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

All night long, no, not just tonight, this underground boxing ring has never seen anything like this before, no matter how many years it's been open.

Some were murdered, some were killed with a single punch, and some were beaten to death.

But to use a person as a hammer, grabbing their leg and swinging them back and forth, hitting them three times in a row, and then throwing them off the stage, all in less than ten breaths from beginning to end, is something I've never seen before.

The tin roof vibrated from the shouts of hundreds of people. Some threw money onto the stage, some patted the shoulders of the people next to them and shouted, and some had already squeezed to the edge of the stage like madmen, trying to see what was happening on stage.

On the stage, Chen Zhan stood beside the bloodstains on the cement surface, his expression unchanged.

Below the arena, in the crowd of Xinglong Society members.

Zhao Hongwei and the other two had been released. The two injured youths supported Zhao Hongwei and retreated to the edge of the crowd, but they did not leave. The three of them looked up at the stage.

The woman in the floral shirt sat on the bench, putting her legs down where they had been crossed.

He stared at Chen Zhan on the stage, his mouth agape, unable to close it for a long time.

He doubted he could easily defeat the blond-haired man; the Muay Thai's whip kicks and knee strikes were fast and powerful, making them difficult to deal with.

But Chen Zhan's methods were terrifying.

He grabbed it casually, picked it up, and smashed it three times before throwing it away. It died.

He used only one hand the entire time.

The man in the floral shirt closed his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed back the breath that had risen to his head.

On stage, Chen Zhan asked, "Does this count as a win?"

The sound wasn't very loud, but it made the area around the arena quiet for a moment before reaching the second floor.

Wu Jianglong was already standing on the railing of the attic, peering down.

He saw those three blows clearly.

It's not just about brute force; Muay Thai kicks aren't so easy to catch.

The way he grabbed the leg and lifted the person was so effortless. A living person weighing over 100 pounds was as light as nothing in his hands. He could lift them up and slam them down with perfect control of force and direction, hitting the same spot every time.

This is a skill that has been honed to the bone.

"You've won," Wu Jianglong's voice came from the second floor. "Sixty taels are yours."

He turned and nodded to the person behind him, who then turned to get the silver.

Chen Zhan looked up at the second floor and spoke.

"You don't need to take the sixty taels anymore. Keep betting on me to win."

Wu Jianglong paused for a moment.

"You still want to fight?"

Chen Zhan nodded: "Can't I?"

Wu Jianglong looked at him, remained silent for a moment, then clapped his hands and smiled.

"Yes. Of course."

Sixty taels, with odds of 1 to 3. If Chen Zhan wins another round, the bookmaker will have to pay out one hundred and eighty taels of silver, which was not a small amount in the currency of that time.

But the fame and excitement generated by this fight cannot be bought with 180 taels of silver.

The worst thing about underground boxing is having no audience and no players. It's like a casino; they're not afraid of you winning, they're afraid you won't come.

"Let him hit him." Wu Jianglong waved to the people behind him.

The people behind him went downstairs to arrange the next event.

Below the stage, Chen Zhan stood on the platform waiting, his hands hanging at his sides, exactly the same as when he came on stage, showing no sign that he had just killed someone.

He happened to have very little money on him, only twenty taels of silver, which was just enough to make some money.

The onlookers were still cheering and shouting, their excitement hadn't subsided, and many people had already started crowding towards the small betting tables.

With odds of 1 to 3, quite a few people bet on Chen Zhan to win. The scene just now was too shocking, and everyone felt that this man in gray was unfathomable.

Some seasoned gamblers, however, did not follow the trend and instead bet on Chen Zhan to lose.

The reason is simple: the bookmaker won't let you win all the time. The last opponent was sent by the bookmaker, and this one won't be any worse. A boxer that Wu Jianglong agreed to let go of is no pushover.

On the side of the arena, the person keeping the accounts ran down and wrote a new line of characters on the white painted wooden board.

Names, records, odds—all written down stroke by stroke.

The person hasn't arrived yet.

This time is for the people in the audience to place their bets.

The words on the sign had just been written when someone nearby leaned over to take a look, and their expression changed.

"How could it be him?"

As soon as he said that, several people squeezed over to look. After they finished reading, they started whispering among themselves, and the buzzing sound spread from the sign to all sides.

The sign reads:

"Zhong Tiesheng, Southern Crane Fist - Iron Sand Palm, eleven-match winning streak, undefeated in Kowloon Walled City underground boxing rings for three years."

Odds: 1 to 1.2.

It's equivalent to betting on Zhong Tiesheng to win, and the bookmaker will almost never lose money.

The name Zhong Tiesheng was no secret in the underground boxing rings of Kowloon Walled City.

Three years ago, when he first went on stage, he punched a burly man carrying bags at the dock. He slapped the man in the chest, and the man flew back two steps and was already dead when he landed.

