Chapter 39: The Boxing Ring

Du Youbang stared at the side profile of Tong Peipei as she suddenly flared up.

After a flicker of surprise, a heated intensity ignited in his eyes.

*Hiss*, I misjudged her; this woman is feisty!

Just last night, Tong Peipei had traded for him from Xu Jiaqi’s stable, using a fighter slot for Lu Zhengyang and an additional five hundred thousand in compensation. Xu Jiaqi had been accommodating, partly out of respect, but mostly because he had keenly sensed the malevolent edge in Du Youbang. This former triad boss, even now, was far from settling down quietly. Fearing he couldn't control such a man, Xu simply agreed to Tong Peipei’s request. If she wanted such a dangerous character, he was happy to let her have him.

Du Youbang was quite satisfied with being transferred to Tong Peipei’s roster; he had, in fact, been coveting her. She had beauty, wealth, and power. He was fully confident that if he won this round of the fighting tournament, he could win her over. She seemed to possess an innate obsession with top-tier fighters. And with her help, officially shaking off his ties to Stanley Prison would no longer be a difficult problem.

However, today’s scene gave him a new perspective on the woman before him. Behind her cold, aloof, and strength-worshipping exterior, there seemed to be another side to her that remained hidden.

Tong Peipei’s gaze turned chilly as she shifted her focus from the now-silenced foreigner to Du Youbang.

"Next time, until I speak, you had better keep your mouths shut."

She was obsessed with the idea of witnessing Song Ren’s combat skills again. Especially at such close range—if she could enjoy that, what a feast for the eyes it would be. Just the thought of it made her feel a wet, primal heat.

It was just that the fighter she currently had was truly disappointing. She had given him a chance, but he was useless. And he had even made Song Ren annoyed with her!

What a waste of space!

Through the massive floor-to-ceiling window, Tong Peipei gazed at Song Ren, who had already walked down to the ring. Seeming to sense her stare, the figure below suddenly stopped and looked back up at her.

Those clear, fearless eyes made Tong Peipei involuntarily place her hand against the glass, her breathing becoming subtly rapid.

Du Youbang, standing to the side, witnessed this scene clearly, his brow furrowing tightly. *It looks like if I can’t beat that guy, I’ll never have a chance with this woman.*

Du Youbang’s expression darkened.

An elderly man with white hair and a youthful complexion approached, bowing respectfully to Tong Peipei. "Madam, that young man’s skill is not simple."

Tong Peipei withdrew her gaze, a faint smile returning to her cold, elegant face.

"That goes without saying."

"Uncle, you didn't see him before."

"That guy beat three adult pit bulls to death without taking a single scratch."

"That process alone displayed refined 'Chuojiao' footwork, the essence of 'Tan Tui,' and exceptionally solid hand-to-hand combat skills."

"Tsk—"

"The leg techniques of Northern martial arts, the grappling of Southern boxing, and the flair of weapon arts. With that kind of fluid, devastating style, even if you stepped into the ring yourself, Uncle, you might have to admit defeat."

The old man simply smiled. "Oh, that is quite impressive."

Du Youbang, who had been listening silently from the side, was once again astonished. He was a street fighter by trade, with a stubborn, unyielding ruthlessness in his bones. After rising in the ranks, he had dabbled in Sanda and Muay Thai, consulting many masters, which formed his current unique fighting style. He had always been disdainful of the traditional martial arts taught in local schools, as the masters he had encountered were mostly showy and superficial, or at best, no longer his match.

Hearing Tong Peipei’s words, he was shocked once again.

The old man noticed his expression and chuckled. "What, you agreed to transfer from Xu Jiaqi’s roster, yet you didn't know the Madam herself comes from a martial arts background?"

"..." *How the hell would I have known that!*

Du Youbang kept his face impassive, merely bowing his head in silence. It was only a temporary situation of living under someone else’s roof. But in the ring, no matter what, he was determined not to lose to anyone.

...

Three days later.

Song Ren arrived for the first match he had been scheduled for after registering for the tournament. Over these three days, besides working out in the gym at the Fusheng Building, he spent his time eating and sleeping at the hotel. He lived a life of extreme routine, with no other entertainment whatsoever. Even Plane Boy began to wonder if the fighter he was responsible for was some kind of monk. His life was far too disciplined.

In the VIP lounge on the top floor of the Fusheng Building, Zhu Baoer sat on a soft sofa, hugging a pink-and-white teddy bear pillow. Sitting beside her was an elegant man in a silver-gray suit and black leather shoes. He seemed to find the atmosphere of the place repulsive, holding his hand to his nose as if the stench of sweat was nauseating.

"Baoer, what is worth paying attention to in such a low-class, ugly fighting tournament?"

"If you really want to watch, we can book tickets for a top-tier UFC event."

Zhu Baoer frowned slightly. "Huo Qisong, I didn't ask you to come with me."

"Fine, I won't try to persuade you." Huo Qisong put on an indulgent expression, though his peripheral vision flickered with annoyance at the two extra men in the room.

"What are you standing there like idiots for? Go down and fight! Can't you see Miss Baoer is already unhappy?"

Plane Boy tugged at the hem of Song Ren’s shirt.

Song Ren said to Zhu Baoer, "Miss Zhu, I’m heading down to prepare."

Zhu Baoer nodded, making sure to apologize for her fiancé’s arrogant tone: "Mm, be careful. And don't take it to heart; he’s always spoken like that. By the way, after this match, I’ll treat you both to a big meal. Win or lose."

Song Ren and Plane Boy stepped out of the VIP room. As they walked out, they could still hear Huo Qisong’s haughty voice:

"Baoer, you are just too kind-hearted. For these money-grubbing fighters, being polite to them isn't as satisfying as tossing them a stack of cash. I’m sure they’ll be kowtowing in gratitude to us."

Once outside the VIP lounge, Plane Boy spat on the floor and muttered indignantly, "Screw him, the snob. Miss Zhu is so beautiful, but to have such a fiancé—she’s really had a streak of bad luck. Don’t you think so, brother?"

Song Ren said nothing, simply walking down the corridor toward the fighter’s preparation area.

On the circular stage, a massive metal cage was set up, and the lights all around illuminated the ring completely. The long-lens cameras were already set up outside, and the hundred-seat audience section was packed. It was clear that these were all well-dressed elites—suits, qipaos, expensive watches, hair gel, and perfume. There was none of the stifling, pervasive smell of sweat found in the lower classes, but the eyes of the crowd, filled with anticipation and fanaticism, were identical to any other.

And in the twenty-eight ring-shaped VIP suites on the third floor, behind each massive floor-to-ceiling window, stood one or more powerful, influential figures, watching intently.