The fighters below exchanged glances. Li Yan had floored Thai Guy Chachai with just two blows, and no one was eager to step into the ring and court disaster at that moment.
"Ha ha ha, youngster," laughed the man in the white suit who had exposed Li Yan's fighting style. "The Dragon City's Boxing Ring operates on bets. Someone bet on Cha Chai to fight his way through, and that's why you got to fight. If no one bets on fighting you, you'll just have to step down and skedaddle."
His pink shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a corner of a Yaksha's tattoo, and his unnaturally pale face bore a smile as he pulled out a thick wad of cash.
"These scrambled eggs are no match for you. Do you have the guts to fight one of my guys? Win or lose, this fifty thousand is yours."
The Kowloon Walled City's Arena had its hierarchy, and the bout Li Yan had just fought was in the Fourth Arena, where fighters earned five thousand for a win. This Golden Silk Suit Man was offering fifty thousand upfront—a sum Li Yan would need to win ten matches to accumulate.
In 1986 Hong Kong, a bowl of miscellaneous noodles cost ten dollars—generous in portion—and a pack of Marlboro was twenty dollars. Fifty thousand was undoubtedly a fortune.
Li Yan was initially indifferent to the fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars. He could only stay here for a month, and whether he would live to spend the money was another matter. But as his gaze landed on the stack of cash, an elegant script flashed before his eyes.
Hong Kong Dollars: Fifty thousand. A valuable item, exchangeable for five Yan Fu Points. Such items can only be exchanged once their ownership is confirmed.
Note: Even a single Yan Fu Point is something you yearn for.
The small-eyed fat man who had initially been quite arrogant toward Li Yan came over with a forced smile.
"Brother Nine, Brother Nine."
The man in the white suit paid him no heed, his eyes fixed on Li Yan in the ring.
"What do you say? Are you going to fight or not?"
"Brother Nine," the fat man said, his back drenched in nervous sweat, but he pressed on with a smile.
"Brother Nine is in high spirits, willing to gamble on a fight. You can pick any fighter here, and I'll have this flop show you what he's got. But letting your own man into the ring—that's against the rules."
Only then did Brother Nine shift his gaze to the fat man's greasy face, his tone unfriendly:
"Fatso, have you lost your mind? You think I'd spend fifty thousand to watch trash from the Fourth Arena fight? Do you take me, Floral Shirt Nine, for a sucker?"
"Brother Nine, I wouldn't dare," the fat man tried to say more but was cut off by Floral Shirt Nine.
"Enough. I'm just letting my guy have a little fun in the ring. I'm paying well for it. What rule does the Committee have that says outsiders can't step into the ring? If Taisui takes offense, I'll apologize to him, alright? Clear off while I'm still in a good mood."
The portly man was caught in a dilemma. Flanking Floral Shirt Nine, roughly four or five dozen ruffians with a rogue-like air sat encircling him, their unfriendly gazes fixed upon him. He stole a glance at the committee staff busy with the registration paperwork and, upon seeing a nod of approval, scurried away dejectedly.
"Kid, you got lucky!"
Gritting his teeth, he sidled up to Li Yan and muttered under his breath.
"This guy's a Fit Controller with the Winning Streak Momentum, a tough cookie. You make it look good, take a few punches, and lie down, and there's fifty grand in it for you, get it?"
Li Yan blinked, "Underworld, right?"
"Be smart about it, and good luck to you."
"Sure."
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Li Yan seemed at ease, despite the status bar that carried words like fever, bleeding, and inflammation—all complications of leukemia.
His physical condition was actually quite poor. Not only was he constantly fatigued, but he also suffered from inexplicable bouts of bleeding gums or nosebleeds, and there had even been an incident where he fainted during practice.
Yet Li Yan felt an unprecedented peak moment in these past few months. The thud of fist against flesh, the salty taste of blood swirling between his lips and teeth stirred the defiance in his heart. That intense, undeniable feeling of being alive.
Floral Shirt Nine broke into a grin and patted the shoulder of a freckle-faced youth beside him.
"Little Zhou, I know you can't wait. Get in the boxing ring and have a go with the Bagua Palm master."
Little Zhou was of modest height, with a head of spiky short hair and a fierce look in his eyes. He stood up, didn't bother with the aisle, and vaulted straight down from the stands, then climbed onto the ring.
Floral Shirt Nine watched the indifferent Little Zhou and shook his head with a smile. This little brother of his hailed from Shandong and was schooled in traditional martial arts—not the kind that only practiced for a few years, but one steeped in over a decade of training. He could hold his own as an instructor in any National Martial Arts Hall in Hong Kong. Skilled and formidable, he was Floral Shirt Nine's trusted lieutenant.
