The third match was Shi Qian's turn, and his opponent was the president of the Jingwu Association. This big guy already sensed something was wrong; he had experienced Lin Chong's kung fu firsthand and knew he was a formidable opponent. Meanwhile, my leisurely stroll around the arena, exuding confidence, was also putting considerable pressure on him. The president glared fiercely at us with his fists clenched, his feet digging restlessly in the ground like a bull about to attack.
Shi Qian on our side is also ready. This patriarch of thieves is facing someone in a fair fight for the first time, and he seems a little nervous. He also looks a bit comical; his standard-sized protective suit looks like a battle robe on him, his helmet resembles a cotton military cap, and his boxing gloves are as big as his head. Shi Qian is jumping around to relieve his tension, his small eyes darting around.
I said, "Brother Qian, what are you looking at?" Now I also think it's inhumane to put a short guy up there to fight bulls, but it's too late to say anything now.
But Shi Qian's words completely dispelled all my thoughts. He said:
"Choose a path first, so you can escape if you can't win later."
Chapter Ten: I Am Here
I used to have little prejudice against thieves; I'd only ever carry 200 yuan at most. I was particularly fascinated by the legends of thieves—like someone carrying a stack of newspapers in their wallet, only to find a note inside that said, "Please do not interfere with normal work, thank you"; or a master thief sneaking into a writer's house, only to be told with a smile, "Sir, don't waste your time, you won't find anything valuable in this house during the day"; or some dimwit who went out every day with no money in his pocket but his blood donation certificate and Project Hope volunteer ID, only to be robbed by a beautiful female thief who then felt a spiritual cleansing and married him… In short, if thievery, a promising profession, disappeared, the human living environment might not necessarily improve much, but there would certainly be fewer romantic stories.
But nowadays, a thief is a thief, and it's impossible for them to face death with righteous indignation and composure, unless the story is told by Feng Xiaogang.
Seeing that we were all looking at him with disdain, Shi Qian grinned lewdly and said, "I was just kidding with you guys. If you can't beat them, you can't run away." Then he pulled a white towel from the hotel out of his neck and handed it to Lin Chong, "Brother, if things get bad, help me throw this up there."
Lin Chong and the others probably didn't know what the white towel represented. I said angrily, "You've learned how to surrender so quickly!"
The referee then signaled for both competitors to enter the arena. The association president, bracing himself against a pillar, leaped into the center with a resounding thud, displaying astonishing power; Shi Qian, on the other hand, floated in lightly, his back hunched, his eyes darting around. The contrast between the two caused a burst of laughter from the Jingwu Association members, their morale soaring considerably. The referee chuckled and said, "Both competitors, pay your respects."
The chairman looked down at Shi Qian, then clasped his hands in a fist salute downwards like chopping wood. Shi Qian looked up at the chairman and cupped his hands in a slight bow. He only reached the chairman's waist; his raised hand could barely touch the chairman's chin. It seemed the only way to score was to target his opponent's legs.
The referee, seeing the two of them standing together like a tiger-headed demon summoning a monkey spirit, looked at us with a slightly suspicious gaze, probably wondering if we were going to forfeit. After waiting a while with no response, he had no choice but to announce the start of the match.
Before his hand could even fully land, Shi Qian had already leaped into the air, delivering a powerful blow as he passed over the chairman's head. The chairman had probably planned his strategy against Shi Qian beforehand; if he threw a punch, Shi Qian would have to bend over, so the best way to deal with such a short opponent was with his foot. This kick, once it landed, would have the same effect regardless of whether Shi Qian parried or not: at least he wouldn't be able to stay in the ring, and if executed correctly, it could even produce a world-class strike. But the moment his leg lifted, his opponent vanished, followed by a sharp pain in his head. The Sanda helmet only protected the forehead and cheeks, leaving the hair exposed, and the friction between the leather boxing gloves and hair was absolutely excruciating. The chairman clutched his head in pain, but his reaction was incredibly fast; he twisted his waist, raised his leg, and swept it backward like lightning. Even Master Gu couldn't help but exclaim, "Impressive skill!"
If his opponent were a giant like Li Kui or Xiang Yu, that kick would at least have forced the enemy behind him away. But Shi Qian only slightly ducked, and his leg swept past unnoticed. Shi Qian leaped forward, crawling between the chairman's legs, and ended up behind him again. Then, Shi Qian jumped up and unleashed a flurry of punches on the chairman's back…
The referee was a bit bewildered. It was the first time he'd encountered such a situation, and he was confused because he didn't know if attacking an opponent's back should score a point. In the early stages of the tournament, 50 rings were operating simultaneously, so there weren't enough professional referees; many were students from sports schools. Our referee was one of them. Seeing that the ring next to him was taking a break, he disregarded his embarrassment and loudly asked the young referee on that ring, "Senior, does attacking the back count as a point?" The other referee wasn't much better, stammering for a long time before finally getting a reply. Then, the pair of fighters currently battling on that ring joined the discussion. After a long debate, the three of them shouted over, "Shouldn't it count? Isn't the back part of the torso?"
