Brother Ze wanted to see me?
Qin Shi's heart skipped a beat. He remembered the North Pass Street Boss asking him whether he was Old Liang's apprentice.
"An apprentice, not a student. Brother Ze really knows the rules of Old Martial Arts."
He mused to himself as he followed the stairs up to the second floor. The fighters' underlings, lounging around on guard, stepped aside to let him pass.
He pushed open the private room door. Brother Ze stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a floral shirt and jeans, the top button undone. He held a square glass of liquor in one hand, his lips pressed tightly together.
Compared to the capable right-hand man who worked for the Big Boss, his whole bearing was more like that of a fighter from North Pass Street.
Lean and fierce, brimming with aggression!
"Shi, come over."
Cheng Ze beckoned him over warmly.
"The main event's starting."
Qin Shi deliberately stayed half a step behind instead of walking shoulder to shoulder with Brother Ze.
His eyelid twitched. He suppressed the reckless urge to activate Internal Vision and probe the Boss's strength.
A little peek didn't count as using it, but there was a time and place for everything.
Just from Brother Ze's breathing, he could tell it was unnaturally steady.
It was faint, so faint that it was almost impossible to notice unless he listened closely.
At the same time, it was unhurried and gentle, as if he were completely relaxed.
"He's a real beast!"
Qin Shi assessed that Brother Ze's Life Force level and personal strength were definitely no joke.
"That makes sense. In a place like Old Factory Street, you can't become the Boss just by talking sense or currying favor with a powerful backer."
"Who do you think is stronger, the two men in the Octagon Cage?"
Cheng Ze raised the hand holding his glass and pointed below.
Black Lonnie and Bitter Monk had already entered the cage. The former raised both arms like a living champion, demanding applause and cheers, then put on a show of crushing a watermelon and pounding a steel plate flat.
Bitter Monk, meanwhile, had his eyes closed as if meditating. He seemed oblivious to the commotion around him. With his white head wrap and hemp robe, he gave off an air of mystery.
"Brother Yuan told me neither of them is a real fighter."
Qin Shi kept up his good-kid act.
He was just a waiter working for a paycheck. He had no plans to join a gang and follow a black-market Boss.
This was a good chance to show off, and it should go to Brother Yuan and Brother Cheng.
"Even if they're hired performers rather than proper fighters, the audience paying to watch isn't stupid or blind. If they were just two ordinary guys shooting a martial arts movie, no one would buy it."
Cheng Ze chuckled, then explained:
"Before they went on, they both got injections. Black Lonnie's sense of pain will dull, while his mind gets more excited.
"As for Bitter Monk, his adrenaline level is now several times higher than normal, so he can unleash more strength than usual."
That was some commitment!
Qin Shi's mouth twitched. Those injections were even worse for the body than Old Martial Arts. It wasn't unheard of for someone to get so worked up that he dropped dead in the ring.
"One fight earns them thirty thousand."
Cheng Ze added.
Qin Shi immediately felt more understanding.
Setting aside high-risk gray-market jobs and other illicit work, the average salary in Old Factory Street was around three thousand, and most jobs were grueling labor.
One fight could earn them what other people made after working themselves to the bone for half a year.
A great deal!
As for the possibility of getting injured or harming their health, those things were never a concern for people at the bottom.
"Bitter Monk should win."
Qin Shi watched the two men, who had yet to start fighting, and gave his answer with due care.
"Why?"
Cheng Ze raised an eyebrow.
"Black Lonnie's bigger and more muscular, and he doesn't feel pain. Bitter Monk won't be able to hurt him."
Qin Shi enunciated clearly, speaking slowly:
"That's exactly why he has more to carry and will tire faster. Those overly bulky muscles limit Black Lonnie's movements and slow his reactions. Every punch, run, and sprint puts pressure on his heart and lungs.
"Bitter Monk, on the other hand, is more agile. He knows how to wear his opponent down."
Cheng Ze tilted his head back and drained the amber liquor, then praised him:
"You're good at noticing details, and you know how to judge who's stronger. But you're overlooking something more important."
Qin Shi furrowed his brow and looked toward the intense fight in the Octagon Cage.
