Betting on a Winner, Eve of the Storm

Brother Ze called me?

Qin Shi's heart skipped a beat. He remembered this boss of North Pass Street asking him if he was Old Liang's disciple.

"Disciple, not student. It seems Brother Ze knows the rules of Old Martial Arts well."

He mused, heading up the stairs to the second floor. The casually guarding boxer underling stepped aside to let him pass.

Pushing open the private room door, Brother Ze stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, wearing a floral shirt and jeans. He had unbuttoned the top button, holding a square wine glass, his lips pressed tightly together.

Compared to a capable right-hand man working for a big boss, the aura he exuded was more like a boxer from North Pass Street.

Lean and sharp, full of aggression!

"Xiao Shi, come here."

Cheng Ze beckoned, his attitude friendly.

"The big show has started."

Qin Shi deliberately fell back a step, not walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Brother Ze.

His eyelids twitched, suppressing the adventurous urge to activate his inner sight and probe the boss's strength.

A little peek wasn't forbidden, but it depended on the situation.

Just by listening to the rhythm of Brother Ze's breathing, he could detect that overly steady Qi.

It was shallow, faint, almost imperceptible if one didn't listen carefully.

At the same time, it was soothing and gentle, as if he were completely relaxed.

"He's fierce!"

Qin Shi commented. Brother Ze's vitality level and personal strength were definitely not low.

"It's also reasonable. In a place like Old Factory Street, you can't become a boss relying solely on reason or by clinging to bosses."

"Who do you think is stronger, the two in the octagon?"

Cheng Ze raised the hand holding the wine glass and pointed downwards.

Black Lonnie and Bitter Monk had already entered the ring. The former raised his hands high, like a king of boxing, soliciting applause and cheers. He also performed feats like crushing watermelons and denting steel plates.

Bitter Monk, on the other hand, closed his eyes to meditate, as if in a trance, completely oblivious to the commotion outside. Coupled with his white headscarf and sackcloth robe, he exuded an air of mystery.

"Brother Yuan told me neither of them are true Fighters."

Qin Shi maintained his innocent act.

He was just a working waiter, not planning to join a gang with the mob bosses.

This kind of opportunity to show off should be left to Brother Yuan and Brother Cheng.

"Although they are hired actors, not legitimate boxers, the audience who paid to watch the performance isn't stupid or blind. If they were just two ordinary people filming a martial arts movie, would they be willing to pay?"

Cheng Ze chuckled and then explained:

"They were injected before they came out. Black Lonnie's pain perception will be dulled, and his spirit will be more excited.

Bitter Monk's adrenaline concentration is now several times higher than normal, allowing him to unleash stronger power than usual."

They're really going all out!

Qin Shi's mouth twitched. These injections were more damaging than Old Martial Arts. It was even possible to die suddenly on stage from over-excitement.

"They can earn thirty thousand yuan for one fight."

Cheng Ze added.

Qin Shi immediately felt relieved.

Putting aside high-risk illicit trades and side hustles, the average salary in Old Factory Street was around three thousand, and most of it was hard labor.

Fighting one match earned as much money as others worked their entire lives to earn in half a year.

It was worth it!

As for the potential for injury and harm to the body, these factors were never within the scope of consideration for those at the bottom.

"Bitter Monk should win."

Qin Shi looked intently at the two who hadn't started fighting yet and gave a cautious answer.

"Why?"

Cheng Ze raised an eyebrow.

"Black Lonnie's physique is stronger, he's bigger, and he's not afraid of pain, so Bitter Monk can't hurt him."

Qin Shi enunciated clearly, speaking slowly:

"Precisely because of this, he carries a heavier burden and his stamina depletes faster. Black Lonnie's excessively large muscles restrict his movements and slow his reaction time. Every punch, every run, every sprint, squeezes his heart and lungs.

Conversely, Bitter Monk is more agile. He knows how to wear down his opponent."

Cheng Ze threw his head back and drained the amber liquid, praising:

"You're very good at observing details and judging strength, but you've overlooked something more important."