Years ago, Little Zhou had a sparring session with a Cheng School Bagua Palm martial arts master and suffered a crushing defeat, resulting in five broken ribs and deafness in his right ear. Since then, he had longed for a rematch with a Bagua Palm successor to avenge his loss. But Bagua Palm schools were mostly found in the Beijing-Tianjin region and were exceedingly rare in Hong Kong.
In the stronghold of Dragon City, Floral Shirt Nine was aware of a legitimate successor of Bagua Palm, but even if he were lent ten times the courage, he wouldn't dare to ask that person to spar with his brothers...
Standing in the boxing ring, Little Zhou performed a respectful hand gesture, which was uncharacteristic of a roughneck from the Association. Instead, he carried the air of an old-school martial arts practitioner.
"Du Family Fist, Zhou Weitao, at your service," he announced.
Li Yan gave him a glance.
"Between the Rivers, Li Yan," he responded.
A flicker of anger passed through Little Zhou's eyes, barely noticeable as he frowned. He stepped forward, elbow striking directly towards Li Yan's chest!
Li Yan retreated gracefully, sidestepping most of the force from Little Zhou's elbow, his left arm guiding the elbow upwards while his right foot aimed a kick towards Little Zhou's shin.
When Li Yan made contact with Little Zhou's elbow, he felt a curious give-and-take in the force. An intrigue blossomed in his mind.
"Interesting," he remarked.
A flash of determination sparked in Little Zhou's eyes as he executed a circling step to dodge Li Yan's foot. His left fist hammered up from below towards Li Yan's temple like a sledgehammer!
Li Yan narrowed his eyes and, counterintuitively, retreated instead of advancing. He pivoted, crashing into Little Zhou's embrace, his right hand clawing to grasp Little Zhou's fist—angled at 60 degrees—with the intent to break his wrist.
The Du Family Fist, derived from Old Hong's Boxing, excelled in grappling and elbow strikes. Facing a grappling move from Li Yan, Little Zhou let out a cold laugh.
Ignoring Li Yan's grip on his left hand, he crouched and reached for Li Yan's groin.
Li Yan reacted swiftly, his knee rising to counter Little Zhou's palm and send it recoiling. At the same time, his right hand exerted force outward, intending to twist and break Little Zhou's left hand.
Unexpectedly, a bizarre force traveled through the grip, and Li Yan found himself unable to twist Little Zhou's hand in the slightest. Meanwhile, Little Zhou's fist was already hurtling towards Li Yan's chin.
"Master!"
At this moment, Li Yan finally recognized that the underworld little ruffian he had encountered in the underground black boxing ring of Nine Dragon City was actually a master fully versed in the subtle intricacies of the Du Family Boxing, capable of the real and feigned punch strength.
He released Little Zhou's wrist and swiftly retreated.
Floral Shirt Nine, bent forward, eyes locked onto the ring, only relaxed his clenched fists as he saw Li Yan step back.
Little Zhou on the stage coldly stared at Li Yan and slowly said, "You're quite arrogant."
Li Yan squinted and smiled, "I just didn't expect that a little ruffian from the Association would truly be a master of Du Family Fist. It's a pity that the true inheritance of the Literary Saint Fist and the Lying Mother Frame has fallen into the wrong hands."
These words seemed to hit a nerve for Little Zhou, who spat out in disdain. He sneered ceaselessly at Li Yan.
"You, a fugitive murderer who smuggled himself into Dragon City, what right do you have to talk about taking the wrong path? If Dong Haichuan knew he had a disciple like you, he'd probably leap from his coffin to clean house."
Li Yan remained unfazed by Little Zhou's mockery, cheerfully responding, "Then I shall get serious."
"I can hardly wait."
As soon as Little Zhou's words fell, Li Yan, who was at least five steps away, suddenly leapt through the air and was instantly in front of him! His pale, grim face loomed straight into Little Zhou's eyes!
Like a specter!
Just then, a clear voice rang out.
"It's rare for Brother Nine to grace our Dragon City to watch a Kung Fu Challenge. But I wasn't informed that the Red Stick with consecutive victories had followed our Dragon City's coachman."
With this statement, all eyes in the arena immediately turned.
From outside the hall, a group of about thirty people emerged, dressed in black suits, their expressions unfriendly, each with a handgun tucked at their waist.
Upon seeing this, Floral Shirt Nine's face quickly darkened.
**********
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