4 Chapter 4 Flowered Shirt 9 and Wensheng Fist

The boxers below the stage exchanged looks; Li Yan had knocked down the Thai Cha Chai with just a glance, and no one was willing to step into the ring at that moment and seek misfortune.

"Hahaha, lad, the boxing rings of Longcheng are only open when there's betting involved. Just now, someone bet on Cha Chai to fight the challenge, and that's why you had your match. If no one bets to fight you, then you can only step off the stage."

The man speaking was the one in the white suit who had broken Li Yan's stride.

With his pink shirt unbuttoned, revealing a corner of an Asura tattoo, the exceptionally pale man wore a smile, pulling out a thick stack of banknotes from his chest.

"Those scattered eggs aren't your match. Do you have the guts to fight one of my men? Win or lose, these fifty thousand are yours."

The Kowloon City's boxing arena had its own hierarchy. Just like the fourth-tier match Li Yan fought earlier, a boxer would earn five thousand for a win. Now the gold-threaded suit man was offering fifty thousand right off the bat, which would take Li Yan ten whole matches to earn.

In 1986's Hong Kong, a bowl of Chow Mein cost ten dollars, large and satisfying, while a pack of Marlboro was twenty dollars. Fifty thousand, no doubt, was a huge sum of money.

Li Yan didn't particularly care about the fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars at first—he could only stay here for a month, and whether he would have the life to spend that money was a different story altogether. However, when his gaze fell upon the fifty thousand, a peculiar phrase flashed before his eyes.

Hong Kong dollars: Fifty thousand. A valuable item, can be exchanged for five Yan Fu points. This kind of item can only be exchanged after verifying its ownership.

Note: Even a single Yan Fu point is something you yearn for.

The little-eyed fatty, who was initially arrogant towards Li Yan, came over with a forced smile.

"Shanjiu, Shanjiu."

The white-suited man didn't even spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on Li Yan on the stage.

"So, what's it gonna be? Will you fight or not?"

"Shanjiu," The fatty's back was drenched in cold sweat, yet still managed to force a smile.

"Shanjiu's excited, willing to bet on fists. You can pick any boxer here, and I'll make sure they fight for you to see. But bringing your own man onto the stage, that's not proper."

Shanjiu's attention finally shifted to Fatty's greasy face, his tone unkind:

"Fatty, are you an idiot? You expect me to spend fifty thousand to watch trash fight in the fourth ring? Are you treating me, Hua Shanjiu, like a sucker?"

"Shanjiu, how would I dare," Fatty tried to say more, but Hua Shanjiu interrupted him directly.

"You don't need to speak. I'm simply letting my man down for a bit of fun, and I'm paying enough for it. Which rule in the committee's book says outsiders can't enter the ring? If Taishuai blames me, I'll apologize to him, okay? Beat it while I'm still in a good mood."

Fatty was caught between a rock and a hard place. Around fifty ruffians, all with malice in their eyes, were sitting around Hua Shanjiu. They stared at him intimidatingly. He sneakily glanced at the committee's registration staff, and upon seeing them nod, he scurried away dejectedly.

"Kid, you're in luck!"

He walked over to Li Yan, grinding his teeth, muttering under his breath.

"This guy is the one carrying the momentum in Heung Sheng, a head figure in the underground, you get it? Fight impressively, then take a few punches and lie down on the ground—you'll get fifty thousand just like that, you know?"

Li Yan blinked, "The underworld, huh?"

"Be smart about it, and fend for yourself."

"Alright then."

Li Yan looked relaxed, even though his status bar indicated high fever, bleeding, and inflammation—complications from leukemia.

His physical condition was quite poor; not to mention the weakness, he would occasionally bleed from his gums or nose without any apparent reason, and there was even a time he fainted suddenly during practice.

Yet Li Yan felt that this was the most exhilarating moment he had had in months. The flesh-and-bone impact of punches, the rolling briny taste of blood between his teeth, everything stirred that deep-seated fury within him—a powerful sensation of being alive.

Hua Shanjiu cracked a toothy smile, patting the shoulder of a freckled young man beside him.

"Zhou, I know you're eager. Go on the boxing ring and have a bit of fun with this Bagua Palm master."

Zhou wasn't tall, with a sharp short haircut, emitting an aura of ferocity from his eyes. He stood up, didn't take the corridor, but instead vaulted from the stands directly down. Then he ascended the stage.

