The next day.
Night.
Diwang Building.
The same arena as last time, the same crowd of spectators.
Li Zong sat high in the organizers' section.
A month had now passed, and the day of the duel they had agreed upon had arrived.
Li Mingsheng stood beside Li Zong. He was a towering six-foot-three, broad-backed and narrow-waisted, radiating a fierce aura as he cracked his neck and spoke.
"Father, a simple match is meaningless. We need to find a way to make that kid fight me to the death. That way, I can beat him to death in the ring myself and avenge Third Brother."
Whether he actually avenged anyone did not matter much to Li Mingsheng. But Li Zong had made a promise to the two brothers: whoever killed Su Ti would become the next chairman of the Death Fist Society and inherit everything Li Zong possessed.
However, their verbally agreed-upon duel last time had merely been a match, not a fight to the death. Su Ti could concede.
Though surrendering would damage Dragon Gate Martial Hall's reputation, it would let Su Ti keep his life. Li Zong could still barely accept that outcome, but Li Mingsheng could not. If Su Ti did not die, he could not inherit Li Zong's position.
He wanted to beat Su Ti to death in the ring and fulfill Li Zong's wish, so that he could rightfully become the next chairman of the Death Fist Society.
"That kid is clever. It won't be easy to make him fight you to the death."
Li Zong cast Li Mingsheng a sidelong glance.
What was Li Mingsheng thinking? He knew perfectly well. No one knew a son better than his father. Li Zong fully understood—and strongly approved of—Li Mingsheng's ambition.
To lead a criminal organization, one could