It was only during the autopsy that they discovered the sternum was shattered, with the broken pieces embedded in the lung. Although it was a coincidence, it also demonstrated the extent of the damage.

One palm strike shatters bones.

He then fought ten more matches and won them all, achieving an eleven-match winning streak. In four of those matches, his opponents were carried out, two died, two were crippled, and the rest all conceded defeat and left the stage. None of them defeated him standing up.

He doesn't often go on stage, fighting only two or three times a year. Every time he goes on stage, it's personally selected by Wu Jianglong, specifically to deal with boxers who have too many winning streaks and the bookmakers can't afford to pay them.

The dealer's trump card.

Many spectators recognized the name, and the news spread outwards from the sign, reaching the crowd below the stage. Half of those who had bet on Chen Zhan to win hesitated, and some even started walking back, wanting to change their betting slips.

The old gamblers who had bet on Chen Zhan to lose laughed, whispered among themselves, and bumped fists with each other.

There was movement at the entrance of the channel on the other side of the arena.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Sluggish. With each step on the concrete, you could hear the soles of your shoes grinding against the gravel.

A person walked out of the passageway.

high.

He was half a head taller than Chen Zhan, with shoulders as broad as a door panel. His chest muscles stretched his vest taut, and his arms hung down at his sides. The muscles on his forearms looked like tightly twisted ropes, and blue veins ran from his wrists all the way to his elbows.

But he wasn't the kind of bloated, overweight man.

The stride is very stable, with the body weight concentrated above the waist and hips. When walking, the upper body remains still, with only the two legs taking turns stepping, like an iron tower moving horizontally on the ground.

His hands were very conspicuous.

The skin on both hands, from fingertips to palm base, was rough and dark, as if it had been soaked in medicine and then dried for many years. The knuckles were thicker than normal, and the veins on the back of the hands were coiled like earthworms. The nails were thick and short, and neatly trimmed.

Hands trained with Iron Palm.

He walked to the edge of the ring, but didn't rush up. He first looked up at Chen Zhan standing on the ring, his gaze sweeping from head to toe and then from toe to head.

Then he flipped himself onto the stage.

The entire arena trembled slightly when his feet landed.

There was a moment of silence in the audience.

The hundreds of people who were shouting just moments ago suddenly fell silent.

Zhong Tiesheng stood on the ring, half a head taller than Chen Zhan.

Standing nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders, a thick waist, and strong limbs, he possessed a physique clearly honed through external martial arts training. With such a build, simply standing on the ring could intimidate his opponent with sheer presence.

But the sign didn't say Tiger Crane Double Form, or Hung Kuen Iron Wire; it said Southern Crane Fist.

Crane-style boxing.

This made Chen Zhan take another look.

Crane-style boxing emphasizes lightness, flexibility, and short bursts of power. Its body movements often involve shrinking and exhaling, and its hand techniques are mostly flicking, shaking, and pecking. It uses skillful force and follows a gentle path.

Most people who practice Crane Style Boxing are lean, have a high center of gravity, and long arms and legs, taking inspiration from the form and meaning of the crane.

The person in front of me weighed 180 or 190 pounds and was as strong as an ox, yet he practiced Crane Style Boxing.

Interesting. Zhong Tiesheng stood on the stage, silent.

He didn't provoke Chen Zhan like the other boxers before him, nor did he sized him up, and he didn't utter any nonsense.

His hands hung down at his sides, his hands, honed by Iron Palm, resting darkly beside his legs.

They don't seem to have much fighting spirit.

It's as if they were pushed onto the stage to fulfill a duty.

Chen Zhan remained silent, and the two stood three steps apart.

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

thump.

The fight begins.

Neither of them made a move.

Three breaths passed, then five breaths passed.

The spectators below the stage were the first to get anxious.

"Go ahead and fight!"

"Why aren't you doing anything?"

"What are you dawdling for? Let's fight!"

Hundreds of people urged them on together, their shouts, whistles, and clapping blending together, making the tin roof vibrate.

Zhong Tiesheng grew impatient.

He turned his head and slowly scanned the crowd below the stage.

Just one glance.

Those who were shouting and urging him to hurry shut their mouths one after another after he glanced at them.

The noise gradually subsided, spreading outwards from the edge of the ring, and within moments, the entire boxing arena fell silent.

On the second floor attic, Wu Jianglong saw this scene and his smile vanished.

He leaned against the fence and shouted down.

"Don't forget our contract."

The tone wasn't harsh, but the words carried weight.

On stage, Zhong Tiesheng closed his eyes briefly upon hearing these words.

He sighed.

He exhaled a long breath through his nostrils, as if releasing a pent-up feeling of suffocation that had been building up in his chest for a long time.

He turned around, facing Chen Zhan, clasped his hands together, knuckles resting in his palms, and gave a slight bow.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was deep and rough, as if there was a layer of sandpaper in his throat.

