Chapter 84: This Is an Art

The second obstacle was a hastily assembled wooden plank, and beyond it lay a man-made mud pit, not very large in area. According to Abbott’s original intention, he wanted Lin Chuan to use the plank for a running start and then leap across to the other side of the mud pit. The camera would follow closely, capturing a dramatic close-up of the sneakers.

But Lin Chuan did not do as expected. When he reached the end of the plank, he suddenly sprang into the air, executing a 360-degree aerial side flip, landing directly on the other side.

Everyone was instantly dumbfounded. The artificial mud pit, though not huge, spanned over two meters in width—yet he had crossed it with a single side flip? What kind of explosive power was needed to accomplish such a feat?

While everyone was still in shock, Lin Chuan had already reached the next obstacle: a row of oil drums piled up before him. These were all empty barrels, scattered haphazardly.

Abbott snapped out of his astonishment and was about to instruct Lin Chuan on how to tackle this section, but Lin Chuan had already taken the initiative. He sprinted toward the nearest barrel, pressed down on it with one hand, and leapt forward. His foot landed briefly on another barrel without the slightest pause. As everyone held their breath in anticipation, they watched him perform another aerial flip, landing precisely on a third barrel.

His movements flowed without interruption, completed in one seamless sequence. In his hands, the dozen or so oil drums ceased to be obstacles and instead became props for technical display.

Having cleared the barrels, Lin Chuan came to a man-made alleyway. This passage was narrow, about five meters long and barely over a meter wide, with the ground littered with barbed wire and shards of broken bottles, though gaps were deliberately left in between.

At this moment, everyone held their breath; even the crew set aside their tasks, fixated on this extraordinary Chinese man, eagerly awaiting the next display of his astonishing skill.

Jason was no exception. At first, when Lin Chuan vaulted over the stone platform, Jason thought it was luck. When he side-flipped over the mud pit, he again chalked it up to fortune. But when Lin Chuan breezed through the oil drums, Jason’s composure faltered; he could no longer trust his own eyes.

Now, as Lin Chuan entered the artificial alley, Jason forgot his professional role. Like everyone else, he was filled with anticipation for Lin Chuan’s next performance.

Lin Chuan did not disappoint. After a brief running start, he ignored the spaces on the ground and instead leapt up, pressing his legs to the walls on either side, suspending his body in midair.

He moved rapidly, as though there was nothing impeding him, gliding down the alley toward the far end. As he reached the exit, he pushed off with both legs, executed a forward flip, and landed steadily and effortlessly on the ground.

Without pause, Lin Chuan dashed ahead toward a two-story villa. A rope hung in between; all he had to do was climb the rope to the roof to succeed.

But he chose a different path. In his view, climbing the rope was cumbersome—scaling the wall barehanded would be faster. And so, he clung to the wall, using every ledge and outcropping, climbing upward like an experienced phantom thief, until he stood atop the villa.

When he swept his gaze over the people below, he frowned slightly. Every member of the crew, including Uncle Gao and Abbott, stood rooted to the spot like wooden stakes, staring at him in a daze.

After a long silence, seeing that the director remained unresponsive, Lin Chuan called out loudly, “Director, have I passed?”

“Ah? Of course, Mr. Lin Chuan, that was nothing short of a miracle! Absolutely magnificent! If there’s one word to describe it, it’s perfect!” Abbott exclaimed, raising both hands in excitement.

At that, the others snapped out of their stupor. Every glance directed at Lin Chuan was filled with awe and amazement.

They had filmed similar commercials before, but compared to this young man, those efforts were simply not in the same league. Some of the works Abbott had once considered masterpieces now seemed utterly insignificant in the face of Lin Chuan’s dazzling display. What was athleticism? What was the meaning of pushing limits? Lin Chuan embodied these concepts without reservation.

He was certain that once this commercial was completed, it would need no special effects to utterly eclipse those so-called classics. Even big-budget action films would pale beside it.

At that moment, a cameraman with brown hair approached, his face flushed with embarrassment, and said, “Director Abbott, I’m terribly sorry, but the previous take… wasn’t recorded.”

“What?” Abbott’s temper flared at once. He glared and roared, “Mr. Cullen, I hope what I just heard was a joke.”

“Mr. Abbott, you know, Mr. Lin’s performance was so astonishing. Watching those moves was pure joy, so… it’s not a joke,” Cullen mumbled, shrinking back.

