Chapter Forty-Four: The Rules of the Arena

When Feng Jingzhe and Sun Fugui stepped into the true inner arena, the place was already packed to the brim.

What was interesting was that every one of these people, who were shouting and venting their emotions without restraint, wore a mask. Some masks covered half the face, others concealed the entire visage. Of course, there were also a few who didn't care about exposing their appearance and wore none at all.

At the entrance to the dimly lit warehouse—so dark not even a lantern hung—there had been a servant hawking masks of all kinds. Feng Jingzhe simply hadn't noticed in the gloom.

Now, on the ring, two men were locked in a brawl. One of them had a head covering already torn and soaked with blood. They fought like the most primitive of beasts, fists swinging wildly. At first, traces of actual technique could be seen, but by now, it was all pure instinct.

Throats, the backs of heads, eyes, the groin—nothing was off-limits.

At that moment, as one of the fighters suddenly pounded his fist on the ground, it signaled his surrender. A bronze bell was struck rapidly, the iron cage flung open at once, and four or five burly men rushed in to separate the two.

Instantly, the stands erupted in a chorus of boos. Countless scraps of paper were torn to shreds and hurled at the ring.

There were cheers and curses alike, those dancing in excitement and those weeping in bitter regret.

“That must have been the third bout of this round,” Sun Fugui shouted in Feng Jingzhe’s ear, explaining loudly—there was no other way, with the place roaring like boiling oil. “The guy with the red head cover must have won the match…”

But it was not just the fighters whose fortunes were made or broken; for many in the crowd, their entire families' wealth was at stake. Of course, there were always a few who struck it rich overnight, and they were easy to spot—one look around the stands, and it was clear.

Now Feng Jingzhe understood the need for masks. Otherwise, those who left with winnings would be easy prey for the desperate losers outside.

With masks to hide their faces, passing through the pitch-black warehouse, and with the warehouse connected to the chaotic inns outside, it would be difficult to trace anyone. Judging by the vastness of this place, there were likely several exits. The scale and meticulous design of it all made Feng Jingzhe deeply curious about the owner behind this gambling den.

“The rules aren’t complicated,” Sun Fugui continued. “Anyone who signs up for the matches gets a generous reward—but only if they win three bouts in a row. Those who lose get a pittance for medicine.”

Feng Jingzhe knew this wasn’t out of any humane instinct, but rather the gambling house’s way of ensuring a steady supply of fighters. Otherwise, as the numbers dwindled, it would become harder and harder to find anyone willing to enter the ring. If he were the owner, he wouldn’t care about a little medicine money either. A quick estimate of the crowd, and the ticket sales alone would amount to a small fortune.

“Yes, this is quite the place! I just wonder how one signs up to fight…”

“Third Brother, you’d better think this through. Don’t be fooled by how contestants can surrender—there have been plenty of deaths in that ring! It’s nothing new to see people wailing on West Market Street, coming to claim the bodies…”

“Don’t worry. Your third brother knows what he’s doing…”

Feng Jingzhe stroked his chin, already planning to try his luck in the coming days.

Just then, a new bout began.

To everyone’s surprise, the new challenger was a scrawny figure, less than five feet tall. His head covering was a sackcloth bag of the kind used by dockworkers, rough and stifling. It was impossible to make out his features, but he looked uncannily like a child.

By this time, servants were already weaving through the stands, collecting silver and issuing betting slips. One could wager on a single match, or bet that a fighter would win two in a row. Almost no one believed in a three-match sweep.

Clearly, the crowd had little faith in the scrawny newcomer. Only a handful placed bets on him, and those were small, just a few coppers—simply to have a stake in the excitement.

A servant reached Feng Jingzhe and Sun Fugui. On a sudden impulse, Feng Jingzhe fished out a ten-tael note from Sun Fugui’s robe and bet on the little fellow to win two bouts straight.

The servant looked momentarily surprised, but quickly grinned and issued the slip.

Surely, this was the only wager in the house on the boy for two victories; earlier, only a few had bet on him even for a single win, and those for trivial sums.

When betting closed, the iron doors of the ring clanged open again, and in lumbered a man nearly two hundred pounds—a massive bulk, every step setting his rolls of fat quivering.

“Good grief… This isn’t even close to the same weight class. That little guy—even soaked in sweat, he couldn’t weigh more than sixty pounds. He’ll be crushed before he can even get started…”

Sun Fugui was already mourning the loss of his ten taels; even if thrown into the river, at least the copper coins would make a splash. Betting on that boy for two wins? That was as good as handing money to the house.

Feng Jingzhe, too, was taken aback at the sight of the fat man, then could only shake his head and smile wryly. Clearly, he thought the little fellow’s luck had run out.

The match began. The little one was quick-witted and immediately kept his distance. The fat man, confident in his size advantage, paid him no mind.

Step by step he pressed forward, trying to corner his opponent. But the little fellow was remarkably agile, circling around and around.

Suddenly, darting behind the fat man, the boy struck. His fist, knuckles jutting, landed squarely on the back of the fat man’s head with a sharp smack.

Caught off guard, the fat man stumbled, but the thick folds of flesh at the back of his neck absorbed much of the blow.

With a grunt, the fat man whirled and swung, but he was a half-beat too slow; the boy had already slipped away, keeping his distance.

That strike, though it left the fat man’s head spinning, gave him a sense of his opponent’s strength. He abandoned defense for an all-out assault, determined to crush the boy head-on.

Like a charging rhinoceros, he lunged with arms spread wide, intent on seizing the little one. If he got his hands on him, he’d crush him flat.

With such a wide sweep, there was little room left to dodge. The boy dared not risk it; hesitating, he took a few backward steps, shrinking his escape even further, and soon found himself pressed into the corner of the cage.

The fat man saw the fear and desperation on his opponent’s face and charged with utter abandon, determined to smash the boy against the bars.

“It’s over. They’re in different leagues!”

Sun Fugui covered his eyes, unable to watch what came next. Two hundred pounds crashing down—surely the boy would be left with broken bones.

“Not necessarily. That boy has more to him than it seems. I wouldn’t be mistaken about that…” Feng Jingzhe murmured.

And just as the words left his lips, the boy, cornered and seemingly defeated, sprang into action…