Du Youbang stared at Tong Peipei's suddenly furious profile.
After a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, his gaze grew even more heated.
Damn, I misjudged her. This chick is spicy!
The previous night, Tong Peipei had traded him away from Xu Jiaqi by offering Lu Zhengyang's fighter slot, plus an additional five hundred thousand in compensation.
Xu Jiaqi had also been willing to do her a favor.
Of course, another reason was that Xu Jiaqi had keenly sensed the sinister nature about Du Youbang.
This former gang boss clearly wasn't content to fade into obscurity.
Worried he wouldn't be able to control him, Xu Jiaqi had simply agreed to Tong Peipei's request.
For a dangerous fellow like this, if she liked him, Xu Jiaqi was happy to let her have him.
Du Youbang was quite satisfied to fight under Tong Peipei's name. He was genuinely rather taken with her.
She had beauty, money, and power.
As long as he won this round of the fist tournament, he was fully confident he could win Tong Peipei over.
The woman seemed to yearn for skilled fighters from the very depths of her being.
And with Tong Peipei's help, formally escaping Stanley Prison would no longer be a troublesome problem.
However, today's scene had given him a new understanding of the woman before him.
Behind her icy beauty and admiration for strength, she seemed to have another side that no one knew about.
Tong Peipei's gaze turned cold as it shifted from the now-silenced foreigner to Du Youbang:
"Next time, you'd better keep quiet until I give you permission to speak."
She had been almost obsessively eager to see Song Ren's skills again.
Especially from such a close distance. If she could enjoy the sight, it would be an exquisitely pleasing spectacle.
Just imagining it made her feel wet.
It was just that the fighter under her had been far too disappointing. She had clearly given him a chance, but he had been useless.
He had even made Song Ren dislike her!
What a worthless piece of trash!
Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, Tong Peipei watched Song Ren, who had already walked down from the platform.
As if sensing her gaze, the figure below suddenly stopped, then turned and looked up.
Those clear, fearless pupils made Tong Peipei unable to stop herself from placing a hand against the glass. Even her breathing became subtly rapid.
Du Youbang, standing nearby, saw the entire scene clearly, and his brows drew together.
At this rate, unless I knock that bastard down, I'll never get this chick.
Du Youbang's gaze darkened slightly.
An elderly man with white hair and a youthful face walked over. Lowering his head, he respectfully said to Tong Peipei, "Madam, that young man is no simple fighter."
Tong Peipei drew her gaze back. A hint of a smile returned to her coldly beautiful face.
"Of course."
"Uncle, you didn't see it earlier."
"That fellow beat three adult pit bulls to death with his bare hands, without suffering a single injury."
"That one fight alone displayed exquisite Chuo Jiao techniques, the essence of Tan Tui, and extremely solid hand skills."
"Tsk—"
"The leg techniques of Northern martial arts, the grappling methods of Southern boxing, and flashy weapon work."
"With such a smooth and exhilarating style, even if you personally took the field, Uncle, I'm afraid you'd have to admit you're getting old."
The old man merely smiled. "Oh? Then he's quite impressive."
Du Youbang, who had been listening quietly nearby, was once again stunned.
He had come from an unorthodox background and possessed an unyielding ferocity in his bones.
Later, once his life had begun to take off, he had also studied Sanda and Muay Thai and sought instruction from numerous masters, eventually developing his own distinctive fighting style.
He had always looked down on the traditional martial arts passed down by martial arts schools.
Most of the instructors he had encountered at those schools had known nothing but flashy, impractical moves. The few who possessed some real ability were no longer his match.
Yet after hearing Tong Peipei's words, he was shocked once again.
The old man noticed his expression and smiled. "What? You agreed to transfer over from Xu Jiaqi's side, and you didn't know Madam came from a martial arts school?"
"..."
Who the hell would've known?
Du Youbang's expression remained unchanged as he silently lowered his head.
I'm only temporarily living under someone else's roof.
No matter what happens in the ring, I have no intention of losing to anyone else.
Three days later
Song Ren arrived at the first fight he had been assigned after signing up for the fist tournament.
During those three days, aside from working out in the gym at Fook Shing Building, he had spent the rest of his time eating and sleeping at the hotel.
Every day, he had essentially gone back and forth between those two places, with no other entertainment to speak of.
Even Feijizai had begun to wonder whether the fighter in his charge was a monk.
His lifestyle was simply far too disciplined.
Fook Shing Building, top-floor VIP room.
Zhu Bao'er sat on a soft sofa, holding a pink-and-white teddy bear cushion in her arms.
Sitting beside her was an elegant man in a silver-gray suit and black leather shoes.
He seemed rather uncomfortable with the atmosphere here. Holding a hand to the tip of his nose, he appeared to have smelled a disgusting stench of sweat.
"Bao'er, what's there to care about in such a low-class, ugly fist tournament?"
"If you really want to watch, we can make a reservation for a top-level UFC event."
Zhu Bao'er's delicate brows drew together. "Huo Qisong, I never asked you to come with me."
"All right, I won't try to persuade you." Huo Qisong put on an indulgent expression.
However, when the corner of his eye caught sight of the two extra people in the room, he was more than a little displeased.
"Why are you standing around like idiots? Go downstairs and fight! Can't you see Bao'er's already upset?"
Feijizai secretly tugged at Song Ren's hem.
Song Ren said to Zhu Bao'er, "Miss Zhu, I'll go down and get ready."
Zhu Bao'er nodded, not forgetting to apologize for her fiancé's imperious tone.
"Mhm. Be careful."
"And don't take what he said to heart. He's always spoken that way."
"Oh, right. After the fight, I'll treat you two to a big meal."
"Win or lose."
Song Ren and Feijizai left the VIP room.
However, even after opening the door and walking out, they could still hear Huo Qisong's slightly arrogant voice.
"Bao'er, you're just too good-natured. When it comes to these fighters who only care about money, no matter how politely you treat them, it won't be as effective as tossing them a stack of cash."
"I'm sure they'll thank us with tears of gratitude."
As soon as they left the VIP room,
Feijizai spat to the side and cursed angrily.
"Fuck that. Looking down on people with those dog eyes."
"Miss Zhu is so beautiful, yet she has a fiancé like that. She's really had rotten luck."
"Brother, don't you agree?"
Song Ren said nothing. He simply followed the corridor to the fighters' preparation area.
A huge metal cage covered the circular ring, while lights all around fully illuminated the arena.
Long-lens cameras and other equipment had already been set up outside. The stands, holding more than a hundred spectators, were packed, and it was obvious that every person there was a well-dressed elite.
Suits, qipaos, watches, hair gel, perfume.
There was none of the thick, lingering stench of sweat found among the lower and middle classes. Yet the anticipation and fanaticism in those pairs of eyes were exactly the same.
At the floor-to-ceiling windows of the twenty-eight circular VIP rooms on the third floor, one or more influential big spenders now stood watching.