Hou Biao took off his sun hat, put the gun inside, and then put the hat on the ground.
He took a small step forward, his knees slightly bent, maintaining a stable center of gravity while remaining agile. He clenched his fists and crossed them in front of his chest, hunching his back and lowering his shiny bald head slightly, burying it between his fists to cover his face, leaving only his eagle-like eyes staring at Qingmu.
Since leaving the underground boxing ring, Hou Biao hadn't struck such a pose in a long time. After becoming a mercenary, his goal shifted from defeating opponents to killing them, rendering many of his boxing skills useless. In terms of killing skills, soldiers are undoubtedly superior, but in one-on-one hand-to-hand combat, even the strongest soldier cannot defeat a top-notch professional fighter.
Hou Biao was an excellent mercenary, his battles leaving their mark across the rainforests of Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia; he was also a top-notch fighter, boasting a record of 43 wins, 3 losses, and 30 knockouts in his 46 professional fights. Whether in the mercenary market or the underground boxing rings of Thailand, his nickname " Monkey " was once legendary. Although his skills are not what they used to be, he has truly never encountered a worthy opponent in a city like Wuzhong.
Qingmu still had that lazy look on his face, slightly hunched over, like someone who had just stayed up all night at an internet cafe and was now yawning. The only difference was that he had taken his hands out of his pockets, his fingers slightly curled.
Hou Biao vaguely heard a few soft cracking sounds from the joints, the sounds crisp and clear. He knew that only a true martial artist could make such sounds without moving. He glanced at the slippers on Qingmu's feet, then suddenly pounced like a leopard, delivering a straight punch to Qingmu's face.
Qingmu shifted his feet slightly, sidestepped Hou Biao's fist, and simultaneously slashed horizontally with his right palm like a knife. He was clearly not using modern combat techniques, but rather a method similar to ancient martial arts. He didn't know why he used such a move; he just used it instinctively.
Hou Biao anticipated that his punch would miss, so he didn't use his full strength. When he saw Qingmu dodge to the side, he stopped the force of his punch, raised his left arm to block Qingmu's palm strike, and lashed out with his right leg in a whip kick at Qingmu's weight-bearing leg.
Qingmu struck Hou Biao's arm with a palm strike, feeling as if he had hit a steel plate, realizing that the man's muscles were far stronger than he had imagined. At that Hou Biao's whip kick arrived. Qingmu pressed down with his left hand, holding down Hou Biao's shinbone as he swung his leg. He gripped Hou Biao's leg like a suction cup, then flicked it outwards, exposing an opening in Hou Biao's lower body. Qingmu lifted his left foot and delivered a powerful kick, sending his flip-flop flying towards Hou Biao's groin.
Hou Biao hadn't expected Qingmu to react so quickly, and the sudden suction of the palm was completely unexpected, almost causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. However, he was experienced in fighting and knew that if he exposed an opening, his opponent would definitely attack his groin. Without thinking, he slammed his right fist, which he had just retracted, down towards his groin, hitting Qingmu's raised instep squarely.
A loud crack was heard, and the two men jolted as their fists and feet collided. Hou Biao felt a numbness in the back of his hand and excruciating pain in his knuckles, so he unconsciously loosened his grip and shook his head. Qingmu's instep wasn't much better; it felt as if he had just been kicked with an iron hammer.
The two shifted their positions and exchanged several more blows in a flash, each one lightning-fast, resulting in a draw.
Hou Biao found the fight increasingly exhilarating, feeling as if he had returned to the boxing ring of yesteryear. However, not every move in the boxing ring is a killing blow, so it felt more like returning to the battlefield, yet the battlefield lacked the visceral, satisfying feeling of each punch landing.
Compared to Hou Biao, Qingmu's feelings were more complex.
This was the first time he had truly engaged in close combat, without relying on weapons or Mental Power, and the feeling was strange. He fought Hou Biao almost instinctively, each punch or kick unplanned, as if he were a puppet, his body being directed by another consciousness. Yet, he vaguely remembered that he had studied these things and had considerable practical experience. Images of bloody battles even flashed through his mind, more intense and spectacular than the current fight. However, these images were independent and disjointed, unable to provide him with complete memories. Whenever he tried to connect these fragments of memory, he felt overwhelmed, wanted to slack off, and even longed to ignore the life-or-death struggle and simply lie down and sleep.
Hou Biao's elbow strike was blocked by Qingmu's palm, and suddenly his right hand pulled out a dagger from his waist.
The opening he created when he reached for the dagger gave Qingmu an opportunity, and Qingmu's palm strike aimed at Hou Biao's ribs. Hou Biao a sharp pain and his abdomen recoiled. Qingmu immediately followed up by changing his palm into a fist and thrusting it forward.
If he had used all his strength in that strike, Hou Biao would have broken several of his ribs.
But at that moment, Hou Biao's dagger had already been drawn. As Qingmu broke Hou Biao's ribs, he was afraid that he would not be able to stop in time and his arm would be cut. So he only used three-tenths of his strength and kept seven-tenths to pull his arm back, preparing to deal with the dagger.
The saying "to catch a blade barehanded" is only possible when there is a huge difference in strength. Now, the two are evenly matched and fighting fiercely, when suddenly the opponent has a knife in his hand, Qingmu has no choice but to be on high alert.
But Hou Biao slashing forward with the dagger as he expected, Hou Biao threw it forward, and the dagger pierced the trunk of a tree next to Qingmu with a thud.
Hou Biao was struck in the ribs by Qingmu. Although he was not seriously injured, he still groaned in pain and stumbled back a few steps, clutching his ribs.
He slowly pulled a wire from his belt and said to Qingmu, "Without weapons, neither of us can kill the other. Here, take the dagger; I'll use this."
Qingmu then realized that the man had drawn his sword to give it to him. He thought to himself that this guy was really straightforward; if he hadn't told him beforehand, Aoki's ribs would be broken by now.
Hou Biao rubbed the spot on his ribs where he had been struck, loosening his shoulders. Then, in a flash, the wire in his hand darted towards Qingmu's face like a nimble snake.
Qingmu pulled the dagger from the tree trunk, and with lightning speed, used the back of the blade to knock the end of the wire in Hou Biao's hand, making a clinking sound.
The wire was made of some unknown material; it was neither as soft as a rope nor as stiff as iron wire. When it was swung, it made a cracking sound, somewhat like a whip, but when it clashed with a sharp dagger, it produced a loud metallic clang.
Hou Biao's first strike missed, and his whip, like a nimble snake, circled in the air before sweeping horizontally. Qingmu ducked to dodge the whip, then pressed forward, his dagger flashing with a cold light as he thrust it straight at Hou Biao's chest. Hou Biao dodged, but Qingmu flicked his wrist, spinning the dagger halfway around his wrist before still aiming for Hou Biao's chest.
Qingmu's method was beyond Hou Biao's expectations. This method was not used at all when the army trained for short-blade killing. This was not a modern combat technique at all, but more like an adaptation of ancient swordsmanship.
By this Hou Biao's position was fixed, and his steps were slow, making it impossible for him to dodge Qingmu's extremely strange thrust. But he was no pushover; in desperation, he pulled back the wire in his hand, holding one end in each hand, and twisted it back and forth, wrapping the wire around the dagger. With this binding force, he barely managed to stop the dagger's advance. At this moment, the tip of the blade had already pierced his clothes, and a cool sensation touched his chest.
Taking advantage of Hou Biao's focus being entirely on the wire in his hand and the dagger in his chest, Qingmu kicked out with his Hou Biao's supporting leg. Hou Biao lost his balance and watched helplessly as he fell forward, lunging towards the dagger.