Quickly conquer the martial arts world, and let your fists dominate the heavens!

Zhao Hongwei's room to maneuver was getting smaller and smaller, and his stamina was being rapidly depleted. His opponent had just come off the field and was at the peak of his momentum and physical strength.

This kind of fierce and relentless fighting style is all about rhythm and pressure. Zhao Hongwei couldn't keep up with his opponent's rhythm and was dragged out of the fight. Every block was half a beat too slow and every dodge was half a step too slow.

It won't last long.

The blond guy was experienced and knew that the platform was only this big.

Zhao Hongwei stepped back, and after a few steps he reached the edge of the stage, so he could only dodge to the side.

Instead of chasing, the blond-haired man moved sideways, stepping directly into Zhao Hongwei's path as he dodged, waiting for him to come around.

Zhao Hongwei took a half step around and just ran into Huang Mao's attack range. Huang Mao's right whip kick lashed out, and his shin struck the outside of Zhao Hongwei's thigh.

That kick was solid.

Zhao Hongwei's knees buckled, his body tilted to the side, and he missed a step, staggering backward. After three steps, he lost his balance, his knees hit the sand, and he half-knelt down.

He propped himself up on the ground, his lips moving as if to admit defeat.

The blond-haired man didn't give him a chance to speak.

He rushed forward, raised his right knee, and aimed it straight at Zhao Hongwei's face.

This knee, carrying the full weight of the body, scoops upwards and strikes the face, shattering bones and breaking the nose; a light blow could break the bridge of the nose, while a heavy blow could fracture the skull.

The knee reached three inches in front of Zhao Hongwei's face.

It's completely empty!
The blond-haired man's knee struck thin air, and Zhao Hongwei's face suddenly recoiled more than half a meter. He was dragged away by the back of his collar as if something had pulled him away, disappearing from the range of the knee's attack.

Unable to stop his forward momentum, the blond-haired man's knees hit the ground, causing him to fall forward and kneel on one knee on the sand.

He looked up.

There was another person behind Zhao Hongwei.

Wearing a gray cardigan, of medium build, he held Zhao Hongwei by the back of his collar with one hand, as if he were carrying a piece of clothing.

A third person suddenly appeared on the stage.

The audience erupted in cheers.

Hundreds of people shouted at the same time, some exclaiming, some cursing, and some pointing at the stage.

This is a major taboo in underground boxing rings.

In a boxing match, even the referee can't go up on stage. If you give up, you have to jump off the stage yourself. If your opponent doesn't give you a chance to get off and beats you to death, that's your own fate. A third person can't interfere in what's going on between the two people on stage.

That's the rule.

On the second floor, a middle-aged man in a dark blue robe stopped smoking his cigar, fixed his eyes on the arena, and slowly stood up.

"Where did this ill-mannered person come from?"

The sound wasn't loud, but the people below the attic heard it, and it spread outwards floor by floor.

"court death."

On stage, Chen Zhan grabbed Zhao Hongwei by the back of his collar, lifted him up, and threw him off the stage.

Zhao Hongwei's body traced an arc in mid-air before landing next to the sandbags below the stage, between the two injured youths.

The two young men caught him in a flurry, and the three of them fell into a heap.

The Xinglong Society thugs next to the man in the floral shirt all stood up and stared at the stage.

Chen Zhan stood on the arena, glanced down at Zhao Hongwei and the two young men below, and spoke in a calm voice.

"The money should be enough, right?"

Zhao Hongwei lay on the ground, his face covered in blood, stunned for a moment, unable to react.

The shorter young man was the first to recover. He grabbed the taller man's arm, nodded repeatedly, and said in a trembling voice, "That's enough, that's enough."

The man in the floral shirt sat on the bench, legs crossed, looking at Chen Zhan on the stage, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"The money is enough; our feud is over."

His voice was unhurried, with a hint of anticipation.

"However, you have offended the number two figure in Kowloon Walled City."

Before the words were even finished, someone on the second floor called out to come down.

"Breaking the rules of our Azure Dragon Gang can be troublesome, my friend."

The voice came down from the attic, with a tone that was neither angry nor shouting, the way someone who had seen it all spoke.

The crowd watching the spectacle began to surge towards the arena. Several burly men squeezed out of the crowd and blocked the area below the stage, clutching weapons and watching Chen Zhan on the stage.

Chen Zhan stood on the stage, glanced at the people who had gathered below, and then looked up at the attic on the second floor.

He flipped off the ring, walked through the crowd, and headed towards the second floor.

The crowd that was originally surging downstairs was stunned when they saw that he didn't run away. They stopped and made way for him, watching him walk step by step towards the stairwell.

The wooden staircase was so narrow that only one person could pass at a time. Chen Zhan climbed the stairs, the wooden planks creaking under his feet, one step at a time, neither fast nor slow.

We went up to the second floor.

