His kick was incredibly fast. Yang Chu turned sideways and dodged the straight kick.
Smack! The attacker showed no sign of slowing down. Before his first kick had even landed, his other leg was already in the air, sweeping in from the side toward Yang Chu's right cheek.
Yang Chu raised a hand to block on his right. With a sudden burst of strength, he stopped the high roundhouse kick, then hunched his back and lowered his body, ready to charge at the man who had ambushed him.
But the man used the force of Yang Chu's block to retreat two or three steps. He dusted off his old-fashioned long gown, glanced at Yang Chu, and studied him with a calculating look. "You've got some skill, daring to call all of us here for a leg-work contest."
Yang Chu now got a good look at the man. He was around forty or fifty, thin, with a queue hanging down the back of his head and a thin moustache above his lip. His clothes were old-fashioned, and his triangular eyes seemed to glint with a cold light.
Yang Chu's gaze passed over the middle-aged man with the queue and fell on the other figures standing on the platform behind him.
There were six more of them.
On the far left stood a sturdy young man of average height, around twenty-five years old. He was casually dressed and had a bit of an artistic air about him.
Next was a man in his thirties wearing a tracksuit. He was tall and long-legged, with regular features. Beside him stood a barefoot, muscular man in shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, his muscles bulging and his legs thick as iron pillars.
The other three men were between thirty and fifty. Some wore shirts and slacks,