By this point, the club president was becoming increasingly frustrated. Since stepping onto the stage, Shi Qian had never launched a direct attack, instead constantly jumping over his head or diving into his lower body, and striking him in bizarrely targeted areas: the top of his head, his back, his buttocks, and the inside of his thighs. In truth, given the club president's physique, even if he lowered his guard and let Shi Qian hit him however he wanted, it would be like a massage. But on the ring, his points were slipping away like water…
As for the chairman's kung fu, there's no doubt about it. Freestyle fighting was originally invented by a few lazy Westerners. A bunch of bored guys got together to try and invent a fighting style, but they didn't know how, so they simply lumped together all the martial arts schools in the world and invented a shameless way to fight however they wanted, calling it freestyle fighting. This style of fighting also reflects the typical Westerners' laziness and casualness; in reality, it's quite elegant. The chairman's roguish manner is perfectly suited to this system, and it's clear he has a solid foundation in traditional martial arts, so his tall stature doesn't make his movements clumsy. Even so, he was still completely bewildered by Shi Qian, like a frantic gorilla fighting a hummingbird.
Shi Qian would fly around him erratically, and the chairman could only passively follow him. Sometimes Shi Qian would stop spinning, but he would continue spinning; when he finally stopped, Shi Qian would start spinning again. The most frustrating thing was that sometimes he would clearly have Shi Qian in his sights, and it looked like he could knock him down with a single punch, but halfway through his punch, Shi Qian would suddenly veer off course like a feather caught in the wind. The more Shi Qian fought, the more ridiculous he became; at his fastest, he was almost invisible, and on stage it seemed like there was only one big guy punching and kicking, acting like he was having a seizure.
After the whistle blew for the first match, the president was so dizzy that he sat down on the stage with a thud. He said to his two apprentices who came up to help him, "Damn it, I've been fighting for so long and I haven't even seen what my opponent looks like."
Shi Qian squatted on one leg on the platform pillar, squinting his eyes, looking like a sleazy version of Sun Wukong.
During his break, Master Gu picked up his erhu and played a few mournful notes. We weren't too bothered, but the people from the Jingwu Association were almost moved to tears. Master Gu stood up and said to me, "Congratulations! The opponent's defeat is inevitable—who is that kid on the stage? I haven't seen such good lightness skills in half a century."
I said, "That kid grew up with human traffickers. He sold pirated DVDs and pretended to be a disabled child on the street. I'll have him bend his leg up to his ear for you to see in a bit."
Grandpa Gu glanced at me and said slowly, "I am old, but I don't have dementia yet." After saying that, the old man took out a few photos and sent them to Lin Chong and the others, and said with a smile, "If you don't mind this old man, come to my teahouse when you have time. I want to sincerely learn from you." After saying that, he picked up his small stool and erhu and went back to Tiger's place.
At the start of the second round, the president instinctively leaned close to the railing, facing only Shi Qian. But this was useless; Shi Qian could still easily maneuver around his head. Sometimes, even when his body was outside the ring, his slender legs would quickly dart a few steps, and he'd float back into the ring like a piece of trash in a whirlwind. It must have been some kind of legendary skill, like the "Swallow Skimming Three Times" or "Eight Steps to Catch the Toad"—something no human could master. In the end, the president was the one who suffered, because the only area he gave Shi Qian to score in was the top of his head, which was constantly attacked. Eventually, the president's hair looked like he'd just been through a fight with dozens of shrewish women, and it started to fall out. After a while, the president's thick black hair began to rebel in strands under Shi Qian's relentless attacks, blowing wildly in the wind, looking extremely bizarre.
Richie Jen sings it well: "Cry it out, laugh it out, the pain won't kill you." These martial arts practitioners might not even feel a thing after being slashed a few times, but no one can stand having their hair pulled out strand by strand. And for someone with a sense of heroism, it's a form of psychological torture. Think about it: heroes throughout history, both ancient and modern, may fail, bleed, and die, yet their fame endures. But no hero has ever died with all their hair pulled out by an enemy. Achilles and Hector didn't pull each other's hair, the Three Heroes didn't use this tactic in their battle against Lü Bu, and Zidane's heartbreaking loss in the 2006 World Cup wasn't because his hair was pulled out—he was bald. Therefore, the chairman is very likely the first hero to have all his hair pulled out, clutching his head, fighting and grieving.
After the third round, the president was already bald. On other arenas, the matches were brutal; some had their eyes bruised, some had their teeth knocked out, but the president was still the first person to go bald from fighting.
When the referee raised Shi Qian's hand high, it meant that we had won the first team match with a score of 3:0. We really didn't see the fourth member of the Jingwu Association.
