Chapter 180: Chapter 138: Finale
Wan Ze glanced at Zhao Ying, then at the three people behind him, and suddenly chuckled.
He’d left his words hanging.
But the meaning was clear.
’We at Dragon Eagle are as steady as a mountain, but the Divine Martial Society has brought such a grand entourage—an old man leading four youths. Are you afraid something might go wrong?’
Zhao Ying clearly realized he was no match for Wan Ze in a battle of wits, and his smile instantly froze.
Zhou Yuan stepped in to smooth things over. "Haha, Brother Wan, don’t misunderstand. We just came to have a look. Elder Peng said both our organizations are here to arbitrate. We’ll each perform our duties and stay out of each other’s way."
"Of course. Each to our own duties," Wan Ze nodded.
As he spoke, his gaze seemed to catch on something, sweeping over to land on the young woman.
The young woman was also looking at him, her eyes filled with unconcealed scrutiny. "If Dragon Eagle is so unconcerned, why are you getting involved at all?"
Wan Ze said coolly, "This competition is about the skills of the young people on stage, not a contest of who has more people sitting in the arbitrator’s section."
With that, he didn’t spare the group another glance and led Tan Xiao toward the arbitrators’ seats.
The young woman, however, was furious. She couldn’t stop herself from calling out, "Hey—"
Wan Ze didn’t stop or turn back.
Tan Xiao followed behind, suppressing a smile. ’Fucking hell, so what if there are more of them! They can’t even out-talk my junior! A bunch of trash!’
Behind them, Zhao Ying and Zhou Yuan stood frozen, their expressions grim.
Elder Peng’s eyes remained half-closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. It was hard to tell if it was a smile or something else.
...
The lot-drawing ceremony began.
Ming Zhaojun personally carried a mahogany box to the center of the arena. Inside were eight folded cards: four marked with "Ming" and four with "Sheng." The back of each card was numbered—Ming 1 to Ming 4, and Sheng 1 to Sheng 4.
The rules were simple.
The four contestants from each family would fight according to their pre-arranged internal rankings: Ming 1 versus Sheng 1, Ming 2 versus Sheng 2, and so on.
The draw only decided one thing: which side would send up their fighter first.
Sheng Yunfeng rose from the stands and walked to the center of the arena. He and Ming Zhaojun exchanged a look, but neither spoke.
"Gentlemen, please." Zhao Ying stood to the side, supervising the draw on behalf of the Divine Martial Society. He wore a practiced smile, but his eyes kept darting toward Wan Ze.
Wan Ze sat at the arbitrators’ table, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.
Ming Zhaojun and Sheng Yunfeng reached into the mahogany box at the same time, each drawing a card.
Ming Zhaojun flipped his card. "The Ming Family will go second."
Sheng Yunfeng smiled. "The Sheng Family will go first."
This meant the Sheng Family would send out their fighter first for the opening match, allowing the Ming Family to choose their own combatant in response.
Ming Zhaojun’s expression remained unchanged as he returned to his family’s stands.
Ming Lei and the others gathered around. "Father, what’s the result?"
Ming Zhaojun waved his hand, motioning for them to take their seats.
Over on the Sheng Family’s side, a stocky young man stood up. He shed his outer robe to reveal the black martial arts uniform underneath, then walked to the center of the arena and cupped his fist toward the Ming Family’s stands.
Sheng Rushan... Blood Tempering Third Transformation.
The number-two figure of the Sheng Family’s current generation.
From the Ming Family’s side, Ming Wei took a deep breath and stood up.
She was the only girl of her generation in the Ming Family. She was also at the Blood Tempering Third Transformation, but she had achieved her breakthrough a year and a half after Sheng Rushan.
The two took their positions in the center of the arena and cupped their fists at one another.
The referee, the head martial arts coach of the South City Gymnasium, looked at both combatants, raised his hand, and signaled, "Begin."
Sheng Rushan moved first.
He practiced the Explosive Star Secret Martial Arts, and he opened with a Beng Fist.
The whistling fist aimed straight for Ming Wei’s chest.
Ming Wei sidestepped to evade, countering with a palm strike to his ribs.
Sheng Rushan neither dodged nor evaded, taking the palm strike squarely. At the same time, he raised his knee and slammed it viciously into Ming Wei’s lower abdomen.
BANG!
Ming Wei was sent stumbling back three steps, her face deathly pale.
She gritted her teeth and steadied herself, intending to press on, but Sheng Rushan had already closed the distance and smashed his elbow into her shoulder.
Ming Wei grunted, completely unable to deflect the force, and was sent flying.
"First match, the Sheng Family wins!" the referee shouted.
