With just a few words, Coach Datchai had already sparked Catherine's curiosity about judo. Smiling, he led them to the women's judo training area.
"Judo originated from jujutsu, which has several main branches—Japanese jujutsu, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and others. Japanese jujutsu itself evolved from your traditional martial arts. Before the Meiji Restoration, nearly everything Japan learned and developed was inspired by the Tang Dynasty."
"Judo focuses on close-range grappling and submission, but it's quite different from wrestling. Compared to other fighting styles, it's not particularly strong in upright combat, but its ground techniques and chokeholds are incredibly effective. That's why I said it can be considered a natural counter to boxing."
Catherine listened attentively to Datchai's explanation while watching the female trainees spar on the mats. Having always loved competitive and physical sports, she couldn't hide her excitement. Seeing her enthusiasm, Coach Datchai smiled and called over a female student, asking her to help Catherine find a gi so she could try it herself.
While Catherine went to change, Jason Luo seized the opportunity to consult Coach Datchai and told him about his encounter with two underground fighters back in Princeton.
After listening, Datchai frowned slightly. "Jason Luo, you'd better be careful. Underground fighters aren't limited to the sports world. If you ever cross paths with a true martial arts master, you could be in serious danger. Stay alert."
Jason was puzzled. "But isn't Muay Thai or karate also a kind of martial art? What's the difference between combat sports and martial arts?"
"They may look similar," Datchai said, "but they're completely different in spirit."
His tone grew serious. "Sports are designed to build strength and discipline. Even in competition, there are strict rules—strikes to vital areas are forbidden, and the goal is skillful competition or testing one's mental resilience. Martial arts, however, have only one goal: to completely defeat—or even kill—an opponent in the shortest possible time. There are no rules in true martial arts. Remember that, Jason Luo."
"Modern Muay Thai is a sport. True martial arts are the older, deadlier forms—ancient Muay Thai, ancient Burmese boxing, Krav Maga, and others. I'm a practitioner of ancient Muay Thai myself. Jason Luo, don't let your current strength deceive you. To real martial arts masters, it means very little."
Jason couldn't help feeling skeptical. Was Datchai suggesting that martial arts masters were as powerful as the ones in action movies?
Seeing the doubt in his eyes, Datchai said firmly, "Don't underestimate it. The biggest difference between martial arts and sports lies in Kung Fu. Against real Kung Fu, your so-called endurance and toughness are meaningless. Come with me—I'll show you."
...
He led Jason into a separate training room. The enclosed space was lined with thick wooden posts set firmly into the ground.
"Jason Luo," Datchai said, "to make sure you understand the difference, I'll show you what real Kung Fu looks like."
As he spoke, his presence shifted. A powerful, almost tangible pressure filled the air. Jason felt the hair on his arms stand on end—his instincts screamed that the man before him was extremely dangerous.
The old coach calmly removed his outer jacket, lifted one leg, and stomped the floor. "Yabalei!" he roared. With that shout, he exhaled sharply, channeling his breath and energy as his muscles swelled and veins bulged. His eyes blazed with focus as he surged forward, unleashing a side whip kick that smashed into a post as thick as a bowl. It cracked cleanly and crashed to the floor.
He followed up with a storm of elbows and knees, each strike slamming into the posts until none were left standing.
Jason could only stare in disbelief. My God... what kind of body can produce that kind of power?
After knocking down seven or eight posts, Datchai steadied his breathing and turned to Jason. "See, Jason Luo? Sports only imitate the form of martial arts. Kung Fu is its soul. When two true martial artists face each other, the fight is over within just a few moves—because every strike is meant to kill."
"So if you ever encounter a martial arts master from the underworld, don't hesitate—run. And if you can't run, don't hold anything back. Use your strongest attack to finish it in one blow, because you may not get another chance."
Jason still found it hard to believe that such power could exist. Against someone like this, what were boxing champions or the so-called strongest men on Earth? They'd all be helpless.
But one question lingered—why would someone that strong choose to stay a humble instructor instead of pursuing fame and titles?
Datchai gave a weary smile. "Times have changed, young man. In an age of peace, true martial arts have become obsolete—skills without a purpose. In a lawful society, there's no room for techniques made for killing. As for adapting to sports, that's much harder. Once you've mastered lethal power, it's difficult to restrain it. Martial artists are used to fighting without rules—put them in a ring, and they can't perform."
Jason slowly nodded, finally understanding. The saying "once you've seen the ocean, all other waters pale in comparison" suddenly made perfect sense.
After witnessing Datchai's display, Jason felt an intense admiration. "Master, today has truly opened my eyes. Would you teach me? I want to experience real martial arts, even just a little."
But Datchai shook his head. "Ancient Muay Thai is our cultural treasure. Besides, you've already passed the best age to train your elbows and knees—those techniques have to be learned from childhood. For someone like you, the best approach is to build on your Boxing Technique and focus on a specialized martial art that matches your foundation. That still holds potential."
Jason leaned forward eagerly. "Then, Master, what kind of martial art do you think would suit me?"
Datchai smiled. "You have roots in Chinese heritage, and your traditional martial arts are world-renowned. I happen to know a discipline that would suit you perfectly."
Jason's eyes lit up. "Really? What is it?"
"Southern Fist."
"Southern Fist?" Jason, who had grown up in America, knew little about Eastern martial arts. "What kind of style is that? Where did it originate?"
Datchai let out a quiet sigh. "When I was young, I thought my Ancient Muay Thai was unbeatable—my elbows, knees, and legs could break through anything. I traveled far and wide looking for worthy opponents. In 1997, I arrived in Putian, Fujian, and met a man named Liu Zhiqing, who claimed to be a descendant of Liu Yamei, the Southern Fist King. Feeling confident, I challenged him to a friendly spar. But…" He paused, shaking his head. "I wasn't even a match for him."
Jason blinked. "You mean he beat you that easily?"
"Three times," Datchai admitted, a faint smile of embarrassment crossing his face. "Each time, with a single strike. Back then, I couldn't accept it. But when he demonstrated the true Southern Fist techniques, I was completely convinced. The depth and precision of Chinese martial arts are beyond imagination."
"Southern Fist is the most powerful style I've ever witnessed—it can split stone slabs as easily as cutting through tofu, pierce iron, and shatter steel. Its bridge stance and rooted power are unmatched. No wonder it became the signature art of the Southern Shaolin Temple, standing alongside the Northern Leg style as one of the great pillars of martial arts."
Jason listened in awe. Having just witnessed Datchai's Ancient Muay Thai, he'd already thought nothing could top it. But now, he couldn't even imagine how powerful a martial art capable of ending a fight with a single punch must be.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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