“You… you fool, what a fool…” Abbott was furious. Such perfect movements, and they had not been captured on film—what an immense loss.

Meanwhile, Uncle Gao, eyes bright with excitement, was chattering away with Lin Chuan. At that moment, Abbott approached.

“Mr. Lin Chuan, your performance just now was incredible. If you could do it again, I believe it will be even more perfect,” Abbott said, a bit sheepishly.

Lin Chuan and Uncle Gao exchanged a glance, both momentarily stunned. Hadn’t his performance just left everyone in shock? Was that not enough? Did this foreigner have eyes in his head?

But Uncle Gao said nothing of the sort. Instead, he wiped away his smile and, with a hint of sarcasm, replied, “Mr. Abbott, was there something wrong with Lin Chuan’s expression just now?”

“No, no, Mr. Gao, you misunderstand. Mr. Lin’s performance was outstanding,” Abbott quickly reassured him.

“Then why do you want him to do it again? You should know these moves take a lot of energy. If you don’t have a good reason, I’m afraid it will be difficult to agree,” Uncle Gao said.

He was no longer afraid of offending this director. Lin Chuan’s display had completely won over the foreigners; the contract with the Kadi Company was now practically assured.

Besides, he had little patience left for Abbott, who had been nitpicking from the start—anyone could see he was deliberately looking for faults.

Abbott forced a wry smile, hesitated, and finally told the truth.

For a cameraman to forget to film was indeed unprofessional. Yet Lin Chuan and Uncle Gao could understand; after all, Lin Chuan’s performance had been so astonishing that even a seasoned professional had forgotten his duties.

“No problem, Director Abbott. I just hope you’ll give me a few minutes to rest, or I might not have the stamina to do it again,” Lin Chuan said, smiling.

“Of course, Mr. Lin Chuan, that’s your right.” Abbott was overjoyed and nodded eagerly.

Now, he regarded Lin Chuan the way a mortal would look at a deity. This young Chinese man, brimming with extraordinary talent, filled him with awe.

“Mr. Lin Chuan, forgive my boldness, but may I ask—was what you just performed a form of kung fu?” Abbott caught up with Lin Chuan as he turned toward the rest area.

Lin Chuan smiled serenely and shook his head. “No, it’s an extreme sport called parkour.”

“Parkour? What a wonderful name,” Abbott murmured thoughtfully.

In this world, parkour had yet to be invented; even the term was unknown. Abbott had associated it with kung fu because Chinese martial arts were already famous worldwide.

Kung fu schools existed in every corner of the globe, much as taekwondo had in his previous life. Ironically, taekwondo was rather obscure in this world, while Chinese kung fu flourished brightly.

This time, Lin Chuan’s rest was extended to twenty minutes, giving him ample opportunity to recover. When he traversed the obstacle course for the second time, every light and camera followed without a moment’s neglect. This time, Lin Chuan’s performance was even more polished and swift.

Abbott was no longer content merely to sit behind the monitor. At first, he watched the footage coming in from the cameramen. But soon, excitement overcame him; he stood up and moved to the sidelines, microphone in hand, directing loudly.

“Quick, keep the camera on him! Watch the angle—no, no… a close-up, I want a close-up here…”

“The shoes—get a shot of the shoes. Capture the movement and the shoes together… Pull in, zoom in on Mr. Lin Chuan’s whole body… Yes, just like that, follow him…”

Under Abbott’s direction, everyone moved in concert.

When Lin Chuan finally scaled the rooftop, Abbott set down his microphone, a look of satisfaction spreading across his face. He muttered, “Perfect. This is a truly great sport.”

“No, Mr. Abbott. It’s more than just a sport—it’s an art, an art to be savored,” came an unexpected woman’s voice.

Abbott turned in surprise and found it was Miss Zhao, with Jason at her side.

“Art? Director Abbott, I think that Chinese boy is more like an acrobatic clown. Why would we want a clown as our spokesperson?” Jason made one last attempt to undermine Lin Chuan.

But when Abbott heard this, his expression darkened. He cast Jason a cold glance and retorted, “Mr. Jason, if you consider that acrobatics, then I can only regretfully say we’re not on the same page. I suggest you return to England at your earliest convenience and find yourself the best ophthalmologist you can.”