"Get down! Down! Everyone down!"
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
Ji Yu diligently repeated the same motions while muttering under his breath. With every shout, another person dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
He worked like an incredibly efficient assembly line worker, methodically handling the unruly thugs.
Chu Yang stood by, utterly dumbfounded. He had known Ji Yu for quite some time, but witnessing him in action was still nothing short of shocking.
And then there was his... unique way of doing things. It was hard to put into words.
But none of that mattered now.
After all, she had her protective charm.
Up in the VIP room on the second floor—
Dead silence.
The faces of underworld figures like Zhao Tianxing and Liao Dapao twisted through a spectrum of emotions before settling on an ugly shade of purple.
They could only watch helplessly as their so-called elite enforcers—their prized fighters—were manhandled like lumps of clay by that towering brute, forced into humiliating, dog-like positions.
This wasn’t just an insult. It was psychological torture.
Scarface, after holding it in for too long, finally burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"Oh god—oh my god, I can’t—HAHAHA! Ji Yu is an absolute legend!"
He laughed so hard he nearly choked, completely oblivious to the murderous glares from the furious bosses around him.
Liu Yutong pinched the bridge of her nose, suppressing a sigh. Ji Yu really had a way of delivering the most unexpected surprises.
Back in the ring—
Only two men remained standing: the hulking brute known as Iron Tower and Tai, the guy rumored to have trained in Muay Thai overseas.
Both hesitated, especially when Ji Yu casually beckoned them forward. For a moment, they even considered just dropping face-first to the ground—better than resisting and ending up worse than the others.
Hadn’t they seen what happened to those who didn’t cooperate?
Then, Chu Yang let out a soft chuckle.
To their ears, it sounded like mockery—as if he were calling them cowards.
That instantly killed any thought of surrender.
Their eyes locked onto Chu Yang instead.
If they couldn’t handle the giant, they’d at least make this reckless fool eat dirt first.
He couldn’t possibly be as tough as that monster, right?
Earlier, the sheer number of attackers against Ji Yu hadn’t been the real issue—it was his absurd durability. The man didn’t even bother dodging; he just tanked every hit like it was nothing.
But if he got his hands on you? One brutal strike, and you were down for the count.
It was downright unfair.
This Chu Yang, though? He didn’t look like some defense-specced freak. His muscles weren’t even as defined as theirs. He should be an easy target.
A silent understanding passed between Iron Tower and Tai.
If they couldn’t take down the monster, they’d at least crush this guy.
Iron Tower moved first, roaring as he charged, his fist—the size of a bowl—aimed straight for Chu Yang’s face.
Tai followed, dropping low and sweeping a vicious kick toward Chu Yang’s legs.
High and low, they sealed off any escape routes, determined to end this in seconds.
Up in the VIP room—
A glimmer of hope reignited in Zhao Tianxing and the others' eyes.
"Good! Take him down first!"
Chu Yang sprang into action as well.
Just as Iron Tower's heavy fist came crashing toward him, he threw a punch of his own at the same moment—choosing to meet force with force.
At the instant their fists collided, he shifted his body with an almost imperceptible sidestep, narrowly evading Tai's attack.
Having dodged the pincer assault, Chu Yang immediately launched his counterattack.
The three of them became entangled in a fierce melee, their figures weaving together as gusts of wind howled from their movements.
After several chaotic exchanges, both Iron Tower and Tai showed a split-second delay from overexertion.
Chu Yang, who had been biding his time, seized the moment.
He instantly lowered his center of gravity and delivered a sharp right punch, striking a precise nerve cluster below Iron Tower's ribcage from an awkward angle.
"Ugh—!"
Iron Tower's mouth gaped open, but no sound escaped. His expression was one of disbelief—as if he couldn't fathom being taken down by a single punch.
Staggering back a few steps, he crumpled limply forward.
But it wasn't over yet.
Using the recoil from his punch, Chu Yang pivoted smoothly and lashed out with a side kick, landing it squarely on the outer side of Tai's knee just as he was about to step forward.
"Ah—!"
Tai let out a piercing scream. Under the force of Chu Yang's kick, his knee visibly dislocated, twisting unnaturally.
From the moment the two men launched their assault to Chu Yang's evasions, direct clashes, and decisive counterattacks—until both opponents were completely incapacitated—the entire fight lasted less than two minutes.
Chu Yang had just demonstrated to everyone what "swift, precise, and ruthless" truly meant.
No wasted movements, no flashy techniques—every action targeted a vital point, aimed at dismantling his opponents' combat effectiveness in the shortest time possible.
This was the combat artistry of a retired special forces soldier.
Glancing at the two defeated men on the ground, Chu Yang shook his slightly numb wrist and remarked, "Done."
To be fair, under normal circumstances, that single punch shouldn't have been enough to take down someone like Iron Tower—the man was notoriously tough.
But the strike had landed on an exceptionally vulnerable nerve point, creating the illusion that Iron Tower had been effortlessly floored with one hit.
The match ended with clean, decisive efficiency.
Now, whether it was the spectators on the first floor or the big shots on the second, the entire venue had fallen into stunned silence.
If Ji Yu had delivered a raw, brutal display of sheer violence, then what Chu Yang had showcased was a lethal yet graceful dance of technique and combat finesse—mesmerizing to behold.
Though his methods appeared ruthless, this was exactly the kind of duel the audience had been craving.
Once the last two men hit the ground, Ji Yu stepped forward, grabbed each by a leg, and dragged them over to the row of defeated thugs, arranging them neatly side by side. Satisfied, he turned to Chu Yang.
"Yang-ge, they're all down. When are we eating?"
Chu Yang: "..."
Before he could answer Ji Yu, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar.
"Yi Lian She!"
"Yi Lian She!"
"..."
In a corner of the spectator stands, Lin Muyang smirked at Zhao Weixiang beside him. "See? I told you I bet on the right guy. You should've followed my lead."
Zhao Weixiang watched the two figures—one tall, one short—standing on the platform, then raised his hands and clapped. "Young Master Lin’s sharp eye never fails to impress. I admit I’m no match."
Lin Muyang smirked with pride. "Of course. My judgment has always been impeccable."
As he spoke, his gaze flickered toward the second floor, a thought flashing through his mind: Liu Yutong, you probably have no idea I’m here too, do you?
Zhao Weixiang, feeling they’d seen enough of the spectacle, stood up abruptly. "Young Master Lin, it’s time to go."
Lin Muyang reluctantly tore his eyes away and nodded, following Zhao Weixiang as they slipped out unnoticed.
Not long after they left—
Liu Yutong’s eyes darted back to the seats where Lin Muyang and the others had been sitting.
When she realized they were gone, her first instinct wasn’t that they’d stepped away briefly. Instead, a gnawing sense of dread coiled tighter in her chest.
Then, the faint sting of a pungent odor hit her nostrils. Her face paled, and she shot to her feet.
Lunatic! she cursed inwardly.
Without hesitation, she called out to Gao Min, Scarface, and the others. "Let’s move—now!"
.........................
This group photo of Zhang Yuncheng and the young mistress isn’t bad either. Generating images like this is tricky—the more characters, the harder it gets. Two people clearly come out more refined. But swap the outfits, and the proportions start warping.
