Chapter 32: Appearance
Chapter 32: Chapter 32: Appearance
Rolling the dice.
Zhao Tianxiong casually shook the cup. The dice settled, revealing a six. He smiled and pushed the dice cup toward Su Man.
Su Man reached out with her well-maintained hand and gave her wrist a light flick. She lifted the cup to reveal a four.
"Hehe, Man, I guess I’ll pick first this time?" Zhao Tianxiong leaned back, his posture entirely relaxed.
Her expression remained unchanged as she elegantly set down the dice cup. "Rules are rules. Please go ahead, Tianxiong."
"Then I’ll choose... Iron Fist." Zhao Tianxiong named the fighter he had his eye on all along, looking at her with a hint of amusement.
"Leaving me with no one but that ’Feng Yuxiu’ who hasn’t fought a single match yet?" Su Man’s tone was calm, betraying neither joy nor anger. Instead, she sounded slightly curious. "’Feng Yuxiu’? That’s quite an interesting name. What, aren’t you going to introduce this fighter to me, Tianxiong?"
"Hehe, of course, of course." Zhao Tianxiong took a drag of his cigar and spoke unhurriedly. "This Thunderbolt Hand..."
She frowned slightly. "Thunderbolt Hand? Didn’t he finish his match in the last round? What does he have to do with this one?"
"Hehe, he has everything to do with it." He exhaled a ring of smoke and drawled, "Before facing Iron Fist, Thunderbolt Hand had also won two matches in a row. He was riding high. The one who defeated him back then was none other than Iron Fist."
Su Man showed just the right amount of surprise at the perfect moment. "Oh? Could his hand have been..."
"Exactly." Zhao Tianxiong interrupted her, holding up a single finger. A trace of cruel amusement laced his words. "Both of them were at two wins and zero losses at the time, making it look like an evenly matched fight. But when it actually started..."
"Did he not even last a minute?" Su Man asked.
He shook his head. "He didn’t even last a single exchange. Iron Fist threw only one punch and completely crippled Thunderbolt Hand’s right hand."
Su Man’s heart jolted. Though she maintained a composed facade, her fingers tightened slightly around her wine glass. She thought back to the triumphant Thunderbolt Hand from the previous match, who had won with such sharp, decisive chops. To think he hadn’t been able to withstand even a single move from Iron Fist! Just how strong was Iron Fist? And what about the "Feng Yuxiu" she had just been forced to bet on, who hadn’t fought a single match?
Zhao Tianxiong seemed to see right through her. His gaze roamed even more blatantly over her graceful curves, pausing at her chest with undisguised possessiveness. He offered a mockingly comforting smile. "Man, you don’t need to worry too much. As for this Feng Yuxiu, although he hasn’t fought a single match, the report from our internal assessment Martial Artist says he has some skill. Who knows... maybe he’ll give us a pleasant surprise?"
Despite his words, his eyes clearly looked as though he were admiring a prey about to fall into his hands.
Su Man responded to his uncomfortable stare with an ambiguous chuckle. She smoothly stood up and walked over to the massive one-way glass wall, looking out at the screens displaying a loop of Iron Fist’s highlight reels. Anyone struck by his iron fists ended up either dead or crippled, instantly losing all ability to fight back. The sheer oppressiveness of his power could be felt even through the screen.
She sighed inwardly, a renewed sense of powerlessness washing over her. "Three wins and zero losses, knocking out his opponent every single time. Ah, whatever. The Su Family has already fallen this far. At my age, what right do I have to be picky? Marrying Zhao Tianxiong... perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst choice. At the very least, it would buy the Su Family a chance to catch its breath."
Meanwhile, on the first basement floor of the Geta Club, inside the fighter preparation room.
An event coordinator wearing the club’s uniform knocked on the door with a slightly nervous expression before pushing it open. "Mr. Feng Yuxiu, you are up next. Please get ready. According to the procedure, there will be a brief introduction before you enter the ring. Please walk to the tunnel entrance and acknowledge the audience."
"All right." Fang Chen nodded, standing up to stretch his limbs. As if suddenly remembering something, he asked, "By the way, about the twenty thousand prize money. If I win, I get the full amount, right? The club won’t take a cut?"
