Reborn in the 60s, I hunt to support my family and even seduce the village beauty.

Yang Wei stood at the front of the crowd, his face as white as paper.

He recognized the man who had pulled the knife; he was also a street performer on the overpass and was one of the three lying on the ground.

There was another accomplice nearby, also eyeing the scene covetously.

She ran two steps forward, reached out to grab the man's arm, and said in a hurried and panicked voice.

"Don't use the knife!"

"Fighting is one thing, but if someone gets killed with a knife, that's unacceptable!"

The man flung Yang Wei's hand away, his eyes bloodshot. He glanced at the fellow disciples lying on the ground, then glared at Chang Kun, his voice escaping through clenched teeth.

"You brat, you beat up my fellow disciples! If I don't draw blood from you today, you won't know how many eyes the Horse King has!"

He pulled another dagger from behind his waist, the blade gleaming coldly in the setting sun.

Two more people stepped forward, also martial arts practitioners from the overpass, each holding a dagger with a gleaming blade, clearly not just for show.

Yang Wei was still trying to persuade them, but the leader was already getting impatient.

"Kid, this isn't just about you anymore!"

He tossed the dagger in his hand, glaring at Yang Wei. "Have you forgotten whose side you're on? If you keep blocking me, I'll stab you too!"

Yang Wei's face turned even paler, his lips trembled twice, and he swallowed back what he wanted to say.

Three men, each wielding a dagger, surrounded Chang Kun in a triangular formation.

The leader brandished a dagger, his eyes as sinister as the chill of a winter cellar.

The faces of the old men watching the commotion changed. The white-bearded old man leaned on his fishing rod and took two steps back, while the one wearing a straw hat muttered, "They're using knives! They're using knives!"

Zhang Qu took a step forward, but Chang Kun didn't turn his head. He reached out and stopped him, his tone impatient: "You stand there and watch, don't come any closer."

Zhang Quhun stopped in his tracks, his fist still clenched, his knuckles cracking. He knew Kun Ge's temper; if he said no, he meant no. Going on would only get in the way.

He could only retreat to the side, his eyes fixed on the three daggers, like a hunting dog crouching by the edge of a hunting ground, ready to pounce at any moment.

The three exchanged glances and moved at the same time.

The leader's dagger went straight for Chang Kun's chest, the one on the left stabbed him in the waist, and the one on the right attacked his lower body.

Three knives, three directions, blocked all of Chang Kun's escape routes.

Chang Kun didn't retreat; instead, he dodged to the side, and the leader's dagger grazed past his shoulder.

He flipped his left hand and grabbed the man's wrist, pressing his thumb into the indentation on the inside of the wrist bone. The man's hand went numb, and the dagger slipped from his hand, falling to the ground with a clatter.

Before he could react, Chang Kun used his capsaicin skill, spraying it directly into the man's face. The fine mist of liquid precisely entered the man's nostrils.

The man froze, his hand still gripping the knife, his mouth wide open, his eyes bulging, and his pupils shrinking to tiny dots.

The next second, he was as if he had been electrocuted, he bent over abruptly, covered his nose with both hands, and snot and tears streamed down his face.

He tried to shout, but couldn't. His throat felt like it was being choked by something, and he could only make a "hoarse" gasping sound, like a bellows.

Seeing that things were not going well, the man on the left changed his dagger from stabbing to thrusting, aiming for Chang Kun's waist.

Chang Kun turned his feet and twisted his body, the dagger slicing past his side without even touching his clothes.

He flicked the man's elbow, and the man's entire arm went numb as if he had been electrocuted. The dagger slipped from his hand, and before it even hit the ground, capsaicin was already shoved into his face.

With another "hiss," the man covered his nose and squatted down, his face covered in tears and snot, making a whimpering sound like a dog whose tail had been stepped on.

The man on the right was the most timid. With his two senior brothers fallen, he stood there, gripping his dagger, caught in a dilemma.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place; the dagger was pointed forward, but his hand was trembling.

Chang Kun glanced at him, took a step forward, and the man subconsciously took a step back.

Chang Kun took another step, and the man took another step back. He turned and ran, but after three steps, he tripped and fell face-first into the mud, the dagger flying far away.

Chang Kun walked over, and the man was so frightened that he covered his head with his hands and cried out, "I was wrong, I was wrong... Please forgive me..."

The other unattractive people who came with them couldn't bear to look and angrily rebuked them.

"That's it? You think you can practice martial arts on a pedestrian bridge?"

"Pah! You're not even as good as me!"

"Begging for mercy when you can't win is a disgrace to the men of Beijing!"

Chang Kun ignored the man's pleas for mercy and sprayed capsaicin into his nostrils several times.

The three people were lying haphazardly on the ground, one covering their nose, one covering their eyes, and one holding their head, their faces covered in tears and snot, groaning and crying out in pain.

If you want to fight, then fight. You might lose, but you'll get a beating.

But these guys who started the fight by handing over knives broke the rules, so they should be given a taste of delicious capsaicin!

There was a moment of silence.

The group of old men watching the commotion looked at each other, but no one said a word.

The white-bearded old man stood leaning on his fishing rod for a while, then shook his head, sat back down on his stool, and cast the fishing rod into the lake.

The one wearing the straw hat pulled the brim down a bit and muttered, "Serves him right!" His voice wasn't loud, but it was quite satisfying.

Yang Wei stood at the back of the crowd, his face as white as paper.

Looking at the three street performers still rolling on the ground, and then at Chang Kun, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he subconsciously took two steps back.

They bumped into someone behind them from behind, and the two of them almost lost their balance.

Those who were just now shouting to support Yang Wei are now all quiet.

Some looked down at their shoes, some turned to look at the lake, and some pretended to talk to the people next to them, but dared not glance at Chang Kun.

Zhang Quhun stood to the side, his fist loosened at some point.

Looking at the disheveled state of the three people on the ground, he smirked, wanting to burst out laughing but holding back.

Yang Wei stood in front of the crowd, his legs feeling like lead, unable to move forward or backward.

The three street performers on the ground were still rolling around, their faces covered in snot and tears, groaning and moaning.

His mind was buzzing, like a swarm of bees.

Just now I thought that with fifty or sixty people standing here, Chang Kun would have to bow his head when he arrived.

Now, all fifty or sixty people are like wooden stakes, and not one of them dares to take a step forward.

Chang Kun walked towards him.

The soles of his shoes made little noise as they stepped on the stone slabs, but Yang Wei felt as if each step was pressing on his heart.

I want to run, but my legs won't obey me.

I wanted to call for help, but it felt like something was blocking my throat.

He wanted to beg for mercy, but his lips trembled several times, and he just couldn't get those words out.

The people behind him were all watching him.

Dozens of eyes from his buddies, friends, and neighbors were all staring at his back.

If I beg for mercy today, how will I ever get along in the future?

If word gets out, how will Yang Wei ever face anyone in Beijing again?

He clenched his fists; his palms were sweaty and slippery.