Nanya High School
The air in the underground boxing ring was so thick that it could not be dissolved. The smell of sweat, blood and cheap tobacco mixed into a suffocating and foul gas.
The surrounding darkness was filled with restless figures, and rough roars merged into a deafening wave: "Beat him! Beat him to death!"
"Tank! Crush that guy!"
"Xia Ziran! Hold on! I'm betting on you!"
Money waved between greasy fingers, and empty bottles shattered harshly against the iron cage. Xia Ziran stood at the center of the cage, sweat beads on his bare chest reflecting the dim overhead light. Every greedy breath felt like a quaff of violent nectar—the audience's frenzied malice was like an invisible electric current, stimulating every pore of his body to tremble.
The opposing "tanks" pressed down like a mountain, and the audience's roar instantly rose. A heavy fist grazed his cheekbone, and a searing pain exploded, yet a low, hoarse laugh escaped Xia Ziran's throat. This pain, along with those cries filled with destructive desire, became the fuse that ignited his blood.
He charged into Tank's arms like a bloodthirsty rhino, his forehead colliding fiercely with his jaw. The dull thud of flesh and bone clashing was drowned out by the even wilder cheers. "Ribs! Break his ribs!" someone screamed. A powerful punch slammed into Xia Ziran's ribs. Amidst the suffocating pain, he unexpectedly sensed a strange, tingling pleasure from the distorted sound waves. His mouth stretched into a grin, blood streaking.
The two men rolled and wrestled in the small cage. Xia Ziran was thrown against the wire mesh by the huge force. The humming of metal penetrated his spine, and the roar of the audience seemed to penetrate his bones along the cold wire. He slid down and then suddenly counterattacked, fiercely kneeing the "tank" in the abdomen. The opponent screamed in pain and staggered.
"It's falling! The tank is falling!" The ecstatic screams nearly ripped the roof off the ground. Xia Ziran seized the opportunity, his fists hammering down like drums. Each hit drew bloodthirsty cheers and even more frantic curses. The continuous sound and pain intertwined, his eyes burning with ecstasy.
On the brink of the abyss of sinking consciousness, the audience's frenzied images and deafening roars still lashed against the wreckage of the senses like a tide. The satisfied curve frozen at the corners of their mouths silently announced this ultimate intoxication fueled by pain, achieved amidst the collective carnival of violence.
Xia Ziran was hurriedly carried out of the iron cage on a stretcher and stuffed directly into the waiting ambulance, which sped all the way to his private hospital. Outside the operating room, Chen Mo was already waiting, fully armed. As the body on the stretcher, with barely a single piece of intact skin left, looking like it had been repeatedly run over by a heavy truck, was pushed in, Chen Mo didn't even raise an eyebrow. This surgical prodigy at Nanshi First Hospital and Xia Ziran's exclusive "personal doctor" was all too familiar with this scene - there were always a few days every month when Young Master Xia would be sent back home exhausted like a rag doll.
"Can you still breathe?" Chen Mo leaned forward, his voice as calm as a scalpel. His first priority was to confirm his ancestor's vital signs. If he truly lost consciousness or his pupils were dilated, he would immediately book a flight and flee. The Xia family's wrath was no joke.
"...hiss...it hurts..." A faint but clear gasp came from the stretcher, carrying with it an indescribable pain. It was unclear whether it was a physiological reaction or an answer to Chen Mo's question.
Chen Mo's heart settled down a little, at least the patient was still conscious and could cry out in pain. "Administer anesthesia, prepare for debridement and suture, and focus on the mandible and ribs!" He gave the order decisively, and the nurses immediately got busy. Looking at Xia Ziran who was quickly pushed to the operating room, Chen Mo couldn't help but complain in his heart: A top rich boy who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is he really going to fight so hard in an underground black boxing? If he reveals his identity, who would dare to touch him? ...Oh, I almost forgot, being a member of the Xia family is a taboo. Well, this crime is purely what he deserves. Resigned to his fate, Chen Mo turned and followed into the operating room. It was another night that was destined to fight until dawn.
The next afternoon, Xia Ziran slowly woke up in the pungent smell of disinfectant in the VIP ward. His eyelids felt heavy as if they were filled with lead, and his head felt like it was filled with hot lead blocks, heavy and swollen. Every heartbeat caused his temples to throb with pain. His lips were swollen, numb and stiff, and even the slightest movement was difficult. He rolled his eyes with difficulty and confirmed: fortunately, his arms and legs were still there, and his fingers and toes could move. Just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the long-awaited, severe pain that felt like being torn apart and reassembled came over him, making him groan.
The ward door slammed open with a clang, shattering the quiet. Chen Mo, who was just entering with his medical records ready for rounds, was startled by the noise. He saw a throng of people at the door, several ridiculously shaped figures trying to rush in simultaneously—leading the way was Scarface, one arm slung across his chest in a heavy cast, his face bandaged, and a bruise on his forehead. Following behind him were several more shabby-looking men: some on crutches, some with blood-soaked bandages wrapped around their heads, and one with half his face swollen like a steamed bun, his gums seemingly covered in plaster, his speech slurred.
"Boss! Boss! You're awake!" Scarface completely ignored the frowning Chen Mo and rushed to Xia Ziran's bedside. His movements were so severe that they agitated the wound, causing him to grimace in pain. However, he still tried to appear loyal, kneeling on one knee beside the bed. "We've found the person you're looking for. She's a high school girl."