Qin Shi frowned, his gaze falling on the intensely fought octagon.

Just as he'd predicted, Black Lonnie attacked ferociously at the start, like a thick city wall, constantly pressing forward. Several times, he had the Bitter Monk cornered.

But the Bitter Monk was slippery, like a rat, always managing to escape, eliciting gasps from the crowd.

When the timer reached around eight minutes, Black Lonnie, that enraged bull, was panting heavily, his steps slow and heavy.

The Bitter Monk, however, was like an ancient bullfighter, toying with Black Lonnie with a red cloth, occasionally striking below the ribs or kicking the knee joints.

Finally, at eight minutes and forty-seven seconds, the Bitter Monk landed a sweep kick that sent Black Lonnie to the ground, unable to get up. He pressed his advantage, delivering several more critical blows.

With a final, powerful stomp to the forehead, he crushed Black Lonnie's head, leaving him bleeding and unconscious.

The spectators who had bet on Black Lonnie to win were greatly annoyed, with a few isolated sounds of glasses shattering.

Meanwhile, the lucky few who had bet on the underdog Bitter Monk rejoiced.

But before the referee could announce the result, the triumphant Bitter Monk, who had just taken off his white headscarf, suddenly felt his ankle tighten, and then he was pulled down.

As the back of his head hit the ground, a pair of large, fan-like hands grabbed his neck, lifted him up forcefully, and then slammed him down again!

THUD! THUD! THUD!

After a few dull impacts, the Bitter Monk completely lost consciousness, blood trickling from his ears and mouth, his appearance pathetic.

"Black Lonnie! Let's all shout Black Lonnie's name! He is the victor of this match!"

The host's rousing roar echoed through the hall again via the microphone.

The sudden turn of events plunged the entire venue into a second or two of dead silence.

Then, a wave of sound even more fervent than before erupted!

Guests who had bet on Black Lonnie stood up, clutching their tickets from the Midnight Palace, eager to exchange them for cash!

"A fixed match?"

That thought flashed through Qin Shi's mind.

"There was no collusion. Little Si just didn't tell the Bitter Monk that he'd also given Black Lonnie a slow-acting central nervous stimulant.

That way, it looks more realistic and the guests are entertained."

Cheng Ze put down his wine glass.

"An upset is exciting, but an unexpected twist, followed by a reasonable comeback, makes a deeper impression on the audience."

Qin Shi remained silent. Brother Ze, from being a delinquent hanging out in the arcades on Old Factory Street to becoming the most famous gangster on North Pass Street, clearly didn't rely on brute force alone.

"To be a gangster, you really need to use your brain, otherwise you'll always be a nobody."

The Bitter Monk was dragged out of the octagon and onto a stretcher, likely suffering from a severe concussion or similar injury.

Black Lonnie's body was also swaying, with multiple fractures in his chest and ribs.

But the audience didn't care, immersed only in their revelry or disappointment.

As Qin Shi watched the scene, Cheng Ze beside him spoke.

"If you want to make big money on Old Factory Street but don't have the skills, this is what happens. You have to risk your life."

Qin Shi keenly sensed something unusual. As a behind-the-scenes manager of the Midnight Palace and the boss of North Pass Street, Brother Ze had no reason to confide in him or try to build rapport.

Yet, ever since they entered the private room, Cheng Ze had been deliberately steering the conversation.

"Does Brother Ze want to take me under his wing?"

Qin Shi lowered his eyelids.

His future goals were the rank promotion exam, a Martial Artist certificate, and a top university.

He had no interest in joining a gang and fighting for leadership.

"Ah Shi, I heard from Ah Yuan that your physical talent is outstanding, and your progress in Old Martial Arts is very rapid.

So, what do you say? Want to work for me?"

As expected, Cheng Ze asked this question.

"Brother Ze, I'm a student."

Qin Shi feigned difficulty.

"I promised Big Sister that I would study hard and go to university."

Cheng Ze didn't seem surprised, merely expressing regret in his tone.

"Sorry, I got a bit muddled from drinking. Don't take it to heart.