Ming Wei pushed herself off the ground and walked back to the stands, head bowed. Her arm was trembling slightly, but she remained silent.
Ming Lei patted her on the shoulder but said nothing.
The second match: Ming Rui of the Ming Family versus Sheng Ruhu of the Sheng Family.
This match ended even faster.
Sheng Ruhu practiced Flipping Fist, which was known for its speed. Unfortunately for him, Ming Rui was even faster.
They exchanged fewer than ten blows before Ming Rui kicked the side of Sheng Ruhu’s knee. Sheng Ruhu screamed in agony, his body flying back as he fell, and he began to roll on the ground, clutching his knee.
"Second match, the Ming Family wins."
The Ming Family members were overjoyed.
The faces of the Sheng Family finally darkened.
As soon as Ming Rui came off the stage, Ming Zhaojun patted his head. "Well done."
Ming Rui grinned.
The third match began.
This time, it was Ming Hua of the Ming Family against Sheng Hai of the Sheng Family.
Ming Hua’s Fist Technique was powerful and expansive, and he was considered a heavy hitter among those at the Blood Tempering Third Transformation.
They had hoped to press their advantage.
But unexpectedly, Sheng Hai was even tougher. With fists like cast iron, he met Ming Hua’s attacks head-on, trading three blows.
The force split open the flesh between Ming Hua’s thumb and forefinger, drenching his hand in blood.
On the fifth move, Sheng Hai smashed a fist into Ming Hua’s chest...
"Pfft!"
Ming Hua spat out a mouthful of blood, stumbled back seven or eight steps, and collapsed onto the ground. The will was there, but the strength was gone. He was utterly defeated.
"Third match, the Sheng Family wins!" the referee shouted again.
Ming Hua was helped off the stage, his face ashen.
A dead silence fell over the Ming Family’s stands. They had already lost two of the three matches, and the Sheng Family’s final combatant hadn’t even taken the stage yet. And that person was Sheng Rulong!
Ming Venerable sat in the front row, his expression placid, as if he hadn’t noticed the dismal morale of his family.
After a moment of silence, Ming Lei stood up.
He tore off his outer robe, revealing a white martial arts uniform beneath. The clothing clung to his frame, outlining his taut muscles.
"Lei," Ming Zhaojun said.
Ming Lei turned his head.
Ming Zhaojun looked at him, silent for two seconds, before saying just one thing: "If you can’t take it, come back down. Don’t push yourself too hard."
Ming Lei remained silent.
He didn’t answer his father.
With grim determination, he turned and strode toward the center of the arena.
Sheng Rulong was already standing there.
He was only twenty-three years old and stood nearly one-point-nine meters tall, like an iron tower. He wore a dark gray martial arts uniform, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The exposed arms were corded with veins, and his muscles were as solid as stone.
His expression was calm, and his eyes watched the approaching Ming Lei as if observing a familiar face.
"Ming Lei..."
He spoke, his voice quiet but every word distinct. "You and I have fought three times. Have you ever won?"
Ming Lei stopped and looked up at him.
Of course he remembered.
Three years ago, the first time they fought, he’d lost by half a move.
Two years ago, he’d lost by a full move.
Last year... he’d lost by a margin of three moves.
He lost by a greater margin each year.
"I’ll win today," Ming Lei said.
Sheng Rulong glanced at him but didn’t reply, simply raising a hand to cup his fist.
Ming Lei returned the salute.
The referee looked between the two, then raised his hand. "Begin!"
Ming Lei moved first.
He knew he was no match for Sheng Rulong. He knew he would most likely lose again today.
But he didn’t want it to be a disgraceful loss.
The Ming Family had already lost two matches. He was their last fighter.
Even if he lost, he would make Sheng Rulong remember this fight.
His specialty was the Beng Fist.
He put his full power into his opening move, a whistling fist aimed straight for Sheng Rulong’s chest.
Sheng Rulong sidestepped the punch, simultaneously sending a palm strike toward Ming Lei’s ribs.
Ming Lei didn’t dodge or evade. He took the blow, his other fist already smashing toward Sheng Rulong’s face!
"BANG!"
Pain shot through Ming Lei’s side. The palm strike felt like it had nearly broken his ribs.
But his own fist had arrived!
Sheng Rulong tilted his head. The force of the punch grazed his ear, leaving a stinging pain.
"A little interesting," Sheng Rulong said.
Then he moved.
One punch.
Ming Lei blocked with his forearm, but the force sent him stumbling back three steps.
A second punch.
Ming Lei blocked again, and the web of his hand went numb.
A third punch.
Ming Lei failed to block it. The fist smashed into his shoulder. With a CRACK, it was dislocated.