"Female?" Xia Ziran suddenly sat up from the bed and quickly calmed down, his eyes revealing disbelief. Xia Ziran was about to open his mouth to speak, but the ward was silent. Scarface brought a pen and paper, and Xia Ziran wrote "Find someone to test her."
Scarface and his fellow minions received their boss's instructions and emerged from the ward with a swagger. "Scarface, who do you think will win, our God of War or that girl?"
"It's hard to say. We'll know in a few days." Scarface was actually already eager to try it in his heart.
Wu Shi learned about Yu Mian's transfer to another school five days after the incident. This incident was too sudden. Although it was the best outcome for Mian, it did add some difficulty to Wu Shi's ultimate mission.
The history teacher was lecturing furiously, but Wu Shi, a high school student of two years, had already fallen asleep. She had been feeling unsafe on her way home from school lately, and she was worried that the Xu family would come and cause trouble sooner or later. She was living in constant fear, feeling very uncomfortable.
"System, you said they wouldn't let me go just like that, right?"
"Of course not. You beat the crap out of someone else's thugs. How can they save face if they don't beat you up?"
"Then I have to find a weapon that suits me."
The alley was deep and narrow, its brick walls covered in wet moss, gleaming a dim green in the twilight. A narrow strip of sky overhead was sliced into a dim orange-red, barely illuminating the depths below. The cobblestone pavement beneath my feet was uneven, filled with puddles of unknown, muddy water, reflecting the fading light above.
Wu Shi rushed forward, but Xiao Qingqiu grabbed his arm tightly, slowing his pace. Xiao Qingqiu's face twisted into a knot, and he carefully avoided the black water in the potholes. His eyes were filled with disgust at the filth and even more so, fear of the unknown in the dark depths.
"If you don't want to come, you don't have to come!" Wu Shi suddenly stopped, stood still, and angrily shook his stuck arm, trying to break free.
"Who, who doesn't want to come!" Xiao Qingqiu stiffened his neck, forcing a bit of masculinity, and abruptly shook off Wu Shi, taking a few steps forward in a huff. He hadn't gone far when he froze—the end of the alley wasn't the mysterious place he'd imagined, but a blacksmith shop with an old sign. The faint glow of a fire and the dull sound of hammering emanated from the open doorway.
In this era, blacksmith shops were rare, often deserted. But the "clang! clang!" clatter of hammering emanating from within was remarkably firm and powerful. "Master, is the sword I ordered this morning ready?" Wu Shi asked loudly, stepping in first.
A wave of heat rushed in from inside the door. A shirtless man stood with his back to them, his muscular bronze upper body, gleaming with sweat and soot mixed with oil in the firelight. With his left hand, the iron clamps were as steady as a rock, firmly clamping a red-hot sword blank. With his right hand, he swung the heavy forging hammer and smashed it down with a tremendous force! "Dang!" Amidst the deafening roar, sparks danced like golden snakes, scattering wildly! Xiao Qingqiu screamed in fear and jumped back in a hurry, almost being burned by several scorching sparks.
"On the table, remember to pay." Without even turning, the man's powerful voice drowned out the lingering sound of the anvil. On the table lay a long, unsheathed iron sword, its blade gleaming with the dark green luster of a newly tempered steel. Xiao Qingqiu's heart was still pounding as he snatched up the sword from the table. With his other hand, he grabbed Wu Shi, who was still observing the blacksmith, and practically dragged her out of the shop, as if the scorching doorway were the entrance to a devouring abyss.
After running for a distance and confirming that the sound of iron hammering had faded, Xiao Qingqiu stopped, panting heavily. He heaved the iron sword heavily on his shoulder and lowered his voice mysteriously: "Wu Shi! Did you see the tattoo on the blacksmith's back? A coiled black shadow, like a dragon! I heard... that's the symbol of the Black Dragon Gang!"
"Black Dragon Gang?" Wu Shi frowned, bewildered. "What is that?"
"It's very mysterious. I only know the name and... this tattoo." Xiao Qingqiu shook his head, his expression both nervous and inexplicably excited. Wu Shi's eyes flickered slightly, and he silently asked in his mind: "System, is this a third party?"
"Host, no relevant matching data was detected." The cold system prompt responded.
The two men said no more, shouldering their swords, they walked back along the dark, slippery alley they had come from, one foot deep, one foot shallow. The remaining light from the alley entrance was completely extinguished, and thick darkness enveloped them.
Inside the blacksmith's shop, Aaron hung the last dagger, having been tempered, on the wall. He wiped the sweat off his face with a rag and picked up the thick stack of banknotes Wu Shi had left on the table. He weighed them in his palm, a subtle smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Enough for a few good drinks and a few hearty meals." He picked up his old coat draped over the back of a chair and, as he stepped outside the shop, his footsteps paused imperceptibly.
The corner of his eye was like the sharpest blade, sweeping across the corner of the alley in an instant - several figures in neat suits were like shadows blending into the cracks of the stone. Although they tried their best to restrain their aura, in the eyes of an old man like him, they were no different from fireflies in the dark night.
Aaron let out a barely audible snort. He disdained to meet them, and had no intention of getting into any trouble. He turned expressionlessly, wrapped his coat tightly around him, and headed deeper into the alley, a darker, more winding path than the group of suited men. His figure quickly melted into the thicker darkness, as if he had never appeared.
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