In his mind, an imposing, murderous tiger appeared, but then, he saw a human figure emerge.

One hammer, one elbow, one smash.

With what seemed like three simple moves, that tiger was pinned to the ground, held down by a single hand, unable to move at all.

Once these things appeared, they fused directly into Wen Yan's mind, as if he'd always known them.

This Tiger Subduing Three Styles wasn't just a combat technique, but also a training method.

He tried the first style, and his whole skeleton started crackling, all the Yang Energy in his body getting pulled up at once.

Holding the posture of the first style, as he breathed in and out, his bones seemed to vibrate with each breath; the speed at which Yang Energy circulated suddenly took a massive leap, and the consumption rate was now on par with Scorching Sun Fist.

He wasn't afraid of burning through Yang Energy—he could always just pay to win with Gold.

But after just ten minutes, he felt his bones trembling—like he was about to fall apart.

He lay down on the floor, rested for a good while, and only then felt somewhat better. He actually felt more energized, but every crevice of his bones ached.

Great, now if he wanted to train this, he'd probably really need Tiger Bone.

His way of training Scorching Sun Fist was already different from most martial artists—others would first temper their bodies, then nourish their Yang Energy.

He started with nourishing Yang Energy, only moving on to physical training at stage two.

Even if he didn't get the Scorching Sun Blessing, his Yang Energy was still ten times greater than martial artists at the same level, but his physical body was weaker.

Now this Tiger Subduing Three Styles seemed to focus on the body, both as a training and combat technique. With his current physical strength, it'd honestly be hard to get started—he'd have to spend more Gold, and get some support.

He'd have to ask the folks at Medicine King Mountain if they could make a prescription with this kind of tiger bone.

Wen Yan had just come out of the basement, full of aches and pains, and hadn't even gotten to lie down for a minute when the phone rang.

"Hey, Brother Wen, can you come over to the hospital?"

"Xiao Zhang?" Wen Yan was a little surprised. He pulled the phone away to check—it really was Zhang Xuewen.

"Yeah, it's me. Could you help me pay a hospital bill?"

"Me? Pay your bill? At the hospital? Huh?"

"Ahem, my arm and leg are, well, broken, and I don't want my family to know, so I didn't dare use my own card. Brother Wen, can you cover for me this time? I'll pay you back later."

"..."

Twenty minutes later, Wen Yan arrived at the hospital and saw Zhang Xuewen lying on a hospital bed in patient scrubs, slightly curly bangs covering his brows, wearing huge-rimmed glasses.

One of his legs was in a cast, and so was one of his arms.

There were a few x-rays by the side, time-stamped as taken that morning.

After double-checking, Wen Yan sucked in a sharp breath.

It wasn't fake?!

This guy actually broke his own arm and leg just to avoid going home?

Absolutely insane.

"The doctor says I've got a good foundation, still young, and the fractures are in just the right place, so no need for any steel plates. I'll likely recover in less than three months."

Wen Yan looked at Zhang Xuewen, who didn't even seem to mind the pain and actually looked a bit happy. Wen Yan sucked in another breath.

"You don't even dare use your own bank card, just so your wife doesn't find out you're here.

You're this scared? And you expect me to cover for you?

You actually expect me to risk offending your wife for you?

Tell me, is it better for me to piss you off, or piss your wife off?"

"..."

Zhang Xuewen was instantly dumbfounded.

How was he supposed to answer that?

Damn, that's so true.

Given the choice, even he figured he really shouldn't piss off his own wife.

"Don't... Don't, Brother Wen, my leg and arm, they're really broken!"

Wen Yan wasn't falling for it.

It might work out for you, but I'd just be getting myself in trouble.

When he became Tuoba Martial God, he was so tough, but now? He wouldn't dare play cool about this at all.

Wen Yan would have to be out of his mind to cover for him.

Besides, who gets hurt and then tries to hide it from their family? What kind of person does that?

So, Wen Yan decisively pulled out his phone, used his connections, and found Zhang Xuewen's wife's number.

"Hi, hello, I'm Wen Yan, Zhang Xuewen's friend."

"Oh, here's the thing: Zhang Xuewen was in a car accident yesterday—broke an arm and a leg."

"Don't worry, he's fine now—they've already set the casts, he's in the hospital, no life-threatening injuries."

Zhang Xuewen looked dumbfounded—Wen Yan really had the guts to call his wife right in front of him.

"Careful, my wife is really fierce."

"For real?"

"Absolutely. She can fight way better than me. Every time we spar, I've never beaten her, she can hold me down with one hand. Crazy fierce—she hits me over twenty times a month."

"Anything else?"

"I've never even been to a bar... I really want to go someday."

"Want me to call a couple of girls for you?"

"Ahem, no need, no need. I'm just curious—hey, what are you doing?"

"Nothing—just recording you, so I've got something on you in case you want revenge later."

"..."

Over an hour later, a pretty girl with a cute face, thick bangs, in a long skirt and overcoat, showed up at the hospital room door.

By that point, Zhang Xuewen had already pretended to fall asleep out of self-preservation.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you, I was going crazy—I couldn't get through to him all day, phone's been off the entire time."

"Don't worry, his car rolled down the mountain, he was unconscious the whole time—only woke up this morning. As soon as he was awake, I asked for your number and called to notify you. I figured you'd all be worried, but it's fine now, just let him recover."

"Thank you so much, Brother Wen. If it weren't for you, he could've been in real danger."

Then she insisted on repaying Wen Yan for covering the medical bills, thanking him endlessly while pulling him aside.

Wen Yan looked at Zhang Xuewen's wife, sitting by the hospital bed, and scratched his head.

Can't judge a book by its cover—he could tell the girl trained, but there's no way he'd have guessed such a polite, quiet-looking girl could pound Zhang Xuewen twenty times a month.

Whatever, doesn't matter. He should go get a scan himself—his bones were all aching too.

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