A dozen minutes later, Miao Mu came down from the ring with both hands in his pockets. He had indeed paid with his body...
But not in the way Miao Mu had imagined. He had already prepared himself to test the limits of his resolve and make a deal worth over a billion.
In the end, talking about money... hurt feelings.
He had fought two matches. The open-entry ring paid fifty dollars per match.
His first opponent had been a thief. No, although he was a thief, he was not the sort one imagined—the kind who quietly slipped a hand into someone's pocket to steal a wallet.
Gotham people never wronged themselves, much less made themselves commit such stifling crimes.
Their theft... involved pressing a knife to a "fat sheep's" lower back, telling them to shut up, and then... reaching in to take it themselves!
He could clearly have robbed them, yet he still insisted on doing it himself. What kind of professional integrity was that?!
Of course, that professional practice had been upgraded into a "weapons match" inside the black-boxing octagon, with him flipping a butterfly knife around in his hand.
He looked vicious and exceptionally fierce.
But after Miao Mu entered the ring carrying a street-fighting "brick," he sent one brick flying and knocked the man unconscious.
Then Miao Mu grabbed his arm and hurled him with all his strength over the more-than-two-meter-high wire fence. When he hit the ground, the dull thud was accompanied by a scream.
His second opponent had been a bald Russian skinhead. Once the man took off his black leather jacket, he looked like a shaved polar bear.
He was built like a tank. It had been a brutal, fist-to-fist fight, and Miao Mu was not even in the same weight class as