Chapter 7: Show Some Skills
1417 Words
“Brother Chen, don’t worry—I know what I’m doing.”
“Brother Hao! Brother Chen! Something’s wrong!”
Just then, the underling Jiang Hao had sent out rushed back into the private room, panic in his voice. “Zhao Zhengxiong is here! He brought some guests and they’re eating in the main hall downstairs!”
Jiang Hao frowned. “That bastard has guts of steel—daring to come to my territory again! Brother Chen, you stay here for a minute. I’ll take the guys down to check it out.”
“Be careful. If they’re just here to eat, no need to bicker over it.”
“I know. Brothers, come with me!”
Bang!
Crash!
Within minutes, a cacophony of noise erupted outside the private room—sounds of things being smashed to the floor.
Ling Chen raised an eyebrow, set down his teacup, and glanced at Nan Ronghao, who was sitting rigidly upright beside him. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Young Master Nan Rong, interested in coming out with me to see what’s happening?”
“Yes!” Nan Ronghao didn’t dare refuse. He nodded frantically.
Leaving the private room, Ling Chen led Nan Ronghao straight to the main hall. There, several of Jiang Hao’s underlings lay on the smooth floor, clutching their injuries and wearing looks of agony.
Not far away, Jiang Hao knelt on one knee, a beer bottle in his left hand. His right arm hung limply at his side—seemingly dislocated—and cold sweat dripped down his forehead.
Seeing this, Ling Chen stepped forward, helped Jiang Hao to his feet, then grabbed his right arm and twisted it gently. There was a soft “click,” and Jiang Hao’s mouth fell open, barely holding back a scream of pain.
“Brother Chen…”
“Go rest for a bit. I’ll handle things here.” After speaking, Ling Chen turned his gaze to a round table in the center of the hall.
Around the table sat seven or eight men, with Zhao Zhengxiong at the head. A crutch leaned against his chair—evidently, his injured leg hadn’t fully healed yet. What caught Ling Chen’s attention, though, were two of the men: one tall and thin with a pointed face and long, pale fingers; the other of average build, in his thirties, wearing a traditional Tang suit, with slightly bulging temples.
“Interesting.”
Ling Chen casually picked up a toothpick from the table and stuck it in his mouth. Zhao Zhengxiong had actually hired two martial artists—no wonder he dared to bring his men back to Wuli Street and act so recklessly.
“Gentlemen, that’s the guy,” Zhao Zhengxiong said, his eyes cold as he stared at Ling Chen. He’d hated Ling Chen ever since their warehouse confrontation. Knowing Ling Chen was skilled, he’d spent a fortune hiring these two experts to help him get revenge.
The thin, pointed-faced man glanced dismissively at Ling Chen, his voice shrill. “Boss Zhao, do you want us to break both his legs… or just his hands?”
Zhao Zhengxiong’s eyes turned sinister, as if recalling something. “Two legs aren’t enough. Break all three of his legs for me.”
The pointed-faced man froze for a second, then broke into a lewd grin. “No problem.”
Hearing them talk as if he weren’t even there, Ling Chen shrugged in resignation. He’d always wanted to be a “civilized man,” but these guys just wouldn’t give him a chance.
The pointed-faced man stood up and walked over to Ling Chen, tilting his chin up and looking down at him arrogantly. “Kid, my name is Gao Wei. Remember it—so you’ll know who beat you.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he raised his hands like two venomous snakes and struck quickly, giving Ling Chen no chance to speak.
Sensing the gusts of wind from Gao Wei’s attack, Ling Chen leaned back slightly and swung his right hand to block. But Gao Wei’s movements were fast and agile—he twisted his hands lightly, slipping past Ling Chen’s defense, and closed in, aiming straight for Ling Chen’s eyes.
Ling Chen’s heart sank, and a cold glint flashed in his dark eyes.
Gao Wei was playing dirty—aiming for a vital spot! Ling Chen had originally planned to take care of these two quickly without making a fuss, but Gao Wei’s move made him angry.
Even fights had rules.
As Gao Wei’s fingertips neared his eyes, Ling Chen twisted his toes, shifting his body quickly to dodge the attack. Then he reached forward with both hands, grabbing Gao Wei’s wrists and pressing forward step by step.
“Huh?”
Gao Wei froze for a moment, then felt a wave of shock. He found his hands were stuck to Ling Chen’s, as if glued—no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t break free.
Just as panic set in, a sharp pain shot through his fingers. It felt as if all his finger bones had snapped—they went limp, and he couldn’t lift them.
“How dare you break my fingers!” Gao Wei’s face turned pale. His martial arts skills relied entirely on his hands; with his fingers broken, his ability was ruined.
Ling Chen’s voice was calm. “Your ‘snake-style’ hand techniques aren’t worth keeping—they only bring harm to others.”
“Impressive skills, friend.”
At that moment, the man in the Tang suit—who had been sitting quietly at the table—stood up, his face dark as he stared at Ling Chen.
“Who is your master? Didn’t he teach you that crippling someone’s martial arts is a cardinal sin?”
Ling Chen chewed on his toothpick. “First learn virtue, then learn martial arts. Attacking vital spots to harm others is also a cardinal sin. Didn’t your master teach you that?”
“You’re good with words. I’d like to see if your skills are as sharp as your tongue.”
As the Tang suit man approached, Ling Chen spat out the toothpick—it flew straight toward the man’s face.
The Tang suit man didn’t hesitate; he swung his hand to flick the toothpick away. But at that exact moment, Ling Chen tensed his legs and charged forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.
Caught off guard by the sudden attack, the Tang suit man snapped, “You…!”
“What about me? Get lost!”
Ling Chen cut him off, throwing a punch—fast and hard—straight at the man’s abdomen.
The Tang suit man, still reeling, felt a searing pain. He stumbled backward, his internal organs feeling as if they’d been rearranged; he was overwhelmed by discomfort.
“You… you’re not playing by the rules!” the Tang suit man ground out, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Ling Chen clicked his tongue.
Fights did have rules—but that depended on who you were fighting. With guys like this, he never bothered with rules.
“I’ll count to three. If you don’t get out of my sight by then, you won’t be leaving at all. I’ll ‘entertain’ you properly here.”
The Tang suit man’s face turned livid. “Fine! I, Song Yi, will remember this debt. I’ll repay it a hundred times over someday! Junior brother, let’s go!”
“No… Mr. Song! Mr. Gao! What about me?” Zhao Zhengxiong panicked and called out. If he hadn’t been hobbled by his injury, he would have chased after them.
Song Yi didn’t look back; his voice was cold. “I can’t fix this mess. You’ll have to find someone else.”
Zhao Zhengxiong refused to give up. “But you already took my money…”
Song Yi ignored him completely and walked out of the restaurant.
“Brother Xiong.”
After Song Yi and Gao Wei left, Ling Chen walked over to Zhao Zhengxiong with a smile, sat down beside him, and casually draped an arm over his shoulder.
“Do you remember what I told you last time?”
“I… I…” Zhao Zhengxiong’s mouth opened and closed. Cold sweat poured down his face as he stammered, “L-Ling… no, Brother Chen! You’re a generous man—give me another chance! I promise I’ll never dare to cross you again!”
- Writer