Just as he'd predicted, Black Lonnie opened with a ferocious attack. Like a solid wall, he kept pressing in, and several times he drove Bitter Monk into a corner.
But Bitter Monk was slippery as a rat. He always managed to escape, drawing wave after wave of shocked cries from the audience.
When the timer reached around eight minutes, the enraged bull that was Black Lonnie was panting hard, his steps heavy and sluggish.
Bitter Monk, however, was like an ancient bullfighter, using a red cloth to lead Black Lonnie around in circles. Every so often, he struck below the ribs or kicked at the knee joint.
Finally, at eight minutes and forty-seven seconds, Bitter Monk brought Black Lonnie down with a sweeping kick. Then he pressed his advantage, landing several more blows to vital areas.
He finished by stomping hard on Black Lonnie's forehead, leaving him bloody and unconscious.
The spectators who had bet on Black Lonnie were furious with themselves. A few glasses shattered here and there, breaking the silence.
The lucky ones who had gone all in on the underdog, Bitter Monk, cheered and jumped for joy.
But before the referee could announce the result, Bitter Monk removed his white head wrap and basked in his victory—then suddenly felt a tight grip around his ankle and was yanked to the ground.
As the back of his head hit the floor, a pair of huge, fanlike hands clamped around his neck, lifted him, then slammed him down hard!
Thud! Thud! Thud—
After several dull impacts, Bitter Monk was completely out cold. Blood trickled from his ears and mouth, leaving him in a pitiful state.
"Black Lonnie! Let's hear it for Black Lonnie! He's the winner of this match!"
The host's frenzied shout rang through the hall again over the microphone.
The sudden reversal left the entire audience silent for a second or two.
Then the crowd erupted into an even more feverish roar than before!
The guests who had bet on Black Lonnie all got to their feet, clutching their tickets from the Midnight Palace and eagerly rushing to exchange them for cash!
"A fixed fight?"
The thought flashed through Qin Shi's mind.
"No one colluded. Xiao Yu just didn't tell Bitter Monk that he'd also given Black Lonnie a slow-acting central nervous system stimulant.
"That's how they make the performance convincing and keep the guests entertained."
Cheng Ze put down his glass.
"An upset is exciting, sure, but an unexpected twist and a believable comeback make a stronger impression on the audience."
Qin Shi kept quiet. Brother Ze had gone from a punk hanging around the arcades on Old Factory Street to the most notorious Boss on North Pass Street. Clearly, he hadn't gotten there by relying on his fists alone.
"To be a gangster, you really do have to use your brain. Otherwise, you'll be a 'feiji' your whole life."
Bitter Monk was dragged out of the Octagon Cage and carried off on a stretcher. He'd probably suffered a serious concussion or something similar.
Black Lonnie was also staggering, with multiple fractures in his sternum and ribs.
But the audience didn't care. They were too absorbed in celebrating or lamenting their bets.
Qin Shi watched the scene as Cheng Ze spoke beside him:
"If you want to make big money in Old Factory Street but don't have the ability, this is what you have to do. You have to risk your life."
Qin Shi sensed something strange. As the Midnight Palace's behind-the-scenes manager and the Boss of North Pass Street, Brother Ze had no reason to bare his heart to him and try to bond.
Yet ever since Qin Shi entered the private room, Cheng Ze had deliberately steered the conversation.
"Brother Ze, do you want to take me on as an underling?"
Qin Shi lowered his eyelids.
His future goals were the Rank-Placement Exam, a Martial Artist certificate, and a top university.
He had no interest in joining a gang or fighting for the Dragon Head Staff.
"A Shi, Brother Yuan told me you have an outstanding physique and make rapid progress training in Old Martial Arts.
"So, how about working for me?"
Just as he'd expected, Cheng Ze asked him that.
"Brother Ze, I'm a student."
Qin Shi pretended to be conflicted.
"I promised my Eldest Sister I'd study hard and get into university."
Cheng Ze didn't seem surprised. His tone was merely regretful:
"Sorry. I've had too much to drink and let it go to my head. Don't take it seriously.
