Chapter Twenty-Two: At the End of One’s Rope

“Get your ass up here!” Zhao Hai was so furious his mind was a blur. His knotted muscles were his pride and joy, complemented by the scars from countless fights that made him exude raw masculinity. There was no telling how many club girls had gone wild over him—yet in Yang Meng’s mouth, all that became nothing more than a clown’s act. How could he not be angry?

Yang Meng sauntered up to the ring, and below, Long Teng shook his head after watching him. “His stance is unstable. Bo Wen, have you overestimated him?”

Duan Bowen smiled. “There’s an old saying: ‘Caution is the parent of safety.’ In just a few minutes, we’ll see the result anyway.”

As Yang Meng stepped onto the ring, Zhao Hai’s lackeys went wild, cheering him on like madmen.

“Brother Hai! Go! Show him how tough you are!”

“Smash that foul mouth of his!”

“Beat him until he can’t take care of himself!”

“Brother Hai, break his arms and legs! I’ll buy him a wheelchair myself!”

“That’s right, this pauper definitely can’t afford a wheelchair!”

“Go! Go! Go!”

Zhao Hai looked at Yang Meng like a hungry wolf eyeing his prey. “Kid, if you kneel and beg me now, maybe I’ll go easy on you. Break an arm and a leg, and we’ll call it even. Otherwise, you’ll never leave that wheelchair for the rest of your life!”

“Hold on!” Yang Meng suddenly raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

Zhao Hai sneered coldly. “What? Scared now? Let me tell you—it’s too late! Even if you beg now, it’s too late! If I don’t cripple you today, I’ll take your surname!”

But Yang Meng didn’t even look at him. Instead, he turned to Long Teng. “Young Master Long, your gym is legitimate, right? There’s a combat agreement, I hope? If they lose and then haul me to court, that’s no fun.”

Long Teng nodded. “We have that. Wait a moment.” With that, a female staff member brought out two agreements, handing them to Yang Meng and Zhao Hai to sign. It was much like the ancient ‘life-and-death contract’ before duels. Any place with a ring had these prepared.

Originally, such things weren’t needed. Any martial artist knew that stepping into the ring meant victory or defeat determined the hero. But recently, something had happened that made the nation’s martial arts world a laughingstock: someone challenged an older opponent to a match, got crushed—by someone nearly twenty years older, at that—and then sued both his opponent and the ring for compensation. Since then, every gym with a ring required participants to sign agreements before matches—even before regular training, to avoid being slapped with a court summons out of nowhere.

Watching Yang Meng sign, Zhao Hai sneered, “You’ve got guts, kid, but I’ll show you—courage alone isn’t enough!”

Yang Meng replied coolly, “Are you planning to talk me to death? Let’s get started.”

The gym’s referee stepped between them, separated them, recited the rules, and declared the match begun.

Yang Meng stood unmoving. Zhao Hai, already unable to contain his temper, charged straight at him, launching a flying knee at Yang Meng’s face.

On the sidelines, Long Teng frowned. “What’s that kid doing? Is he scared stiff?”

But before he finished speaking, Yang Meng suddenly moved, lunging at Zhao Hai’s incoming knee! In the blink of an eye, just as Zhao Hai’s knee was about to land, Yang Meng wrapped both arms around him and tackled him to the ground.

Long Teng’s brows drew together. “Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu? It looks like it, but not quite. Does he really know that kind of fighting technique? Next comes the ground attack, right?”

But Yang Meng, as if deliberately contradicting him, didn’t follow up with a ground assault. Instead, he grabbed Zhao Hai by an ankle and stood up.

“What’s he doing?” Long Teng was baffled. Who fights by dragging someone around by one leg?

Zhao Hai was confused too. “Let go of me! Let go!” One leg was trapped in Yang Meng’s grip, while he kicked frantically with the other, trying to land a hit and free himself. But Yang Meng was unfazed, a strange grin appearing on his face.

“Heh, I’ve always wanted to try a move I saw in ‘The Avengers.’ Never had the chance until now!”

Zhao Hai didn’t know what Yang Meng intended, but he had a bad feeling. Then, Yang Meng swung Zhao Hai by his leg as if he were a sack, slamming him repeatedly into the mat—just like the Hulk smashing Loki in ‘The Avengers.’

That scene alone was jaw-dropping enough in a movie, even with special effects. But to see a living person swung around like a sack—how much strength would that take? It didn’t seem humanly possible!

