Chapter 18

The world of professional fighting wasn't really that brutal—at least, not when it was regulated. Underground fighting was another matter. Because of his background, Bai Lang might never make it onto the brightly lit, legitimate rings. Those people knew he'd come from the north and had no real identity. Wasn't someone like him exactly the fresh blood underground fighting needed? And if you wanted to control an underground fighter, the simplest methods were money, violence, and addictive substances.

Bai Lang wasn't interested in any of those things. In another nine years, he'd be going back through time, so what use was money to him? As for violence, he didn't want to burn his bridges just yet. And addictive substances? Whoever dared bring those to him would be an old man hanging himself—looking for an early grave.

"I guess it's no use." After knocking out yet another opponent, Bai Lang sat in the lounge and thought this to himself. It really was no use. His opponents were already quite formidable; a few of them even had records of killing people in the ring. Yet none of them could last even one move against him. Bai Lang had tried holding back and letting them show off their specialties first, but he'd found that their martial arts were just techniques for killing. They offered no useful insights into his own martial arts.

"As for the bloodlust from killing? I've had that for ages." Bai Lang thought this, and acted accordingly. The martial arts he practiced were already based on imitating animals. When training, he had to imagine himself as a tiger or leopard, channeling his strength through his entire body in one continuous flow, even when launching a casual attack. That was how he'd mastered the Tiger Form, and now he'd developed the Golden Bell Form as well—though his inner strength wasn't yet deep enough to shape it into a great bell.

Muay Thai was always vicious. Fists, feet, knees, and elbows—all eight points were weapons. And underground fights offered even less protection. The gloves were so thin they might as well have offered no protection at all, and fighters wore nothing but shorts—no groin guards or mouthguards. The people who came to watch and place bets wanted to see blood and gore. Bai Lang had fought a dozen or so matches by now. He was undefeated, but somehow he never seemed to inspire the crowd's enthusiasm.

His fights lacked any real explosive moments. Usually, he'd just surge forward and land a single blow with his palm or fist. His opponent would drop unconscious, without suffering any lasting injuries—just a knockout. It wasn't bloody enough to please the crowd. But the people running the betting operation were getting fed up with his hundred-percent win rate. It was hard to set the odds with someone like him. Still, he was bland and didn't seem to have much appeal with the audience. Perhaps they should bench him for a while, or try controlling him with addictive drugs. If possible, no one wanted to use force.

That was how things had come to this. Bai Lang looked young, about eighteen or nineteen. He'd been filthy back when he was a little beggar, but after joining the Changle Gang, he'd had a chance to clean up. Later, he became the head enforcer at a broker's shop and devoted himself to martial arts, so he rarely went out to beat people up. Though he was only fifteen or sixteen, he looked eighteen or nineteen, yet still had a clean-cut, handsome face. Once Bai Lang's features had fully matured, he'd become quite striking. He had arched brows, phoenix eyes, a straight nose, well-defined, full lips, and a square face. By his twenties, he'd surely be a fine-looking man.

The people around him figured that a man like this could be introduced to the pleasures of the world. Before long, they could use women and drugs to get him under control. And if that caused his fighting ability to decline, well, someone of his level wasn't going to lose his edge overnight. Besides, underground fighters weren't expected to fight until old age. If they could make a killing in one rigged match—even if it was only a few tens of thousands of dollars—then Bai Lang would already have paid for himself. What happened to him afterward meant nothing to them.

One day, after Bai Lang finished his training, his assistant—who handled his affairs day to day—brought over a few young women and several pleasant-looking young men. "Let's go out and unwind," he said. Bai Lang's martial arts had probably reached the limit of what this world could offer, but he never skipped his daily strength training, circulating his inner power, or absorbing that breath of Purple Qi at sunrise. Whether he kept at it was up to him. He knew he was responsible for himself.

Bai Lang had managed to pick up some Thai during his brief stay. After regaining some of his English, learning another language in a tourist country wasn't too difficult by comparison. "Go out and unwind." He looked at the young women and smiled. "A beach and some seawater wouldn't sound too bad."

"Eh? What's the fun in that? Let's go to a bar or karaoke. That's where young people should be!" the man leading the group said. Bai Lang didn't mind either way. He didn't dislike socializing, and with his current martial arts and inner strength, a little alcohol wouldn't affect him at all. At this level, his liver was so active that ordinary drinks—without any special additives—couldn't get him drunk, no matter how much he drank.

Maybe meditating and practicing the Lesser Heavenly Cycle to the beat of thumping music will have some unexpected benefits? Bai Lang followed the others. "My ears are filled with decadent music, my eyes with wanton women." A faint smile touched his lips as he surveyed the noisy bar. The group had settled into a booth. The women had tried several times to drag Bai Lang onto the dance floor, but he'd refused each time. Eventually, they simply leaned against him or climbed right into his lap.

Bai Lang remained utterly unbothered, sitting with perfect composure. He held a soft drink rather than alcohol and sipped it now and then, chatting and joking with the women. They all spoke English, so he understood them perfectly. At their urging, he sometimes ran his hands over them, yet his gaze remained calm and clear, and his body showed no reaction. A faint, curved smile lingered at the corner of his mouth. I can joke around without restraint and still circulate my inner strength through the Lesser Heavenly Cycle without the slightest disruption. This really is quite effective, he thought.

"Come on! Let's make things more exciting! Here, try this!" One of the young men in the group pulled out a packet of pills. Bai Lang had already caught them exchanging glances earlier. "Oh?" Though he'd more or less guessed what was going on, he played along and gave a noncommittal response. "What's that?" he asked, pretending not to know.

"Good stuff that'll make you feel amazing! Relax a little, big bro. Here, take one."