Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1151 - 561
Previously on Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups...
Dawn hasn't broken yet.
A dim gray morning light slips through the curtain gap, easing the shadows in the living room a little.
The rumble of the sanitation truck below as it empties trash wakes Ah Le.
He blinks his eyes sleepily, spotting Shen Wei curled up on the sofa under a blanket, her breathing deep and even in sleep.
Glancing the other way, Fang Cheng's bedroom door stands ajar and vacant, with the bedding folded tidy.
He's left already, this early?
Ah Le massages his sore temples lightly and rolls over.
A dull ache pulses from the injury on his belly, wiping out any leftover drowsiness.
Flat on the firm floor, his mind starts spinning with random ideas.
One instant, he's figuring out how to dodge the traitor today and track down "Rat Qiang" for intel, the next he's plotting revenge on the Flying Crane Gang.
Naturally, the image Shen Wei painted last night keeps popping up most.
Fang Cheng alone took on the whole geared-up Abnormal Mercenary Group and smashed an armed chopper with his bare hands.
Can such superhuman combat skills truly be real?
Though he trusts it about seventy or eighty percent now, without seeing it himself, some doubt lingers.
In East Capital during late May, the air even at dawn feels oppressively humid and warm.
Ah Le can't drift off again; he grips the chill mat with his palms, pushing through the pulling pain in his gut to sit up.
He waits a couple seconds, then carefully rises using the table for balance.
To avoid waking Shen Wei, he skips the slippers, throws on a coat loosely, and heads to the bathroom.
He splashes cold water over his face, then stares at his stubbled, worn-out image in the mirror, shaking his head in a wry grin.
After a quick rinse, Ah Le slips into his shoes, eases open the front door silently, and slips away.
The hallway in the tube-shaped building glows faintly, lit only by the dull daylight coming through the corridor windows.
The atmosphere hangs heavy and musty, laced with the tangy rot from old kitchen scraps brewing and the dusty odor of long-stored coal briquettes in the hall corners.
From afar, sounds of neighbors stirring echo: slipper scuffs on the ground, retching coughs from tooth-brushing, and soft pleas from some home where a kid resists rising.
Not having felt this calm everyday vibe in ages, Ah Le senses a subtle, hard-to-name feeling stir inside him.
He wanders without direction, arriving at the stairwell window, and peers downward.
Next to the road below, a breakfast vendor is just rolling up the awning.
Steam puffs up from the baskets, while the shopkeeper deftly turns the dough sticks frying in hot oil.
"Perfect timing, I'll grab some morning eats for the Chairman and Mr. Fang."
As Ah Le prepares to descend the steps, his eyes catch the path to the rooftop by chance.
The metal door up there hangs partly open, letting a fresher breeze waft down.
With time to spare before full morning, climbing up for a breath of air sounds nice.
Deciding so, he pivots and climbs steadily up the concrete steps one by one.
Stepping out onto the rooftop, the scene opens up wide before him.
No towering structures crowd here like downtown; surrounding it are modest, aged homes laid out in tidy rows.
Along the far horizon, a pale streak of dawn begins to expand, softly tinting wisps of clouds in orange hues.
Ah Le inhales deeply the crisp early air, sensing much of the tightness in his chest melt away.
He extends his arms, about to perform stretches to ease his stiff limbs.
All at once, he stops dead.
Right in front of him, atop the massive concrete water reservoir in the roof's middle, an upside-down form perches.
Straight and rigid like a stake, balanced at the tank's rim.
It's Fang Cheng.
Ah Le stares hard, identifies him, and moves to greet him.
The instant after, his eyes widen in shock, his foot freezing halfway through the step.
Fang Cheng isn't balancing on his hands.
Just his right hand's index finger bears the load of his tall frame and full weight.
That single finger, solid as forged metal, stays planted firm on the bumpy concrete cover of the tank.
"Is this Kung Fu training?"
Ah Le catches his breath, his gaze bulging.
Fang Cheng's upside-down form starts moving up and down in steady rhythm.
On each drop, his head nearly brushes the tank's rough top.
With every push, his body launches upward sharply, tense like a released spring.
His muscles gleam in the dawn light, bulging like iron ropes under tension.
Shoulders bulge prominently, arm muscles cut sharp, and back widens out like an opened wing.
Through each contraction and extension, he shows amazing burst strength and precise command.
Sweat streams along his wide back, pooling at his face before pattering down to the concrete.
Ah Le observes closely.
With two decades of Kung Fu under his belt, he rates his own build as way beyond normal, capable of one-finger push-ups often.
But handstand push-ups on one finger?
That's a whole other level!
It demands insane core strength for stability plus finger joints and ligaments tougher than steel.
If a regular guy tried this, his fingers would snap right away.
While these thoughts race, Fang Cheng's actions halt briefly.
Likely wrapping up a round, he shifts position, changing to his other hand.
Now with the left index finger, it steadily holds his inverted weight.
Without much delay, he picks up the up-and-down motion again.
"One, two, three..."
Without realizing, Ah Le tallies quietly inside.
As he watches that finger piston smoothly like a machine part, a chill runs up his scalp, his count growing more stunned by the number.
The pace doesn't lag at all; instead, it feels smoother and stronger, his form rock-solid without a waver.