Chapter Forty-Nine: Never Strike the Face

It wasn’t that the boy was suddenly overcome by adolescent delusions; rather, it was the lingering sentiment cherished by a certain generation of young men. When he thought about creating an image for himself, the first scene that flashed through his mind was that of Ultraman fighting little monsters.

As for his earlier declaration about believing in the light, everyone present simply regarded it as the ramblings of a lunatic.

Indeed, ever since the betting house had opened, most fighters stripped to the waist to avoid being recognized. Only on rare occasions, if a woman happened to join, would she wrap herself tightly. There was no host, no unnecessary chatter. The moment the iron cage’s gate clanged shut, it signaled the start of a brutal, flesh-on-flesh duel where only one could emerge victorious.

Bets were placed in a matter of moments, and it was obvious which way the odds leaned. The disparity between the two fighters’ physiques was plain for all to see: one was a towering brute nearly two meters tall, his arms thicker than most men’s thighs. The other was slender, his figure obscured by layers of clothing—no telling whether there was any substance beneath.

The bell rang. Without any feints or probing, Feng Jingzhe launched the first attack. He had deliberated long and hard, deciding that he would strike with his trump card from the outset.

His footwork was exquisite, darting left and right unpredictably. With both arms drawn in to guard his chest, he was poised to attack or defend at any moment.

“This kid’s got something—upper hand with the Yin-Yang move, lower steps like a nimble monkey. Against a giant like that, speed and finesse are just what he needs!”

“With my eye, sharpened by sixty matches, I’d say that big guy’s about to suffer a serious loss…”

On the bleachers, two spectators’ discussion quickly drew the assent of those around them.

“You gentlemen really know your stuff. The moment he moved, you saw the outcome…”

“Of course! You think I watched over sixty matches for nothing?”

“Look, he’s about to make his move…”

Even as the words left their lips, Feng Jingzhe leaped onto the stage like an eagle swooping for its prey. Both hands spread, fingers curved like talons, he radiated the fierce aura of a raptor poised to tear its victim to shreds.

“No way—is this the long-lost Eagle Claw technique, perfected to the point of splitting stone?”

A shout from the audience sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. Many leaned forward, eyes locked on Feng’s “talons,” eager to witness the legendary technique in action.

The giant’s pupils contracted to pinpoints, his muscles tightening in anticipation, both fists clenched as if facing a mortal enemy.

“Big guy, bad luck for you to meet me today! Watch my ultimate move…

Water Style—Water Dragon Bullet!”

Cough… ptui…

A glob of thick phlegm shot from Feng Jingzhe’s mouth, landing with pinpoint accuracy atop the giant’s bald head.

Splat.

Hot, sticky, slightly yellow—a sign of too much internal heat.

A savage hook followed.

Bang.

Startled by the unexpected name of Feng’s move, the big man had prepared for a lethal attack. He put his all into a right hook, never imagining it would be a one-hit knockout. Feng, still in midair, took the punch square on the cheek and flew several meters before crashing to the ground.

“Eagle Claw, my ass… That’s it?”

“All that talk about sixty matches of experience, and this is the best you’ve got? If you’re not dead after a call like that, your ancestors must be smiling on you…”

“Good thing I held back from betting more just now, or I’d have been ruined…”

“Are these two shills? This betting house is really going downhill…”

The grumbling was but a minor note, easily drowned out by the deafening cheers that filled the hall. After a blow like that, few could hope to rise again—the outcome of the first round was clear.

Lying face down, Feng Jingzhe slowly recovered from the dizziness, only to realize half his face was numb. Something was in his mouth. Spitting it into his hand, he saw it was three or four molars, knocked loose.

“Damn, I was careless! My body heals, sure, but I don’t know if teeth grow back…”

The thought of a future sustained by porridge alone stoked a sudden surge of fury in him.

“Damn it, don’t you know not to hit the face…”

With a sudden kip-up, Feng Jingzhe sprang to his feet and charged again.

The giant, having scored an easy victory, assumed that was all his opponent had. Seeing him come again, he met Feng head-on and kicked savagely at his chest.

“If I don’t knock out all your teeth today, I’m no… Feng…”

The last word was shouted only in his mind. As the kick flew toward his chest, Feng Jingzhe twisted aside at the critical moment, caught his opponent’s ankle with a “Cloud Hand,” and yanked backward.

The Old Ape Offers Fruit…

With one hand shaped into a supporting palm, he delivered a crushing upward blow to the giant’s jaw. From the audience’s vantage, they saw the massive figure lifted clean off the ground.

Thud.

Teeth clattered as the upper and lower rows slammed together; the giant collapsed, spewing a mouthful of broken teeth.

“He’s… he’s out cold…”

The “veteran” with sixty matches under his belt was dumbstruck—only a single move from each fighter, and the match was already over?

“You’ve got to be kidding… rigged, isn’t it…”

“One move and he’s down—looks tough but can’t take a hit…”

“To lose like this—there’s no justice…”

Again, a storm of confetti and scraps of paper rained through the air. As the giant was carried off, Feng Jingzhe naturally became the new defender of the ring.

But he had no time to care who his next opponent would be. His tongue probed his gums anxiously. To his relief, he could feel hard new growth pushing through the flesh—his heart finally eased.

“No need for porridge… thank heavens… my teeth are safe…”

Just as he was about to reach in and feel the new teeth with his finger, the iron gate swung open once more.

Another muscle-bound brute strode into the ring, his chest covered in a thick pelt of black hair that nearly reached his belly.

This time, Feng Jingzhe had learned his lesson: getting beaten was one thing, but he’d better protect everything above the neck.

“Heh, you’re pretty good! Barely worthy of being my opponent!” The hairy man’s voice was gruff and arrogant, which irked Feng to no end.

“Is that so? Fine! If you don’t kill me today, I’ll cripple you instead…”

The tension between them was palpable, and the crowd below was instantly electrified. It had been ages since a fight to the death occurred—could tonight finally be the night?

Recalling how the oddly dressed newcomer had taken out the previous giant in a single blow, they could only imagine what might happen next.

Clearly, the hairy man was hot-tempered as well. Provoked by Feng’s words, even his chest hair seemed to bristle. Without another word, he charged forward, fists swinging.

Feng Jingzhe was not to be outdone, immediately assuming the Yin-Yang stance, his feet planted firm as a mountain.

As their fists hurtled toward each other, the crowd braced for a clash of titans.

But at the critical moment, Feng Jingzhe suddenly changed tactics with lightning speed. Abandoning the balanced Yin-Yang posture, he raised his guard, exposed his midsection, then, to everyone’s astonishment, crouched down and wrapped both arms around his head…