Chapter Seventy-Two - The Tyrant of Song Village (Part Two)

"Stop! If anyone dares to lay another finger, don't blame this old man for turning hostile!"

With a furious roar, Old Zhang raised his hunting rifle and aimed it directly at the dozen or so young men before him, each clad in mismatched clothes and chewing on cigarettes. Old Wu and I, both tense, followed closely behind Old Zhang, our eyes fixed ahead. At first glance, I could feel nothing but anger welling up inside me.

The group had crowded the narrow path at the village entrance, hemming in a bloodied young man, his body caked with dirt and ash, lying on the ground and groaning in pain. His face was so swollen from the beating and smeared with blood running from his forehead that, under the dim streetlight, his features were unrecognizable. But I knew immediately—this was the son of Old Zhang's comrade, the young man called Qin Da, nicknamed Eggy. Beaten to a pulp by these thugs, even as a bystander, I couldn't keep the fury from rising in my chest. The one lying on the ground was a person—not some animal! And even an animal shouldn't be tormented like this...

"Well, look at you, Old Zhang! You’ve got guts, pointing a gun at me? Damn it, are you tired of living?" Seeing Old Zhang with the rifle, the village ruffians grew apprehensive, shuffling backwards. Just then, a man in a sleek tracksuit, toothpick in his mouth and his hair cropped short, swaggered forward, pointing at Old Zhang and sneering, "Your useless son doesn't listen to you, so I helped you teach him a lesson. What of it? Oh, a hunting rifle? I’m so scared! Go on, shoot me! Kill me with one shot! Do you think I'm afraid of dying? I wasn't scared into being who I am! I’ve seen all kinds of trouble, and you think you can intimidate me?"

As the man drew closer, Old Zhang, though a veteran of the battlefield, began to tremble. This wasn’t war—he knew full well the consequences of pulling the trigger here. "Wang... Wang Changshun, let my son go!" Old Zhang pleaded, his voice trembling. My eyes narrowed on the contemptuous man—so this was Wang Changshun, the notorious bully of Songjia Village Old Wu had mentioned.

"Ha!" Wang Changshun spat his toothpick to the ground, grinning wickedly. "Did I hear you right? Your son? Old Zhang, if you’re not embarrassed, I am for you. Who in this village doesn’t know your family’s dirty laundry? Your son? You’d better ask them if they acknowledge you! Oh, sorry—one of your sons is lying in bed from my beating, and the other is on the ground, courtesy of me. Doesn’t seem like they can recognize anyone now! Hahaha..."

His words sent the gang of thugs into gales of laughter. Old Zhang’s face turned from pale to flushed, his grip on the rifle growing unsteady as he ground out, "Say what you like, but let him go first!"

"Oh? Are you trying to bargain with me?" Wang Changshun’s eyes narrowed, and with a sudden stride, he stood right before the rifle’s barrel. Old Zhang, startled, stumbled back, losing his footing on a stone and falling hard. The rifle skittered away, and Old Wu hurriedly snatched it up.

"Useless old fool! With guts like yours, you dare ask me to let him go? I’ll let you go—to hell!" Wang Changshun sneered, waving his hand. Instantly, the thugs surrounded Old Zhang, jeering. "Boys, looks like this old man’s bones are itching for a lesson. Since he cares so much about that bastard son, let’s grant the family a nice little reunion!"

"Got it!" The thugs, taking their cue, surged forward, raining blows on Old Zhang as he struggled to rise. I glanced at Old Wu beside me—he clutched the rifle, trembling all over. I understood his hesitation; his own son was still in Wang’s clutches. He wanted to save his old friend, but the thought of his son forced him to swallow his pride.

Seeing this unfold, I sighed inwardly. If Old Wu wouldn’t step in, then I had to. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could take on so many opponents. But the thought of Old Zhang’s fate ignited a fire in me I couldn’t ignore.

How could I stand by and do nothing? In that instant, I sprang into action, not thinking about the consequences or weighing the odds. All I knew was that I couldn’t stomach bullies preying on the weak—just as Li Dabiao had once rescued me from thugs, I acted on nothing but hot-blooded impulse, the kind that makes a person truly human.

"Bang!" One of the thugs was stomping gleefully, a smug grin on his face, when a gust of wind whooshed behind him. Before he could even turn, my fist crashed into him, sending him flying forward. In a flash, my right leg struck another thug behind the knees, dropping him to the ground.