If not for the crowd witnessing it firsthand, no one would have believed what was happening.

Rings like these had a bit of give for two reasons: to protect the fighters, minimizing injury, and to make the thuds louder, which added drama for the audience.

Even so, the thunderous thuds as Zhao Hai was slammed down again and again could barely muffle his screams. It made everyone’s scalp tingle.

Long Teng was struck dumb, while Duan Bowen nudged him. “Think it was wise to let him go first now?”

“Is he even human?” Long Teng swallowed. Years of karate training had taught him better than anyone what ‘overwhelming strength’ really meant.

Just like the legendary Swede Marius, five-time World’s Strongest Man champion. When he had no more competition in strongman, he switched to MMA. Despite little formal training—just some boxing as a kid—he KO’d a Polish boxing champ in his first MMA bout.

Marius’s strength, though immense, was still within human limits. Even he couldn’t swing a grown man around by one leg!

Duan Bowen, a trace of smugness on his face, teased, “Long Teng, you still want to fight him? Think you’re his match?”

Long Teng shook his head furiously. “He’s not actually going to kill Zhao Hai, is he?”

The referee had already been scared off and hid far away—not that anyone could blame him. Anyone who saw this would keep their distance.

Duan Bowen gritted his teeth and shouted, “Mr. Yang! Please stop! Any more and you really will kill him!”

Yang Meng paused, looking skeptical. “Really? Look at him—he’s so burly. A few slams can’t kill him, right?”

Duan Bowen was speechless. Didn’t Zhao Hai’s screams sound convincing enough? He hurriedly turned to the gym’s on-duty doctor. “What are you waiting for? Get up there and check on him!”

Gyms like this always had doctors on duty—accidents happened all the time during training.

But Yang Meng waved him off. “No need, that’s too much trouble.” With that, he tossed Zhao Hai onto his own lackeys, bowling them over en masse.

The doctor hurried to check on Zhao Hai. “Uh, bridge of nose is broken, three clearly fractured ribs—more X-rays needed to see if there are more. As for his thigh tendon, it might be a strain or a tear. Also needs further examination.”

“Thigh tendon?” Duan Bowen asked, confused. “What does that mean?”

Yang Meng replied blandly, “It’s what people call ‘pulling your balls.’ So, Young Master Long, it’s your turn, isn’t it?”

Long Teng broke out in a cold sweat. What do you mean, my turn? I’d have to be insane to fight this monster.

Duan Bowen hurried to smooth things over. “Mr. Yang, you misunderstand. Young Master Long didn’t invite you here to fight in the ring!”

“Huh?” Yang Meng was taken aback. “Didn’t he just tell me to get in the ring? Even prepared medical expenses for me, didn’t he? A young master of the Long family can’t go back on his word, can he? You call me, I come. You say fight, I get ready. Now you suddenly say no fight? Why not settle everything at once? Who knows what dirty tricks you’ll pull next time?”

Long Teng’s face flushed with embarrassment. At last, he gritted his teeth and snorted, “Hmph! All you have is brute strength! If it’s about skill, who’s afraid of whom?”

Yang Meng laughed, “Fine, come on up. I swear I won’t use force. Let me show you what a true gap is! Even if there were a hundred or so like you, I wouldn’t bat an eye!”

“You—!” Long Teng was driven half mad with anger. Ignoring Duan Bowen’s attempts to stop him, he leaped onto the ring, didn’t wait for the referee, and charged at Yang Meng, throwing a punch straight for his chest.

After all, he had been a national karate champion; the punch was fast and powerful. The crowd was just about to cheer when they realized it was a feint—Long Teng spun around, launching a low roundhouse kick.

This was karate’s killer move—seemingly ordinary, but targeting the inside of the opponent’s leg. Fast, powerful, hard to block, one kick could cripple an opponent.

It was with this very technique that Long Teng had become national champion—if only his opponent weren’t Yang Meng.

He was fast, but Yang Meng was faster. Instead of dodging the low kick, Yang Meng stepped in and with a gentle push of his palm on Long Teng’s chin, Long Teng heard a roar in his ears, his vision went dark, and he collapsed onto the mat.

“Secretary Duan, it’s over. Where’s the medical fee your Young Master promised me?”

Hearing Yang Meng’s words, Long Teng completely blacked out—this time, from sheer humiliation.