Ming Lei grunted but refused to retreat!
He quickly switched to his left hand and continued his assault.
Sheng Rulong’s brow furrowed slightly.
He knew Ming Lei was no match for him, but today the man fought like a madman. He was clearly injured, yet he refused to back down.
Every punch was thrown with all his might; every move left no way out.
Sheng Rulong was starting to get annoyed.
He threw a fourth punch.
It struck Ming Lei in the chest. He sprayed a mouthful of blood and his entire body started to fall backward.
But he didn’t fall.
He staggered back two steps and fell to one knee, propping himself up with a hand on the ground. Gasping for air, blood dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the floor. One drop, then another.
"Ming Lei, that’s enough! You’ve already lost!" Sheng Rulong stood before him, looking down coldly.
Ming Lei raised his head.
His face was covered in blood and his eyes were bloodshot, but a fire still burned in his gaze.
He pushed himself up from the ground and slowly, painfully, got to his feet.
Even with his left shoulder hanging uselessly and his chest heaving violently, he was standing.
He stood straight and looked at Sheng Rulong.
"It’s not... over!"
Sheng Rulong’s brows tightened. "Is there any point to this? If this were a fight to the death, you’d already be dead."
Ming Lei didn’t answer.
He just raised his right hand and took a step forward.
He was so unsteady he could barely take that step.
But he took it anyway.
"If you have the guts..." he said, his mouth full of blood, "...then kill me!"
Sheng Rulong’s expression changed.
His eyes instantly turned cold, and the vital energy around his body erupted.
He was actually going to strike a killing blow.
’At worst, he’d get a tongue-lashing for it later.’
Just then.
"Ahem."
It was a light cough.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it reached the ears of everyone in the arena with perfect clarity.
Sheng Rulong froze.
He turned his head toward the arbitrators’ seats.
Wan Ze was sitting there, holding his teacup, not looking at him.
His gaze was fixed on the tea inside, his expression as placid as if nothing was happening.
But Sheng Rulong knew that cough had been meant for him.
He took a deep breath, recalled his father’s warning, and unclenched his fist.
Ming Zhaojun had already risen and was now striding quickly into the arena.
He steadied the tottering Ming Lei, then looked at Sheng Rulong and said in a heavy voice, "For this match, the Ming Family concedes."
Ming Lei snapped his head up. "Father!"
Ming Zhaojun didn’t look at him. He supported his son by the arms and turned to walk back to the stands.
Behind them, the referee’s voice rang out: "Fourth match, the Sheng Family wins. With a final score of three to one, the victor of this competition is the Sheng Family!"
Unrestrained cheers erupted from the Sheng Family’s stands.
Sheng Yunfeng stood up, a smile on his face, and cupped his fist toward Ming Zhaojun. "Brother Zhaojun, thank you for the match."
Ming Zhaojun helped Ming Lei sit down, then glanced back at Sheng Yunfeng.
He said nothing.
He just nodded.
Ming Lei sat in his chair with his head bowed. Blood was still dripping onto the floor and his pants. His right hand was clenched into a fist, so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palm, drawing more blood that seeped out from between his fingers.
Ming Wei stood beside him, her eyes red-rimmed, holding a towel to wipe his face.
Ming Lei turned his head away, avoiding her.
Ming Venerable, still in the front row, hadn’t moved an inch from start to finish.
He looked at Sheng Rulong in the center of the arena, then at his own grandchildren.
After a long moment, he let out a soft sigh.
"A loss is a loss. As long as everyone is safe, that’s what matters."
Ming Zhaojun stood beside him, saying nothing.
He looked at the blood Ming Lei had spilled on the floor, at Ming Wei’s red-rimmed eyes, and at Ming Hua being carried away to have his injuries treated.
He suddenly recalled the old master’s words from last night... ’If you lose your people, you lose everything.’
’Everyone is still here.’
’That’s right. The Ming Family lost, but everyone is still here.’
He took a deep breath.
He turned and walked toward Sheng Yunfeng.
The agreement had already been drawn up.
Two mines would be signed over and, from this day forward, belong to the Sheng Family.
Sheng Yunfeng accepted the agreement, read it over, and with a smile, signed his name at the bottom. He handed it back, his tone earnest. "Brother Zhaojun, let’s put today’s events behind us. Our families can still be friends. If you ever need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask."
Ming Zhaojun took the agreement, glanced at it, folded it, and tucked it inside his coat.
He looked up, met Sheng Yunfeng’s eyes, and said coolly, "Congratulations."
Then he turned and walked back to the stands.
Behind him, the members of the Sheng Family were laughing.
He heard them, but said nothing.
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