Fueled by rage, I didn’t think of technique—no martial arts forms, no set moves—just speed and strength. In moments, three thugs were sprawled at my feet. The rest only realized what happened as their friends hit the ground, and they scrambled to attack me.

"You little punk, you’re looking for death!" one shouted, clutching his stomach where I’d kicked him. As he fell, Wang Changshun cursed furiously, signaling the others to surround and attack me in waves.

These were mountain peasants, not martial artists; their only advantage was numbers, and they charged me with brute force. Fists and feet flew like hailstones, the air thick with the chaos of battle. My anger cooled, replaced by focus. After all, I was one against a dozen or more—sheer force would only take me so far. I regretted not having learned the Ziyang Divine Skill from the Tianya Sect; if I had, these thugs would be no match for me.

Clasping my hands, I channeled the familiar moves honed through days of practice. My palms traced circles, gathering a stream of pure energy—I executed the Tai Chi move, "One Qi Transforms to Three Pure Ones." With a push and a pull, several thugs tumbled to the ground in confusion. Others tried to strike, but I opened my arms, redirecting their combined force, and with a sudden push, sent them flying.

"Bang... ah!" A series of groans followed as eight or more dropped, clutching their chests and thighs, unable to get up. Seeing me use martial arts, Wang Changshun panicked. "He knows kung fu! Get him, all at once!"

Though shaken by their fallen comrades, the remaining thugs knew I was still only one man. Five couldn’t do it, eight couldn’t do it—surely ten or more would overwhelm me? In moments, they grabbed farm tools piled nearby and charged, intent on finishing me.

Now the real fight began. These tools—hoes, axes—might not have been weapons of war, but iron still hurt. I was no immortal; one blow would leave me half dead. I cursed my own meddlesome nature, but having thrown myself in, I had no choice but to fight with all I had.

I dodged swinging hoes, blocked a few axes with my arms, and knocked down a few more thugs, grabbing a pitchfork from one to fend off the rest. I might know some martial arts, but only barely; my moves were quickly becoming disordered. What I didn’t realize was that, if my body hadn’t been transformed by drinking that hot spring water in the valley, the effort to knock down eight men would have left me collapsed and helpless.

Suddenly, pain exploded in my back—I’d been struck from behind. Gritting my teeth, I swung around to parry, but my arm was sliced by a shovel, the agony sharp and intense.

"It’s over..." I knew I was done for; soon, these thugs would wear me down and leave me as battered as Eggy. In desperation, I glanced at Old Wu at the edge of the fight—his face was ashen, and the rifle never rose, filling me with hopelessness.

Wounds multiplied, each one burning from the strikes of farm tools—no blades or guns, but still enough to make me writhe in pain. I could barely hold on, staggering as I swung the pitchfork and brought down three more thugs with blows to their shins. As I felt the pressure ease, a flash of steel above startled me—a knife, gleaming, descending toward me. I rolled frantically aside, recognizing Wang Changshun as the attacker.

"Are you trying to kill me?!" I roared, charging at Wang Changshun in fury. Fighting was one thing—murder was another. In a society governed by law, murder was a grave crime, but Wang Changshun dared to cross that line, and my rage burned hotter than ever. A mere enemy becomes a mortal foe when he seeks your life.

I wanted to teach that arrogant bully a lesson, but the swarm of thugs forced me to slow and I was once again trapped. After all, I was only one person...

My strength was failing. No matter how tough, a single man can only fight so many; I was just an ordinary high-schooler. Blows rained on my hands and chest, and I could barely defend myself. My anger was powerless now.

Wang Changshun, seeing my plight, grew jubilant. "Boys, whoever beats this guy to death gets a thousand yuan from me!"

At the promise of reward, the thugs shouted in excitement, grabbing whatever weapons they could and lunging at me. I thought bitterly, "Looks like my recklessness will cost me dearly this time..."

"Beep—beep!!"

Just as I was about to collapse, headlights suddenly blazed from the distance, flooding the dark village entrance with brilliant light, accompanied by the blaring of a car horn. The thugs froze, stunned by the sudden illumination and noise. Seizing the moment, I floored one more thug and bolted toward the car.

This was the desolate edge of the mountains—no cars ever passed at night. It had to be Zhang Jing, coming to fetch me!

Sure enough, as I sprinted and the furious thugs gave chase, the car roared forward, screeching to a halt right in front of me—a luxury BMW. Behind the wheel was Zhang Jing, her face frozen in shock.