The space in the attic was smaller than it appeared from below; a large eight-immortal table took up most of the space, with tea sets and banknotes scattered on it.

The two people who were keeping accounts and counting money retreated behind the table, hunching their shoulders as they watched him.

A middle-aged man in a dark blue long gown stood beside the octagonal table, a cigar between his index and middle fingers, smoke swirling around him. Behind his glasses, his eyes scrutinized Chen Zhan as he approached, his gaze sweeping from his face to his hands, then from his hands to his feet, looking him up and down.

Chen Zhan walked up to him, and the two looked at each other.

Chen Zhan looked at his face and suddenly felt that he looked familiar.

He couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before, but certain features on that face, a certain air about it, made him momentarily disoriented.

"The leader of the Azure Dragon Gang?" Chen Zhan asked.

"I wouldn't dare. My elder brother is the gang leader, and I'm just his assistant, looking after this place," Wu Jianglong said with a smile.

"Mr. Wu, what do you think should be done?"

Wu Jianglong looked at the man in front of him. He was plain-looking, about thirty years old, and wearing a drab gray jacket. He would be unrecognizable in a crowd.

But just now, on the stage, he pulled and threw a burly man up from the ground and flung him away.

He is not an ordinary person.

Wu Jianglong placed his cigar on the tea saucer on the octagonal table and tucked his hands into his sleeves.

"The same rules that were broken must be repaid in kind."

"We make money from underground boxing matches, but everyone here bought tickets to get in. You broke the rules and ruined a good show, so just make up for it."

"Should I fight a match?"

"That's right. If you win, you leave; if you lose, we'll let you go. Of course, you have to survive."

Chen Zhan looked at him without hesitation.

"Can."

He paused for a moment, then added, "However, I have one request."

"What are the requirements?"

"I want to place a bet."

Wu Jianglong raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"A boxer can't bet on himself to lose. If everyone bets on themselves to lose, how can I keep this place running?"

"I'm betting on myself to win."

Wu Jianglong glanced at Chen Zhan and said, "That's fine. How much do you want to bet?"

Chen Zhan took out a piece of silver from his pocket and placed it on the octagonal table.

The silver coin wasn't large, just the size of a palm, but it was of very good quality, gleaming white under the light.

"Twenty taels."

Wu Jianglong glanced down at the piece of silver.

silver.

It wasn't Hong Kong dollars, nor copper coins, but silver. Such things were rarely used in Hong Kong in 1946, but not to the point that no one recognized them.

He realized that Chen Zhan came from the mainland, so it made sense, and he reached out and picked up the silver.

"Okay. I'll give you a three-fold payout."

He turned to the person keeping the accounts beside him and said, "Put his odds down; others can bet on it too. One to three."

The bookkeeper nodded, picked up his pen, and went downstairs. Wu Jianglong picked up his cigar again, looked at Chen Zhan, and asked, "Friend, what's your name?"

"Chen Zhan."

Wu Jianglong paused for a moment when he heard those two words.

Chen Zhan.

He looked at the drab middle-aged man in front of him, his gaze lingering on his face for a couple of moments.

Then I shook off that thought.

That's been almost twenty years, how could that be? Besides, this person looks ordinary, with plain features, you could easily lose him in a crowd.

That person is not like that at all.

impossible!
Wu Jianglong looked away and put the cigar back in his mouth.

Chen Zhan turned around and walked towards the stairwell. After taking two steps, he stopped, pointed downwards, and pointed at the blond-haired man on the stage.

"Me, hit him?"

Wu Jianglong chuckled: "You want to change it? I'm afraid that won't work."

The blond-haired man below had already stood up, his face filled with anger, cursing in a mix of Cantonese and English, his voice shrill and piercing.

The onlookers joined in the commotion, hundreds of people shouting together, making the tin roof vibrate and hum.

People come to watch underground boxing matches partly for the thrill and partly to gamble.

This kind of feud is ten times more exciting than a regular ring match.

Chen Zhan shook his head and said nothing more. He walked down the wooden stairs and reached the edge of the arena. Just as he was about to go up, he was stopped by someone.

A lean, middle-aged man stood up from behind a table at the corner of the table, holding a piece of paper and an inkpad, and blocked Chen Zhan's way.

"Mr. Chen, please sign the life-or-death contract first."

The rules of underground boxing are that you sign a pledge before going into the ring, assuming full responsibility for your life or death. If you are killed or maimed, no one will hold you accountable. If you win, you take the money and leave; if you lose, you are carried out and nobody cares.

In the corner of the arena stood a narrow table, on which lay a stack of life-and-death contracts. Beside it were an inkpad and a writing brush. The words on the paper were pre-printed, in traditional Chinese characters, and the content was simple, essentially a single sentence:

When it comes to life and death on stage, it's all up to fate.

Chen Zhan took the pen, bowed his head, signed his name, pressed his thumb on the inkpad, and then pressed it onto the paper.

