Give Me Your Phone

A thousand bucks registration fee.

Huang Haotian snapped back to reality—his twenty grand was already staked on the bet. Where was he supposed to get the money for Ye Chuan? It hadn’t even crossed his mind initially, and he had no intention of paying up in the first place.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll give it to you later.”

Of course, Huang Haotian had no plans to hand over the cash. Once he beat Ye Chuan to a pulp, who’d care about some petty debt?

Ye Chuan raised an eyebrow, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Damn, are you even human? You brought a dozen guys here to freeload? Or is your little ‘Seoul Squad’ too broke to cough up the cash?”

His words instantly drew the crowd’s attention, pinning Huang Haotian under their scrutiny.

Yeah, that didn’t sound very human.

He’d promised to pay, but now, with the match about to start, he was still empty-handed—seemingly ready to welch.

Huang Haotian’s face flushed red and pale in turns. This bastard Ye Chuan was treating him like some cheap neon sign.

“Hand over your phone,” Ye Chuan said, stretching out his palm as Huang Haotian stood there, frozen.

“What for?” Huang Haotian blinked.

“Ah, seeing how broke you are, big bro’s gonna help you take out a loan.” Ye Chuan grinned, looking as benevolent as an angel.

“The hell?!” Huang Haotian nearly choked on his own breath, but Ye Chuan’s words did spark an idea—he could borrow money. After shooting Ye Chuan a glare, he checked his Alipay and saw a 50,000-credit limit. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew it all.

“Scan this!”

Ye Chuan whipped out his QR code—his lock screen was literally just the payment barcode.

Huang Haotian’s vision darkened. This guy had come prepared.

Seeing the 14,000 hit his account, Ye Chuan chuckled.

What a time to be alive—people actually paying to get their asses kicked.

Meanwhile, Huang Haotian winced at the remaining 30,000-plus balance. But then an idea struck him. He turned to his lackeys. “Go, put another 36,000 on me.”

Once the bets paid out, he’d recoup everything.

That 14,000 could be Ye Chuan’s funeral money.

“You got it!”

Watching Huang Haotian’s move, Ye Chuan tossed his 14,000 to An Shiyu and placed his own bet.

“Oh?” An Shiyu, standing ringside, rubbed her hands together like a fly as another 50,000 rolled in. “Not bad, Ye Chuan. I’ll buy you some fruit when you’re in the hospital.”

I’ll remember your kindness.

…

After paying up, Huang Haotian steadied his breathing and scowled. “Got your money. Happy now?”

“Sure. Who’s first in line for a beating?” Ye Chuan clapped his hands together.

Huang Haotian took a deep breath, then nodded at the referee, signaling he’d step into the ring first.

He couldn’t wait to pummel Ye Chuan into the ground.

Both sides had signed contracts for this match—no liability for injuries. Huang Haotian had even bribed the ref. As long as he didn’t kill Ye Chuan, he could go all out.

“Heh.” The thought of Ye Chuan’s miserable state after the fight kept Huang Haotian’s smirk firmly in place.

“Fighters, ready!”

At the referee’s signal, Ye Chuan and Huang Haotian took their positions.

Down in the audience, the host turned to the guest panel—leaders of other martial arts clubs. “Who do you favor, gentlemen?”

“I’ve sparred with Huang Haotian before. His taekwondo isn’t as strong as his judo, but he’s got some skill,” the judo club president said, shaking his head. He didn’t see how an amateur like Ye Chuan stood a chance.

The karate club head agreed. “That Ye Chuan guy shows zero signs of training. Even if he got lucky once by ambushing Huang Haotian, that’ll be the only time in his life.”

The sanda club leader just laughed. “Bro’s dead.”

Hearing the panel unanimously back him, Huang Haotian sneered. “Know why no one believes in you?”

“I’m a city-level taekwondo champ, on my way to provincials. Your cheap tricks don’t belong in the ring.”

Ye Chuan just raised an eyebrow, amused. “Damn, city-level’s that weak? Even a sicko like me can wipe the floor with you. Might as well send a dog in your place.”

“You—!” Huang Haotian’s eyes burned with rage.

Ye Chuan’s mouth was pure poison.

“Can we start already?!” Huang Haotian roared at the ref, his face purple with fury.

“Begin!”

The referee counted down. “Three, two… go!”

Despite his anger, Huang Haotian kept his cool. Ye Chuan had knocked him out once, so he wouldn’t fall for another sneak attack.

If he faceplanted again, the humiliation would be unbearable.

He tightened the black belt around his waist—the pride of a taekwondo master.

Ye Chuan, meanwhile, stood relaxed, not even bothering with a stance as Huang Haotian circled, measuring his distance.

“Hah!”

Spotting Ye Chuan’s idle posture, Huang Haotian seized the moment. He closed the gap and launched a spinning side kick—one of taekwondo’s signature moves.

The technique was all about range and piercing force. Huang Haotian was confident he could cripple Ye Chuan in one strike.

But to Ye Chuan, the powerful, lightning-fast kick seemed to move in slow motion. He smirked inwardly.

Buddy, I cultivate immortality.

Channeling spiritual energy, Ye Chuan casually reached out and caught Huang Haotian’s ankle mid-kick.

For a split second, Huang Haotian almost laughed.

Idiot. Trying to grab it?

Then the pain hit—searing heat and pressure clamped around his ankle like a vice.

“What the—?!”

Huang Haotian wasn’t the only one stunned. The crowd gasped.

Wait, you can just… grab that?

That kick had speed and power. How was that even possible?

Huang Haotian yanked his leg back, but Ye Chuan’s grip didn’t budge.

With a faint smile, Ye Chuan gave a slight tug—yanking Huang Haotian off-balance—then pivoted into a shoulder slam.

BAM.

Huang Haotian went flying, tumbling across the mat like a ragdoll.

Ye Chuan dusted off his shoulders, then extended a hand.

“Kun Dao style. Your move.”

Huang Haotian scrambled up, his face a mask of shock.

How the hell is he this strong?!