Only those with worthless lives become boxers. Listen to your Big Sister, getting into a good university is better than anything."

He shook his head and looked at the cleaned and slowly descending octagon.

"That was just the warm-up. This is the real underground fighting."

Two-thirds of the guests in the hall had left, either having won their bets or lost them.

Only a portion of the VIP regulars remained, being led by the service staff to the "dog fighting arena" on the first basement level.

"What blinding physical strength."

Qin Shi followed Brother Ze down the stairs, and two meticulously trained fighters appeared before them.

This time, he used his internal vision to take a quick look. Their colors were bright red and white, like fiercely burning torches.

"They fight one match for seventy thousand."

Cheng Ze said in a low voice, then turned to the two boxers who willingly became fighters.

"You two were chosen by drawing lots for life and death. Same old rules: whoever falls on the ring, I'll take care of their parents and family, and the Righteous Fist Society will cover the settlement fees."

"Got it, Brother Ze!"

"Thank you, Brother Ze!"

The boxers, both around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, had determined eyes and showed no fear of the brutal fighting matches that would decide their lives.

"Go on."

Cheng Ze waved his hand dismissively, not going down to the basement level to watch the fighters kill each other.

He sat alone in the empty lobby, asking Qin Shi to bring him a bottle of high-proof liquor, which he drank cup after cup.

About forty minutes later, the thrill-seeker, having had his fill of watching, returned upstairs, and was then escorted out of the Midnight Palace by the manager.

"Ah Ze, your two little brothers are so brave, so desperate! One got his eye poked out and still stood up; the other was even more incredible, biting through his opponent's throat with his teeth!"

The tall, thin man wearing gold-rimmed glasses approached Cheng Ze and said excitedly:

"The big bosses from Smoke City enjoyed themselves immensely, and were very satisfied with my hospitality. We'll talk about investing and taking shares to set up a Fighting Club later, it should be a sure thing!

I'd only heard before that the disciples from your Righteous Fist Society were all capable fighters, but today I've finally seen it for myself.

With them around, the club's venue will definitely be able to hold its own in the early stages!"

Cheng Ze lowered his head, his expression unreadable:

"Brother Luo, the Righteous Fist Society are all brothers. For things like life-and-death matches, find some outsiders in the future..."

The tall, thin man with gold-rimmed glasses stiffened, a fake smile on his face.

"Brother Hao already provided settlement fees. Out here, it's all about making money, not brotherhood.

Later, I'm even planning to get some surgically modified killer dogs from the metropolitan area for a man-vs-dog battle!

If you ask me, Ah Ze, you were too lenient when you managed the Righteous Fist Society.

I checked the accounts recently, and there are too many useless people just eating for free.

People with crippled legs, broken arms, or illnesses... The annual expenses are huge.

Ah Ze, there's nothing wrong with valuing loyalty, but using Brother Hao's money to support your own brothers, that's not right."

Qin Shi, who felt as insignificant as a speck of dust, sensed the tense atmosphere and quietly observed Cheng Ze, who seemed drunk.

In his perception, Brother Ze's breathing had always been extremely faint and shallow.

That stable wave suddenly surged upwards, creating a huge gap in an instant.

It was like a calm sea erupting into a storm, truly terrifying!

After a moment of silence, Cheng Ze looked up at the tall, thin man with gold-rimmed glasses:

"Brother Luo, they've all contributed to the Righteous Fist Society. Please look after them a bit, consider it giving me face."

The tall, thin man adjusted his glasses frame:

"Ah Ze, I'm in a difficult position too. After all, the Righteous Fist Society and the club are, in the end, Brother Hao's businesses.

How about this: you find an opportunity to talk to Brother Hao and see if he agrees."

Afterward, he left in his car with his bodyguards and driver.

Cheng Ze pursed his lips tightly, then suddenly smiled at Qin Shi:

"Ah Shi, your sister was right. Study hard, don't be a good-for-nothing. There are many good-for-nothings on Old Factory Street, and their lives are cheap, with no future."