Chapter 42: Even More Troublesome Than I Am

This clubhouse was truly impressive in size. The above-ground structure spread out like wings, with the main building rising five stories, the annex three, while the boxing gym was set on the first basement level.

Chu Tianfeng had no idea that, by a twist of fate, he’d wandered into the territory of the Mojin Sect. Along the way, he feigned casual curiosity about the boxing gym, asking questions about the owner’s origins, whether he was a fighter himself, and so on. But the attendant leading him acted as if he hadn’t heard a word, paying him no mind whatsoever.

Several minutes later, Chu Tianfeng was finally ushered into a small conference room.

Inside sat two men, one middle-aged, the other young. The older man had a long, horse-like face, a drooping moustache, and a rigid expression. With a subtle sweep of his spiritual sense, Chu Tianfeng discerned that the man possessed early-stage Energy Refinement cultivation. The younger man’s face was more square, his haircut distinct—his head was shaved all around, leaving a small braid atop his forehead. His body was knotted with muscle, tattoos crawling from his neck down. His cultivation was slightly lower, at mid-stage Dark Energy.

Chu Tianfeng grew alert within. He knew that behind this boxing gym, there must be martial artists at play—likely a major sect. Still, he felt no fear; so far, no one had seen through his disguise.

He was here simply to box, not to challenge the establishment. No matter the sect, he had no intention of stirring up trouble.

“Please, have a seat,” the horse-faced man invited, gesturing toward a chair.

The attendant bowed slightly, slipped out, and closed the door.

Chu Tianfeng cupped his fists in greeting to the two men, then seated himself across from them.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My surname is Pei.” The horse-faced man asked, “And how should I address you, sir?”

“I’m Lin Feng,” Chu Tianfeng replied, using the same alias as before.

“Oh? And may I ask where you’re from, Mr. Lin?” Pei continued.

Chu Tianfeng hesitated, unsure of the man’s intent.

“Don’t take it the wrong way—we just want to know your background, so we don’t accidentally make an enemy,” Pei quickly explained.

“Oh, I’m not affiliated with any sect. I’m entirely self-taught,” Chu Tianfeng declared loudly, his tone laced with pride.

Pei smiled faintly, exchanging a glance with the young man with the braid.

“Are you familiar with the rules of our gym, Mr. Lin?” Pei inquired again.

“Not really. A friend only gave me a brief overview,” Chu Tianfeng replied, purposefully vague.

“It’s like this: we prohibit the use of weapons, tools, or hidden devices. All fighters must wear the boxing gloves provided by our gym, and under normal circumstances, matches are not to be fought to the death,” Pei explained unhurriedly.

“In what circumstances could things turn deadly?” Chu Tianfeng feigned terror.

“Don’t worry,” the young man with the braid cut in, “as long as you haven’t signed a life-or-death contract, fatalities are rare. Of course, accidents can happen—unintended injuries and so forth.”

“Uh…” Chu Tianfeng put on a worried face, his eyes darting about.

“That’s very uncommon. There’s no need to be anxious,” Pei reassured him. “Every match has a referee who will do their best to ensure your safety.”

“Oh,” Chu Tianfeng let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “By the way, how is a boxer’s income calculated?”

This was the question that truly concerned Chu Tianfeng, and the reason he had come.

“Generally, when a boxer challenges the ringmaster, there’s a one-thousand yuan appearance fee. If you defeat the ringmaster, the prize is ten thousand yuan. If you lose, there’s neither reward nor penalty, but whatever injuries you sustain are your own responsibility.” Pei picked up two contracts from the table and, standing, handed them to Chu Tianfeng. “This is the match contract. Have a look.”

“You can also place bets on the fights before they start,” the braided young man added.

“I’ll do a match first, then decide whether to bet,” Chu Tianfeng replied, his gaze growing even more unfocused as he took the contract.

He very much wanted to put down a wager, but he didn’t have a single cent to gamble with.

“If there are no further questions, we can arrange your match right away,” Pei said, sitting back down, his eyes full of anticipation.

With each new boxer came another bout, and with every bout, more revenue. Naturally, Pei was eager.

After skimming the contract, Chu Tianfeng asked, “Where is the ringmaster from? Is he tough?”

“Our ringmasters change every week. This week’s are from Thailand—a master and his apprentice, sharing the ring. Their records are mixed,” Pei replied casually.

In reality, the apprentice had lost twice, but the master had fought only twice and won both times with ease. Pei deliberately muddied the facts, not wanting to scare Chu Tianfeng off with the prospect of a formidable opponent.

“Alright, I’ll challenge the apprentice first,” Chu Tianfeng said, feigning nervousness as he picked up the pen and signed “Lin Feng” in bold strokes.

“Oh, you can’t challenge the Thai boxers directly. That’s the gym’s rule,” Pei said, signing the other contract.

“Oh?” Chu Tianfeng held his signed contract in hand.

“It’s for safety. Thai boxers are aggressively skilled. So, before challenging them, all fighters must first face a domestic opponent of slightly lesser strength. Only if you win can you proceed to challenge the Thai boxers.” Pei held his signed contract as well.

“Fine. I hope I can knock out my opponent with one punch,” Chu Tianfeng said with an easy smile.

Both stood, exchanged contracts, signed, and pressed their fingerprints.

