The jet-black-haired female team leader remained unmoved. At her command, the two teams began their combat demonstration. The left-hand row of women attacked the right in unison, each one slightly slower than the last. The first woman on the right grabbed her attacker, slammed her onto the platform with a sack-like motion, and then the second, third, and fourth groups performed the exact same action. The platform resembled a giant windmill, only made of people. One group of beautiful women was being slammed down by the other with such force that the platform shook violently. This was real fighting!
As I watched, a fine bead of sweat trickled down my temple, because I had once boasted that I would "personally take action" when I encountered them. Seeing Lu Junyi smiling at me, I gave an awkward laugh and said, "It's just a performance, just a performance..."
The following actions looked more like a performance. The beauties started fighting in pairs, and one of them was usually subdued within three moves. However, their moves, such as gouging eyes, locking necks, and dislocating joints, were ruthless, clean, and powerful. It looked quite painful.
The audience fell silent. These people were ruthless; the girls' moves were crisp and skillful. Although they lacked strength, if anyone underestimated them in a direct confrontation, they were bound to suffer. So everyone's palms were sweating.
After several rounds of attack demonstrations, a few more female team members carried up a table. This table was much higher than usual, almost reaching chest height. The audience, including myself and the other guys, couldn't understand what she was going to do. Was she going to lie on it and break rocks on her chest? I focused my binoculars on her chest and clicked my tongue, "Beautiful, truly beautiful. Perfect half-bowl shape, D cup..."
Someone placed an ordinary beer bottle on the table, and the female team leader kicked the neck of the bottle, shattering it. I asked, puzzled, "What's so special about that?" Yang Zhilin and the others exclaimed in unison, "Great skill!" Seeing that I was still confused, Zhang Qing grabbed my neck and said, "Did you see the height of that bottle? Let's not even talk about whether you can lift your leg that high, can you even just kick the neck and shatter it?"
My hair stood on end: she shattered the mouth of an empty beer bottle that was taller than a person with her toe. Did she have the legendary internal strength?
Just think about how difficult that is. An empty bottle is floating there, and I can kick it away—even if I can't lift my leg that high, I can kick a table. But just breaking the neck of the bottle is incredibly difficult. It's like in the movie, the God of Cookery throws a radish into the air and then slashes it a few times, and the radish falls down and turns into a flower.
Of course, in the movie, you don't even need special effects; all you need is a radish, a kitchen knife, and a flower—but what I'm seeing now is absolutely real kung fu.
The two female team members kicked the bottles as they were being arranged, and then kicked them around the table like a whirlwind.
Many in the audience, like myself, were utterly bewildered and amazed, so the applause gradually grew louder. While some were still completely confused, a team member piled five bricks in front of their leader. The female leader roared, and with a swift movement, the five bricks snapped cleanly in two, the jagged edges creating a striking visual impact that chilled the hearts of onlookers.
Lu Junyi chuckled and said to me, "If you draw her, will you still go up yourself?"
I sat there dumbfounded for a long time. Hu Sanniang watched the female leader calmly step down from the stage, her smooth black hair flowing, and said with interest, "I'd like to have a competition with this lady."
After the Crescent Moon Beauty Team's performance ended, the entire venue was quiet. No one dared to make a sound, and not a single person applauded or cheered. The female leader led the way, and wherever she went, people instinctively made way for her. I watched through my binoculars as they entered the VIP section opposite. The female leader sat in the first row, tossed her hair, took a sip of water, and continued watching the performance. Wow, this is going to be interesting for the next few days—I can watch beautiful women! But I can't let her see me. While her squinting eyes are incredibly charming, it also means she's about to break bricks. Everyone in the martial arts world knows that I, Little Qiang, am skilled with a single brick, while she can break five bricks in one go without breaking a sweat—a natural enemy!
After that impromptu performance, I noticed an increase in the number of people going to the restroom. The rest of the program was utterly uninteresting, and the morning passed just like that.
We returned to the hotel at noon to rest, and I handed out a bunch of room keys to the guys. Now I finally understand why there were 35 rooms—it filled an entire floor. We were on the 3rd floor; most of the rooms on the 4th floor were booked by a martial arts school from Jiangsu called Jingwu Free Fighting. The other half of the guests were actually members of the Tiger Fighting team, led by Tuna. It seems their main fighting lineup didn't play today. The Jingwu people were wearing uniforms, with a martial arts master poised to strike painted on their left shoulder—they looked incredibly imposing. The Tiger Fighting team also had their own uniforms and flags, and compared to our motley crew, the difference in skill was obvious.
In response to this situation, I immediately went to Wu Yong and discussed with him whether we could design a school flag. I also told him my ideas: it should have a circle to represent the world; water to represent vastness; and at least one weapon to represent might.
Wu Yong thought for a moment and said, "How about drawing Nezha wielding his spear and fighting the Dragon King of the East Sea? Two circles, please."
I said dejectedly, "You should just go do what you're supposed to do. You might as well draw Bin Laden driving an Audi and fighting the Marines with M4s—four circles."
Chapter 100 The "Too Hasty Flag" Flies High
The afternoon was another cultural performance, but I wasn't in the mood to go. Before lunch, Song Qing went to take care of Li Bai, and I asked him to find a way to get our certificate processing machine over as well.
After taking a long nap, I called Yan Jingsheng. He said they had split into several groups and were working separately. After visiting the zoo and watching a movie, the soldiers suddenly wanted to go see the train. Now, 300 of them had reunited at the train station.
My heart skipped a beat. Watching the train? They could see the train from the school grounds, so why were they going to the station? I'd always known they had a secret, though I didn't know if the mystery would ever be solved. But it seemed they were leaving, and going to the station was likely to assign people and routes. The zoo visit and the movie were just a small group they'd sent to mislead Yan Jingsheng. But I really couldn't figure out what they wanted. If they wanted revenge on Qin Hui, they should have protected me at all costs.
