Early that morning in the West Court Canteen, another familiar, impotent roar rang out.
"Chen Chong, are you ever going to stop?"
When Chen Chong came over to take another plate, He Xin couldn't hold back. He slapped the table and shot to his feet.
Chen Chong looked at him and said flatly,
"Want to fight?"
Those four words instantly deflated He Xin's bravado—and his posture. He dropped back into his seat, gritted his teeth, and stared at the table, trembling with anger. But when he remembered how Li Xiang had been sent flying on the first day and ended up crippled, he suddenly calmed down.
When Chen Chong saw that he wasn't answering, he looked to the others beside him.
"Numbers 14, 17, and 18 have already agreed. Any objections?"
The fat on Number 17's face twitched, but he'd seen what had happened to Li Xiang and watched Number 14 trade punches with Chen Chong. He knew he was about as strong as He Xin, and had no chance against Chen Chong, so he kept quiet.
The middle-aged man's presence was imposing, but he merely said in a measured tone,
"My name is Wang Anjun. You'll remember it."
Chen Chong smiled, picked up the plate of food that looked like a bear's paw, and left.
"What do we do now?"
He Xin spread his hands.
"We were going to cut his food allowance to slow his training. Now he's keeping an eye on us, and not only have we failed to hold him back, he's even eating on our allowance—using our money!"
Wang Anjun looked at him.
"Then why don't you go fight him?"
He Xin fell silent. Then he asked in a low voice,
"Could we get those Level 1 guys to handle him quietly...?"
"Do you think