When it came time to press his fingerprint, Chu Tianfeng deliberately coated his fingers in red ink, but when he pressed down, he used his true energy instead of his finger.

What appeared on the contract was just a blob of red, with a few thick lines traced within.

Pei seemed not to notice, happily collecting the contracts and instructing the young man with the braid to take Chu Tianfeng to the arena.

As Chu Tianfeng and his guide left the conference room, Pei’s phone rang.

He answered. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was curt. “Hall Master Pei, come to my office.”

Then the call was cut off.

Pei, full of suspicion, grabbed the contract and hurried out of the room.

He walked down a corridor of over ten meters, stopping before a door, and knocked gently.

“Come in!” called a voice from inside.

Pei quickly pushed open the door and slipped inside.

It was a spacious office, with a massive desk and a broad set of sofas. On one sofa sat a young man and a young woman—the man with a square, handsome face, the woman delicate and beautiful, half-reclining in his arms.

Had Chu Tianfeng been present, he would have instantly recognized the pair. Indeed, the young man was the wealthy heir Chu had encountered at the clothing store, and the young woman was none other than the actress Zhang Xiaoyu.

On the redwood coffee table before them sat a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“Sit,” the square-faced young man said, gesturing to a sofa. “Let me see the contract.”

“Thank you, Young Master Cheng.” Pei handed over the contract and sat respectfully to one side.

Young Master Cheng glanced over the document. “His name is Lin Feng?”

“Yes,” Pei replied. “He had contact with Hua Zhengjun and his daughter at noon. Our people are tailing him. I didn’t expect him to end up on our turf.”

“What sect is he from?” Cheng handed the contract back.

“He claims to have no affiliation,” Pei answered, tidying the paperwork. “We’ve had a lot of unaffiliated martial artists coming to the gym lately. Most are self-taught. This one appears to be in his forties—if he were from a sect, he probably wouldn’t hide it.”

“Hmph! Keep an eye on him. Find out what sect he’s really from,” Cheng ordered. He understood Pei’s reasoning, but remained suspicious.

“Of course. But why are you so interested in him, Young Master Cheng?” Pei asked. To him, the man seemed quite ordinary—timid, even. If it weren’t for his connection to the Hua family, Pei wouldn’t have bothered to track him.

“Interested? Hardly! This guy stole the clothes I wanted this morning at a boutique. I’m still pissed,” Cheng replied, his face darkening.

The memory of that scene at the clothing store still stung. This was Wushi City—his territory. No one liked being humiliated on their own turf.

“So that’s it,” Pei thought, suddenly enlightened. This fellow really had a knack for trouble, daring to offend their Young Master Cheng.

“Come watch the match with me.” Cheng gestured to the wall-mounted LED display, a glint of malice in his eye. “Once he’s done, send a few men to follow him and teach him a lesson.”

“Don’t worry, Young Master. I’ll make sure he won’t forget it,” Pei replied.

Cheng turned to Zhang Xiaoyu, patting her on the rear. “Xiaoyu, get Hall Master Pei a glass.”

“Alright,” Zhang Xiaoyu replied, rising gracefully to fetch a glass.

“By the way, what’s the situation at Thousand Bird Lake?” Cheng asked.

“No progress at all. After Chu Tianfeng appeared, there were rumors of strange happenings. Many sects got spooked and left. Later, Chu disappeared and the haunting stopped as well,” Pei replied.

“Interesting. Could the so-called ghost actually be Chu Tianfeng in disguise?”

Cheng’s guess was, in fact, spot on.

“That’s one theory. But rumor has it Chu is only at early-stage Energy Refinement, while the ghost easily overpowered Li Debiao, who’s also early-stage, and even killed Xu Chen from the Salt Society, likewise early-stage. Most believe the ghost is someone else—perhaps Chu’s master, with at least mid-stage Energy Refinement.”

Cheng nodded, reaching for a black cigar case on the table.

He drew out two cigars, handed one to Pei, then picked up the cigar cutter and trimmed his own with deliberate care.

As soon as he finished, Pei hastened to light Cheng’s cigar.

“The Salt Society’s Hang City and Wushi City halls have been wiped out. Any idea who did it?” Cheng asked, exhaling smoke.

“It’s tricky. The Special Operations Group is investigating; it’s hard for us to get involved,” Pei said apologetically.

“Was it the Hengshan or Huangshan sects?”

“That’s what most people believe. But they’re overlooking one thing—Liu Zuo detained Long Fei of the Long family a few days ago. Long Fei is a direct descendant—he’d never be without skilled protection.”

At that moment, Zhang Xiaoyu returned with a glass.

“Go on,” Cheng prompted, nodding for Zhang to pour Pei some wine.

Pei stood, accepted the glass with thanks, and poured more wine into the two existing glasses before filling his own halfway.

“The night after Long Fei was detained, the Hang City hall was destroyed, then the Wushi City hall nearby. My guess is it was the Long family—very likely Long Fei, leading a retaliatory strike,” Pei said, sitting down again.

Cheng’s face showed amused approval. “Interesting. That Long Fei is even more troublesome than I am.”

“Either way, the destruction of those two Salt Society branches—whoever’s behind it—it’s good for us. I suggest the sect master take action immediately to seize control of the underground market in both cities.”

“No doubt my father and brother have plans in motion. It’s not our concern.”