The red fingerprints were left next to the two characters "Chen Zhan".

He put down his pen, turned around, and went onto the ring.

The blond-haired guy was already standing on the stage, waiting.

The way Chen Zhan pulled Zhao Hongwei away earlier made him lose face. The smile on his face disappeared, replaced by a fierce look. He glared at Chen Zhan and was still talking.

"Mainland kids are too weak to fight, you'd be the same."

He held up two fingers, pointing in the direction Zhao Hongwei was walking off the stage, and then pointed at Chen Zhan.

"He counts as one, you count as one, after we take both of you, there are three left."

Huang Mao also had to fight five battles in a row. Zhao Hongwei was his first, and Chen Zhan was his second.

Upon hearing this, the audience below the stage erupted in shouts again.

Chen Zhan stood on the stage without saying a word.

He didn't respond, didn't put on airs, didn't look at his opponent, and stood there with his hands hanging at his sides, as if waiting for something.

Huang Mao cursed a couple more times, but Chen Zhan didn't react at all.

The iron bell on the corner of the platform was struck.

thump.

The sound was muffled and echoed throughout the tin warehouse.

The fight begins.

The blond-haired guy launched a surprise attack.

He rushed up in two quick steps, and when he got close, he raised his leg and kicked.

The high roundhouse kick was aimed at Chen Zhan's head, striking upwards from the knee.

That kick was a bit disrespectful. Anyone who practices boxing knows that the higher you lift your leg, the less stable your center of gravity becomes, and the greater the risk. In a typical fight, experts don't start by throwing a high roundhouse kick; that's a follow-up move, not an initiating one.

But Huang Mao's meaning was very clear.

You don't deserve my serious playing.

The whip kick swept over with a whoosh, incredibly fast, its shinbone arcing as it headed straight for Chen Zhan's face.

Chen Zhan didn't even raise his eyes. He reached out with his right hand and reached up to grab the leg.

The blond-haired man saw it, grinned, and said, "This is exactly what I've been waiting for."

He jumped up with his other leg, his whole body soaring into the air. Using the momentum of his right leg being grabbed, he kicked his left leg out from below, aiming straight for Chen Zhan's lower abdomen.

Double flying kick.

One leg is the bait, the other is the kill.

In his calculations, Chen Zhan's hand was meant to block the whip kick. He could use the force of one leg being grabbed to strike Chen Zhan's lower abdomen with the other leg. Chen Zhan didn't have time to pull back his hand to defend, and the kick landed solidly, displacing his internal organs and causing him to fall to the ground on the spot.

The idea is a good idea.

But things backfired.

The moment that right leg kicked Chen Zhan's palm, there was no vibration from the collision of the two forces, nor was there a hard block.

"Huh? What?"

The force, once in Chen Zhan's hands, vanished without a trace.

The kick that Huang Mao threw was quite powerful; the force from his shinbone was enough to shatter a brick. But when it reached Chen Zhan's palm, it was like kicking into a ball of cotton—no rebound, no resistance, nothing at all.

He couldn't get any help.

The left leg can't lift off the ground because there's no fulcrum on the right leg to use for leverage.

Chen Zhan tightened his grip on Huang Mao's ankle.

Just a mention.

The blond-haired man was lifted up.

A living person weighing 130 or 140 pounds was held upside down in mid-air by one hand, by the ankle, like a chicken.

Huang Mao's other leg was still kicking, his left foot kicking towards Chen Zhan's abdomen with momentum. Chen Zhan's body turned slightly to the side, and the foot grazed past his ribs, kicking into the air.

The blond-haired man hung in the air, head down, blood rushing to his head, his face turning bright red, just about to utter a single word.

Chen Zhan turned around.

They grabbed his leg and slammed him onto the ring.

Instead of throwing it out, it was swung up like a tattered sack, smashing it down from the air onto the concrete surface of the ring.

Yellow Hair instinctively pushed his hands down.

Click.

My wrist is broken.

He slammed his entire body onto the cement surface, head, shoulders, chest, and abdomen in turn, creating a cloud of dust on the ring and cracking the cement floor, sending debris flying in all directions.

Chen Zhan did not let go.

Pick it up, then smash it again.

The second blow was heavier than the first. The blond-haired man's body crashed to the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood that splattered onto the cement surface, turning dark red and spreading outwards.

Lift it up, for the third time.

The pit in the cement surface deepened, splintering debris everywhere. Yellow Hair lay motionless on the ground.
His face, arms, and chest were covered in blood; his breath was filled with bloody foam, and he could only take in a lot of air and exhale very little.

Chen Zhan casually lifted the person off the stage.

Huang Mao's body rolled off the stage and landed on the sand below, raising a cloud of dust.

died.

Violence, so much violence.

There was a moment of silence in the audience, then a deafening roar erupted.

With a deafening roar, hundreds of people erupted in a frenzied scream. (End of Chapter)