't extensive."

"Not much? So, how much is that?" Smith frowned, apparently expecting another disappointing answer like the previous ones.

Jack thought for a moment and then said, "I believe that in Chinese traditional culture, martial arts should be distinguished from cultural aspects. China has a long history, and in ancient times people established various schools and styles, each with unique moves and forms, but what's most important is style."

"Style?" A look of pleasure flashed across Smith's face.

"Our ancestors integrated style into it. Tai Chi, Xing Yi, Wing Chun—these are some of the most common ones, but each one has a different style!"

"Continue!" Smith's eyes lit up, and he tapped the table, indicating for Jack to go on.

"Martial arts represent not just techniques but also style, and above all, it's the style that matters. Style reflects the character of the moves; every person, every set of movements has its own style. And when martial arts are imbued with character and style, that's what truly makes martial arts— it's the soul!" Jack explained.

Soul.

That's the most crucial aspect.

Jack never saw the study of traditional Chinese culture as a waste.

It's something imbued with soul, beyond the reach of ordinary people. After all, isn't every founder of a martial arts school someone who can face numerous adversaries with superior skill?

The founder of Tai Chi.

The founder of Xing Yi.

Their legendary histories suggest that their martial prowess was such that they could imbue their arts with soul.

"Well done!"

Smith suddenly slapped the table and laughed heartily, "Well said about style being the character of the moves! Now, tell me, what then is martial arts culture?"

"The culture of Chinese martial arts, to put it simply, encompasses everything from top to bottom. The head, nose, mouth, shoulders, elbows, fists, abdomen, knees, feet — countless parts of the body are used for both offense and defense. It extends into numerous techniques, striking as the opportunity arises, countering moves as they come. That is the essence of Chinese martial arts culture. People from other countries might not understand these nuances, and even if they do, they're learning from us!" Jack smiled broadly.

Though Jack might not be well-versed in Chinese martial arts culture, in Tai Chi, Xing Yi, or any other form, he still considered himself knowledgeable.

His master did not teach him traditional Chinese studies, as his background was in the military.

Soldiers are first taught how to take lives, and while the propagation of Chinese traditional studies has evolved into promoting physical fitness and, at its most effective, self-defense, it aligns with what he mentioned about integrating both offense and defense. Ultimately, it doesn't match with a soldier's duties, and the foundation of traditional Chinese studies was never about taking lives.

Of course, he's not a soldier.

He doesn't have a fondness for taking lives either.

"Well done!" Smith laughed. "You're correct, those from other countries might not understand these intricacies, and even if they do, they're learning from our Chinese heritage. You've got that right!"

Exactly.

It was their Chinese martial arts that first identified the elbows and shoulders as potent weapons, capable of switching between attack and defense swiftly.

Even now, the ability to apply these techniques flexibly remains predominantly with the Chinese.

What about other countries, like boxers, kickboxers? Do they truly grasp these concepts?

Yet, there are those who shamelessly claim these teachings as their own without acknowledging their source.

"What is your name?" Smith looked towards Jack and asked.