Wenchi Master

The television screen flickered, casting a pale blue glow across the small living room. Lin Wei sat on the couch, her eyes locked on the broadcast, her fingers trembling with anticipation. Her heart raced as the announcer's voice filled the room.

"Oh, what a kick! Will the rising star be able to get up?!"

Lin Wei leaned forward, whispering under her breath, "Don't get up... don't get up..."

The camera zoomed in on her son, Zhu Lang, sprawled on the mat, barely conscious from the brutal kick he had taken. He was a rookie, a newcomer in the world of WenchiDòuzhēng, the brutal sport where fighters used their life energy to battle.

The referee crouched beside him, checking his pulse.

"Wait... the referee is checking if he's okay," the announcer continued, his voice wavering with tension. "Oh, looks like the fight is over, with the victory of Zhu Lang, the new rookie star!"

Lin Wei's breath caught in her throat, a rush of emotion swelling inside her chest. Her son had done it. He had won. The fight may have been dangerous, but he had emerged victorious.

A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Without thinking, she raised her arm and clenched her fist in silent celebration.

"You did it, Zhu Lang…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the announcer's triumphant tone.

Two days later, the reality of her situation set in. Lin Wei sat at the kitchen table, staring at the empty pantry, the hunger gnawing at her insides. There was no food. No money. And no way to pay the bills that were piling up faster than she could manage. Desperation weighed heavily on her chest, but she knew what she had to do.

Taking a deep breath, she left the house and walked down the street to the notorious alley where the loan sharks operated. The men there were ruthless, preying on those like her who had nowhere else to turn.

Inside her modest home, Zhu Lang was still basking in the afterglow of his victory. His room was cluttered with training equipment, and the light from the window cast a golden glow on his sweat-soaked body as he got dressed. He felt invincible.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he called out, wiping his face with a towel.

Lin Wei stepped inside, her face strained, her shoulders slumped as if carrying an invisible weight.

"Mom…? What's wrong?" Zhu Lang asked, concern flooding his voice.

She closed the door behind her with a quiet sigh. Her gaze dropped to the floor. "Zhu Lang… I've made a mistake… I—I went to borrow some money, and…" She hesitated, swallowing hard. "They… they deceived me. I've signed a contract, and now they're demanding more than we can pay. I—I don't know how to get us out of this."

Zhu Lang stood up immediately, his face hardening with resolve. "Mom, I'll fix this. I swear, I'll find a way to save us."

He took a step toward her and pulled her into a tight hug. "We'll get through this together. I promise."

Lin Wei closed her eyes, letting herself hold on to the comfort of her son's embrace. She hadn't realized just how much she needed this moment.

Later that afternoon, Zhu Lang's trainer, Yan Jing, arrived at their small home. With his usual stern expression, he handed Zhu Lang a magazine.

"What's this?" Zhu Lang asked, still a little shaken from his conversation with his mother.

"Read it," Yan Jing said simply "You need to see this."

After a quick shower to wash off the sweat from his last fight, Zhu Lang sat down on his bed, flipping through the pages of the magazine. His eyes scanned the article, and as he reached the last page, his heart skipped a beat.

The headline read: "Wenchi Combat Tournament: Grand Prize 3 772 985,50 Yuan".

He rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. The tournament promised a huge cash prize for the winner—enough to clear his mother's debt and then some.

Without wasting another second, Zhu Lang grabbed his phone and rushed to the contest website. His fingers flew across the screen as he signed up for the competition, his mind racing.

But as he completed the registration, a countdown timer appeared: "Two Months Remaining Until the Tournament Begins."

Zhu Lang froze, staring at the numbers.

"Two months…" he murmured to himself, his heart pounding. "That's not much time... But I can do this. I have to do this."

He looked at the magazine again, then at the framed picture of his mother on his desk. He could feel the weight of her debt pressing down on him. This was the only way to save her—to win this tournament and take control of their future.