Forget it, I'm not going to think about it anymore. Seeing these 300 stubborn people every day is already enough to drive me crazy. Let them go if they want. The heroes will leave after the martial arts tournament, won't they? All good things must come to an end.
Even if the five of them stayed by my side through thick and thin, a year later—no, not even a year—they would have to leave in a little over ten months. I suddenly felt quite envious of Jin Shaoyan; he had his fun, his antics, and then woke up and remembered nothing.
I was feeling sad when Shi Qian jumped in through the window, making me so angry that I yelled, "Can't you use the door?"
Shi Qian looked at me with a puzzled expression and said, "What are you doing in my room?" Then he leaned over the glass and glanced to the side, quickly waving to me apologetically, "Sorry, wrong room."
It wasn't until he got there that I realized: this is the third floor! This kid, I wonder if he "returned" the knife he gave to the education bureau chief, and I didn't even have time to ask if the person on the movie theater rooftop was him last time.
I checked my watch and it was 4 PM, so I got up to see if anything was wrong. The corridor was empty; some of the bandits had gone shopping, and the rest were probably fast asleep. How happy are bandits without ambition!
I arrived at the stadium. There were far fewer people in the afternoon; almost all the teams with matches tomorrow had gone to rest and recuperate. Those who came were either spectators or cheerleaders. I went to the VIP section, but there wasn't a single one of our people there, except for a middle-aged man with a small child sitting in the first row. The child looked to be in second or third grade, diligently doing his homework at a table.
When the middle-aged man saw that I was carrying keys, he said awkwardly, "I'm sorry, I saw the door was open and it was too hot, so I brought my child in." I said, "It's alright, this is for people to sit on."
I chatted with him for a while and learned that he was a physical education teacher at a nearby elementary school, a martial arts enthusiast. The school had given him a ticket, so he brought his child along. I patted the little boy's head and noticed he was drawing: a small, angry-looking figure with his hands on his hips, confronting a monster with triangular eyes that was more than three times his height. Although the drawing was clumsy, the little figure's angry and fearless expression was quite vivid. I asked him, "Who did you draw?"
The little boy, without looking up, said, "It's Dad." The middle-aged man smiled, feeling gratified.
I pointed at the triangular-eyed monster and asked, "Who is this one?"
The little boy said, "It's Mom."
The middle-aged man looked at me awkwardly, and I looked at him understandingly, sharing that knowing smile between men. I said to the child in a friendly tone, "Could you give this drawing to your uncle?"
The little boy said with difficulty, "But this is my drawing assignment."
"How about you give it to your uncle if he helps you with your homework?"
The little boy handed me his pen and notebook, and I quickly drew two lifelike turtles and returned them to him. The little boy exclaimed, "Uncle, you draw so well! Are you an artist?"
As I nodded along, I thought to myself: kids these days really are more civilized. When we were kids, who didn't draw turtles? And we'd even write things like "Wang Xiaoming is a bad guy" or "Zhang Xiaohua is a dog" on the turtle shells. The classmate who drew the best turtles back in elementary school is now an engineer at a bridge design institute, specializing in drawing blueprints. Another classmate who loved filling in the blank turtle shells now works at the statistics bureau.
The little boy got the turtle and tore off the picture depicting domestic violence, then gave it to me. I was overjoyed and took it as I walked out. When I got to the door, I said to the middle-aged man, "Just slam the door shut when you leave—" Then I told the boy, "Draw a few more lines on the turtle's back, and tell the teacher it's a tortoise."
The school flag is finally here! Although it lacks any of the elements I had envisioned, it better reflects our school's motto. The angry yet resolute little figure represents our school as a new force, full of fighting spirit. The "monster," of course, represents evil forces—never compromising in the face of evil. Nothing could be more fitting for a newly opened martial arts and academic school.
Moreover, this painting is neither entirely abstract nor entirely easy to understand; it has a distinctly surrealist and early Picasso style. If we're talking about something too simplistic and casual, BMW's two pie-shaped pies, or Bentley's flying "B," aren't necessarily better than mine.
I returned to the hotel, and before even entering the lobby, I saw a striking sight. Groups of two or three pretty girls, arm in arm, chatted and laughed as they walked past me, up the steps, and into the hotel. I stared blankly, a dazed expression on my face, and followed them inside. They were all around me, chattering and laughing, seemingly waiting for their companion at the front desk. The girl had long hair that reached her waist, her face hidden, but her figure was undeniably captivating. As I squinted, looking around, Baozi called. I quickly composed myself and answered. Baozi said, "You left so early this morning, haven't been home all day, where have you been gallivanting off to?" I chuckled foolishly as she spoke. Suddenly, Baozi became alert and said, "Where are you? Why are there so many women's voices around?"
I know I can't take explaining things to Baozi too seriously; if I do, she'll become more suspicious. We've been sleeping together for two years; to put it politely, who doesn't know whose bladder is better?
I said in a deliberately lewd tone, "Hehe, I'm in the women's bathhouse, wanna come?"
As soon as I finished speaking, I sensed something strange about my surroundings—why was it so quiet? All those beautiful eyes were fixed on me, some angry, some shy, some astonished, some contemptuous…
Don't take this so seriously! I just said I was in the women's bathhouse, you weren't actually naked!
Just then, the girl at the front desk suddenly turned around. Her long, striking black hair, neatly combed, gave her a resolute and calm appearance, even a touch of the devilish. She turned her head, looked at me, and slowly narrowed her eyes. Damn, she was captivating!