Chen Zhan clasped his hands in a fist salute and replied, "You don't need to hold back."

Zhong Tiesheng nodded, and the frame was set up.

As he took a step, Chen Zhan's eyebrows twitched slightly.

Snake-crane steps.

The legs move alternately, knees turned inward, toes pointed outward, the body's center of gravity swinging back and forth between the legs, walking neither in a straight line nor an arc, but in a twisted S-shape.

The upper body swayed from side to side with the steps, the shoulders rising and falling, like a snake slithering on the ground.

A burly man with thick limbs, a whole size bigger than Chen Zhan, used the Snake Crane Step.

Twisted and bizarre, like an elephant performing a snake dance, it just doesn't look right.

Some people in the audience had seen him box before and recognized his footwork, muttering something under their breath.

Zhong Tiesheng's Snake Crane Steps may look clumsy and contorted, but they are actually extremely agile.

External martial arts stances, internal martial arts techniques.

Standing two meters tall, he swayed left and right on the stage, taking quick, short steps. Each step landed firmly, and his center of gravity remained stable between his legs. No matter how his body swayed, his waist and hips remained perfectly still.

Anyone who has fought him knows that his footwork, combined with his arm span and height, creates an incredibly wide attack range. You think you can hit him, but when you throw a punch, he just sways and dodges. You think you're far away, but he takes a step forward and his fist is already in front of you.

With three steps, Zhong Tiesheng was already in front of Chen Zhan.

Throw a punch.

A short punch presses down on the body.

Southern Fist is characterized by short, fast punches, avoiding large, sweeping movements. The fists are delivered from the ribs, with short distances and high speed, one punch after another, leaving no room for error.

Zhong Tiesheng threw two punches straight at Chen Zhan's chest.

fast.

The two fist shadows overlapped, as if four fists were striking in front of him at the same time, alternating left and right, each punch landing, the wind from the fists crowding together, bringing with it a powerful and oppressive force.

Chen Zhan neither retreated nor dodged, but instead raised his hands from under his body and met the attack head-on.

To block.

The blocking and parrying technique in Tai Chi.

With his right hand pushing outward and his left hand blocking inward, he drew a half circle in front of his chest with both hands, his palms and fingers carrying a winding force, like two ribbons wrapping around Zhong Tiesheng's fists halfway.

Zhong Tiesheng's punches were extremely fast, like a barrage of bullets, with heavy and fierce force, each punch carrying the hardness honed by his Iron Sand Palm technique.

But Chen Zhan managed to grab it perfectly with both hands.

With a gentle flick.

With the palm against the fist, gently guide the fist in the direction it came from. The heavy, fierce force is wrapped by the binding force, without any expansion of resistance, and is directly deflected.

Zhong Tiesheng's fists were pushed aside, and his body also swayed to one side.

The force was misplaced, and the center of gravity also shifted.

His brow furrowed.

A look of disbelief appeared on his face.

He's been boxing for so many years, and no one has ever received his punches in this way.

He could block directly, and he could dodge, but he had never encountered this kind of neutral force that was neither hard nor soft, seemingly there but not there. His punches were aimed forward, but when they came into Chen Zhan's hands, the direction changed and the force dissipated.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks.

The two characters are "Qian Yang Ma".

With feet turned inward, toes pointing towards each other, and knees squeezed inward, the entire lower body is like a pair of pliers locked to the ground.

He lowered his waist and hips, pressing his center of gravity down suddenly. The impact cracked a piece of the cement surface on the ground, sending debris flying in all directions.

He regained his balance.

His swaying center of gravity was forcefully pulled back, and he was pinned to the table like a nail.

Chen Zhan looked down at his feet and spoke, his voice so soft that only the two of them could hear:
"They even have Wing Chun skills?"

The two characters "Qianyang Ma" represent the core stance training of Wing Chun.

The character "二" refers to the fact that when both feet are standing still, the line connecting the toes and heels forms the shape of the Chinese character "二".

The clamp technique involves bending both knees inward and using an inward-wrapping force to clamp down on the lower body, locking the hip and ankle joints, making them as stable as clamps.

He learned this from another master when he was young. It is not the same style as Iron Palm or Crane Style Fist. He combined them and used them together. He usually doesn't show it, but only uses it to save himself when his center of gravity is broken.

I recognized the person in front of me at a glance.

Before Zhong Tiesheng could think any further, Chen Zhan's hand had already moved.

He thrust out with a single palm strike.

With palms facing forward, push forward from chest level, not fast, even a bit slow, like casually pushing a door.

He was given time to react.

Zhong Tiesheng channeled his internal energy into both palms.

With a flick of his Iron Palm, the color on his hands deepened, his already dark skin appearing as if it had been soaked in ink. Veins bulged, the black membrane on the back of his hands stretched taut, and his ten fingers felt like ten iron rods, the knuckles cracking. (End of Chapter)