The biggest surprise of this match was undoubtedly Shi Qian, a true competitive player in every sense of the word. It seems that even if I cried and begged to play, it would be too late.
As we walked off the field, the people from Tianlang Martial Arts School came towards us. They entered the arena at almost the same time as us, and while our first match only took less than 30 seconds, their ability to finish their matches at the same time suggests that some of their opponents were also knocked out, indicating that their strength must be considerable.
When our two teams passed each other, it seemed as if a spark was ignited—the kind of hostility and mutual respect that only exists when masters confront each other.
A middle-aged man in his forties with a sallow complexion and pointed ears caught my attention in their group. I recognized him immediately as Duan Tianlang. Although he wasn't at the front and no one told me, I just knew—it was written on the nameplate on his chest.
In the afternoon, the revival matches unfolded in full swing. With nearly 200 teams participating, while strong teams facing weaker ones was hardly surprising, it would be regrettable if both sides were strong, and one team was eliminated early due to the rules. To avoid this, the organizers decided to hold a points-based competition with every five eliminated teams forming groups, reviving one team each time. The entire competition had to be completed in one afternoon, meaning the schedule would be extremely arduous, testing the players' physical strength and endurance. But there was nothing that could be done; after all, they had lost.
Actually, the Jingwu Association was a bit wronged. With their strength and a little bit of luck, they should have made it into the top 32. Instead, the president, with his bald head, could only lead his people around to compete in the revival matches, while we sat in the air-conditioned VIP seats, sipping ice-cold soda, utterly bored.
On the opposite side, two more people appeared in Tong Yuan's team of beauties. One was a man over two meters tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The other was a girl with a somewhat sharp face, but still stunning, though her temperament was a bit aloof, forming a stark contrast with the enthusiastic girl beside her. It was none other than Zhang Bing.
Uh, why use "suddenly"? It's like I know nothing. Actually, their appearance on the other side was my arrangement. Zhang Bing studies dance and loves sports. Since such a grand event as the Martial Arts Tournament is being held in this city, she naturally wanted to come and see it. Xiang Yu agreed to bring her in without hesitation.
This is where the problem arises. I absolutely cannot let Zhang Bing see me at this time, because then everything will become clear: Xiang Yu, Li Shishi, and I actually know each other. Especially me; given Zhang Bing's intelligence, once she sees me and connects the dots, she'll understand how many heinous things I, along with Li Shishi, have done to help Xiang Yu seduce her. So, I can't be exposed yet. I can only ask Li Shishi to ask Tong Yuan for a favor, saying they're friends, and then have Tong Yuan bring Xiang Yu and Zhang Bing in.
Actually, Tiger could also help with this. However, although Tiger was a rogue, he's still quite straightforward, and he's a bit careless, so I'm afraid he might inadvertently let something slip. Besides, his place is a mess, which might make Zhang Bing think Xiang Yu has made a bad choice of friends.
I picked up my binoculars and watched them for a while. From their demeanor and expressions, it was clear they were quite familiar with each other's habits. Xiang Yu stood beside Zhang Bing, intently watching the match; Zhang Bing occasionally glanced at him, her tenderness evident. But it was still obvious that they weren't a couple, and the situation was fairly clear: Zhang Bing was quite fond of the mature, steady, and kind-hearted Xiang Yu, while Xiang Yu seemed somewhat timid.
As I watched, cursing Xiang Yu, I pulled out my phone but before I could make a call, the VIP door opened, and a group of reporters barged in, microphones in hand, followed by several photographers. With lightning speed, I covered my face with my hands, shouting, "No filming! No filming!" After shouting a few times, I realized we weren't in a bathhouse, so what was there to stop me from filming? I lowered my hands and asked them, "What are you doing here?"
The female reporter at the front, as if she wanted to assassinate me, pressed the microphone against my choked throat and said in an almost excited voice, "Are you Team Leader Xiao?"
"...It's me. What can I do for you?"
"Well, we're from the city TV station, and we're conducting random interviews with the team that won in the first round. Could you say a few words? What are your hopes for the future?" She said this with a beaming expression. After she finished, she whispered to me, "Secretary Liu sent us..."
It seems Secretary Liu has already started cultivating talent for us and also building momentum for himself. This is a matter of great importance, so I cleared my throat and solemnly said, "First of all, I would like to thank the organizers and committee of this competition for giving us this opportunity to shine..."
These guys were all seasoned veterans; they knew this was an interview, and far from being intimidated, they were actually vying for the spotlight. Suddenly, Zhang Qing jumped up, snatched the microphone from the female reporter, and shouted into the camera, "We absolutely have to get fifth place!"
The female reporter asked curiously, "Why is it fifth place?"
I broke out in a cold sweat and quickly grabbed the microphone, saying, "Actually, he meant 'two,' which means the second."
Female reporter: "Then why isn't it number one?"
I asked her quietly, "Is this a live broadcast?"