"Only people with worthless lives become fighters. Listen to your Eldest Sister. Getting into a good university is more important than anything else."
He shook his head and looked toward the Octagon Cage, which had been cleaned and was slowly descending:
"That was just the warm-up. Now we're getting to real underground fighting."
Two-thirds of the guests had left the hall. Those who had won their bets or lost them had gone home.
Only a few regulars, all VIPs, remained. Waiters led them down to the first basement level, to the "Dog Fighting Arena."
"Their physical strength is blindingly intense."
Qin Shi followed Brother Ze down the stairs. Two carefully trained fighters appeared before them.
This time, he used Internal Vision for a brief look. Their red-and-white auras shone brightly, like fiercely burning torches.
"They earn seventy thousand for one match."
Cheng Ze spoke softly, then turned to the two fighters who had willingly become fighters.
"You two were picked by drawing lots for the Death Match Arena. Same rules as always: whoever falls in the ring, I'll look after his parents and family. The Righteous Fist Society will also pay the settlement money."
"Understood, Brother Ze!"
"Thank you, Brother Ze!"
The fighters, both around twenty-five or twenty-six, wore resolute expressions. They weren't afraid of the brutal match to the death that awaited them.
"Go on."
Cheng Ze waved them off, his interest waning. He didn't go down to the first basement level to watch the fighters tear into each other.
He sat alone in the empty hall and had Qin Shi bring him a bottle of strong liquor, which he downed glass after glass.
About forty minutes later, the wealthy guests, having had their fill of the spectacle, returned upstairs. Manager Yu then saw them out of the Midnight Palace.
"A Ze, your two underlings were incredible—really fought for their lives! One had an eye gouged out and still got back up. The other was even more impressive; he bit through his opponent's throat with his teeth!"
The tall, thin man in gold-rimmed glasses came up to Cheng Ze and spoke excitedly:
"Those big shots from Smoke City were thoroughly entertained and loved the hospitality. When it comes to discussing their investment in a Fighting Club, we should have it in the bag!
"I'd heard that every underling from your Righteous Fist Society was a tough fighter who knew how to scrap. Now I've finally seen it for myself.
"With them, the club can definitely get off the ground!"
Cheng Ze lowered his head, his expression unclear.
"Brother Luo, everyone in the Righteous Fist Society is one of our own. For a Death Match Arena like this, find some outsiders next time..."
The tall, thin man in gold-rimmed glasses stiffened. He gave a false smile and said:
"Brother Hao has already paid the settlement money. Everyone who's out here hustling is in it for the cash. What does it matter whether they're brothers or not, as long as there's money to be made?
"I'm also planning to bring in a few killer dogs from the Metropolitan Area, the kind that have had surgery. We'll put on a man-versus-dog fight!
"If you ask me, A Ze, you've been too lenient running the Righteous Fist Society.
"I checked the books recently. There are way too many useless freeloaders.
"Some have bad legs, some have lost hands, some are sick... We spend a fortune on them every year.
"A Ze, there's nothing wrong with being loyal, but taking Brother Hao's money to support your own people—that's not right."
Qin Shi, who usually went unnoticed, sensed the tension in the air and discreetly studied Cheng Ze, who seemed drunk.
To his senses, Brother Ze's breathing had remained extremely faint and shallow.
Now that steady line on his chart suddenly surged upward, pulling far ahead in an instant.
It was like a placid sea erupting into a raging tempest. It was terrifying!
After a moment of silence, Cheng Ze lifted his head and looked at the tall, thin man in gold-rimmed glasses:
"Brother Luo, they've all done their part for the Righteous Fist Society. Look after them a little, if only for my sake."
The tall, thin man adjusted his glasses.
"A Ze, my hands are tied, too. After all, the Righteous Fist Society and the club are both Brother Hao's businesses.
"How about this? Find a chance to talk to Brother Hao and see if he agrees."
Then he left with his bodyguards and driver.
Cheng Ze pressed his lips together, then suddenly smiled at Qin Shi:
"A Shi, your sister was right. Study hard. Don't become a punk.
"There are plenty of punks in Old Factory Street, and their lives are cheap. There's no future in it."
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