The coordinator was stunned. He clearly hadn’t expected this to be the very first concern of a debut fighter whose opponent was the infamous and terrifying Iron Fist. "There’s no cut... it’s just..." he replied dryly, hesitating. He clearly wanted to hint at how terrifying Iron Fist was but didn’t want to blatantly crush the fighter’s morale right before the match.
"Oh, that’s good then." Fang Chen completely missed the underlying warning and immediately followed up with another question. "Is there some sort of consecutive battle mode? Like, after I finish this match, you arrange the next one right away, and I just keep fighting?"
The coordinator was baffled by the question and forced a smile. "Uh, sir, about that... Although there have been one or two precedents in the club’s history, I... I still hope you focus on winning the match right in front of you first. I heard the bookmakers outside have already set the odds between you and Iron Fist at ten to one." He tactfully reminded him of the massive gap in their perceived strength.
"Huh? I can place bets too?" Fang Chen’s eyes lit up slightly. "Can I bet on myself to win?"
"You cannot," the coordinator immediately shook his head. "Fighters and their relatives are strictly prohibited from participating in any related betting pools. You can’t bet on yourself, nor can you bet on other fighters. This is an ironclad rule. If caught, you will face hefty fines."
Having completed his notification, he said no more. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, "I don’t know where he gets this confidence. Facing Iron Fist and his mind is still wandering all over the place. He must be crazy for money..."
"Fair enough," Fang Chen shrugged and sat back down.
He really was crazy for money. His mind quickly ran the numbers. The registration fee for the martial arts exam was five hundred thousand. The Li Family Village had given him two hundred thousand, his fourth aunt had given him twenty thousand, and the Martial Arts Association had rewarded him with fifty thousand. That all added up to just two hundred and seventy thousand. He was still short two hundred and thirty thousand. At twenty thousand per match, he would need to win nearly twelve matches in a row. But there was less than half a month left until the registration deadline. Time was incredibly tight.
DONG DONG DONG.
The heavy sound of a bell tolled through the soundproof door, signaling the end of the previous match and pushing the atmosphere to a climax.
Right then, a beautiful ring girl wearing a sexy, tight-fitting dress pushed the door open. She wore a professional, sweet smile. "Mr. Feng, it’s your turn. Please follow me to the tunnel entrance for your introduction."
"All right." Fang Chen pushed down his stray thoughts, his eyes returning to a calm state.
He followed the ring girl through the tunnel, the roar of the crowd crashing against him like a tidal wave. The moment he stepped into the iron cage arena, the surrounding stands erupted into a frenzy of mixed whistles, screams, and coarse roars.
His gaze immediately locked onto his opponent across the ring—Iron Fist. Observing him up close made the oppressive pressure radiating from the man even more palpable. Iron Fist had a muscular build and broad, thick hands. Notably, his skin had a dark, dull black hue, looking as if it had been cast from metal.
Fang Chen evaluated him inwardly, "Judging by its form and texture, the technique he cultivates is definitely no ordinary skill. It must be at least a True Martial Level Combat Skill, and he has practiced it to a profound degree. I wonder what realm he has reached. Minor Achievement? Or... Great Success?"
At that moment, Iron Fist also noticed Fang Chen and couldn’t help but scoff. "Hehe, is Geta out of fighters? Why did they send out a schoolboy? Hey, kid," he said, jutting his chin at Fang Chen with undisguised contempt. "With your soft, delicate skin, you’d better just surrender right now. I don’t want people saying I bullied you once we start fighting!"
His words immediately ignited the audience supporting Iron Fist. The cheers and whistles grew even louder, and many excited spectators began throwing bills and coins at the iron cage. Most of the money landed on Iron Fist’s half of the ring, prompting him to burst into hearty laughter as he cupped his fists to acknowledge the crowd.
Fang Chen blinked, feeling as though he had discovered a whole new world. "Oho? Trash-talking can get you tips? ... I should give it a try too."
So, he cleared his throat and shouted just two words:
"Taking disciples!"