Hua Shanjiu watched the cold-faced Zhou, shaking his head with a smile. His little brother had Shandong roots and came from a traditional martial arts heritage; not the kind that learned superficial moves for three to five years, but someone who had immersed himself for over a decade. He had the qualifications to teach in any of Hong Kong's national arts centers. Skilled and sharp, he was one of his most capable lieutenants.

Zhou suffered a great loss in his early years when sparring with a Bagua Palm martial artist from Cheng school, resulting in five broken ribs and a deaf right ear. Hence, he had always hoped to fight a descendant of Bagua Palm again to avenge that defeat. However, Bagua Palm is mostly taught in the Jingjin area, and Bagua Palm martial arts schools in Hong Kong are extremely rare.

Inside Kowloon City, Shanjiu indeed knew of a legitimate heir to the Bagua Palm, but even if you lent him ten times the courage, Shanjiu wouldn't dare to seek out that person for his brother to practice with...

Zhou, standing on the boxing stage, cupped his hands in greeting, not looking like a gang member, but instead possessed some of the air of an old-school martial artist.

"Du Family Fist, Zhou Weitao," he said.

Li Yan looked at him.

"Hejian, Li Yan," he replied.

Zhou's brow furrowed imperceptibly, a flash of anger in his eyes as he lunged forward, elbow aiming straight for Li Yan's chest!

Li Yan lightly stepped back half a step, dodging the brunt of Zhou's elbow, his left arm scooping up from below to redirect Zhou's elbow while his right foot aimed a kick at Zhou's shin.

The moment Li Yan made contact with Zhou's elbow, he felt his opponent's force both release and retract in an instant, piquing his curiosity.

"Quite interesting," he mused.

Fire sparked in Zhou's eyes; he executed a spinning step to dodge Li Yan's kick, his left fist hammering down from an angle towards Li Yan's temple like an iron hammer!

Li Yan narrowed his eyes and, instead of moving forward, retreated, angling his footsteps to crash into Zhou's embrace, his right hand turning into a claw aiming to grasp Zhou's fist, which was positioned at a 60-degree angle, seeking to break Zhou's wrist.

Coming from the old Hong Fist, Du Family Fist excels at grappling and elbow strikes. Zhou scoffed at the sight of Li Yan trying to use grapple counter moves against him.

Ignoring Li Yan's grip on his left hand, Zhou ducked and reached with his claw towards Li Yan's groin.

Li Yan's reflexes were incredibly fast as he met the advance with his knee, repelling Zhou's palm. At the same time, his right hand put force outward, intending to twist Zhou's left hand.

But unexpectedly, a very strange force came through the hand, and Li Yan couldn't twist Zhou's hand at all, as Zhou's fist rapidly headed for Li Yan's chin.

"Master!" Li Yan finally recognized, the small-time gangster he encountered on the underground black boxing ring of Kowloon City, was actually a master of the Du Family Fist who perfectly understood the essence of solid and fluid fist techniques!

He released Zhou's wrist and retreated sharply.

Shanjiu leaned forward, his eyes glued to the ring, and only when he saw Li Yan back away did he unclench his fists.

Zhou on the stage stared coldly at Li Yan and slowly said, "You're pretty arrogant."

Li Yan squinted and smiled, "I just didn't expect that a little gang member would turn out to be a Du Family Fist expert. It's a pity that the true transmission of Wensheng Fist was wasted and strayed off the path."

These words seemed to hit a nerve for Zhou, who spat out and gave Li Yan a cold, continuous sneer.

"You, a fugitive killer from the mainland to Longcheng, what right do you have to talk about me going off track? If Dong Haichuan knew he had such a disciple, he would probably leap out of his coffin to clean up the sect."

Li Yan didn't take Zhou's mockery to heart, laughing as he said, "Then I'll have to get serious."

"I couldn't ask for more."

No sooner had Zhou's words fallen than Li Yan, who was at least five steps away from him, unexpectedly flew right before Zhou in a blink of an eye! That pale, cold face pressed directly against Zhou's eyes!

Just like a ghost!

At that moment, a clear voice rang out.

"It is rare for Brother Shanjiu to grace us with his presence in Longcheng to watch the kung fu fight, but I didn't hear that Hong's stick has followed our Coachman in Longcheng," someone said.

Upon these words, everyone turned their gaze toward the stage.

Outside the hall, a crowd of about thirty or so men in black suits, looking stern, with handguns tucked at their waists, made their approach.

The moment Shanjiu saw this, his face darkened swiftly.