100: Miss Yang

Eight o'clock in the morning.

The training grounds on the fifth floor of the Xinrui Entertainment Center.

Li Zhan leaned against the side of the boxing ring with his arms crossed.

The morning light spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching his shadow very long.

On the ring,

Big Ox was shirtless, performing weighted squats.

Beads of sweat rolled down his bronze muscles, leaving dark stains on the floor.

"Add another twenty kilograms!"

Old Zhou added iron plates to the barbell with a cold face.

The clanging of metal was particularly piercing in the empty training hall.

Big Ox gritted his teeth and hoisted it up, his thigh muscles tensing like blocks of iron.

Li Zhan nodded slightly—

This kid's talent was indeed amazing; in just a few short days,

his physical fitness had already improved by a level.

"Stop!"

Old Zhou suddenly clapped his hands. "Switch to actual combat."

As soon as Big Ox put down the barbell, Big Courage jumped onto the ring.

The two of them took their stances.

Big Ox aimed a standard Fist Style 'Mountain-Cleaving Cannon' straight at the center,

but Big Courage dodged with a sidestep,

responding with a backhand elbow strike from military boxing, slamming it hard into his ribs.

"Too rigid!"

Old Zhou barked sharply. "Who follows rules in an underground boxing match?"

Big Ox rubbed his ribs, grimacing.

Li Zhan narrowed his eyes—

This was exactly Big Ox's shortcoming.

The traditional Fist Style taught by his master emphasized beautiful stances and complete routines,

which was indeed imposing on a rural stage.

But in a true life-and-death struggle, those grand, flashy moves became a burden.

Every magnificent turn,

every redundant opening gesture, was creating a fatal opportunity for the opponent.

Li Zhan watched as Big Ox was hit in the chin by Old Zhou's simple straight punch once again, and he couldn't help but shake his head.

In a rural martial arts hall, Big Ox might be able to reign supreme with this level of skill,

but on the stage of an underground boxing match,

only the most direct and ruthless moves would allow one to survive.

"Stop!"

Li Zhan leapt onto the ring. "Remember, true killing techniques involve no more than three moves."

He assumed the Fist Style opening stance, then suddenly changed the move into the simplest straight kick.

"Just like this—strip away the fluff and keep the essence, one strike to kill."

Big Ox wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his gaze gradually becoming sharp.

"Again!" Old Zhou barked.

The subsequent sparring became even more brutal.

Big Courage feigned a stumble, suddenly throwing sand when Big Ox stepped forward.

Shui Sheng pretended to fall to the ground, but concealed a lethal knee strike to the groin.

Big Ox was flustered at first,

but he gradually learned to secretly pinch the opponent's pressure points while parrying, and to kick up dust from the floor to blind them while sweeping.

"Not bad."

Li Zhan looked at the bruised and swollen but bright-eyed Big Ox, the corners of his mouth slowly curling up.

Outside the window,

the morning sun had fully risen, making the bloodstains on the ring shine brightly.

In the underground boxing match at the end of the month,

it would be time for this young dragon to show its true mettle.

—

Futian District, Shenzhen.

As a top-tier Luxury Residence, the Luxury Residence stood proudly in the central district of Futian District.

The astronomical price of nearly twenty thousand yuan per square meter deterred ordinary people.

The European-style gardens were dotted with Roman column sculptures.

The security guards on 24-hour patrol wore crisp uniforms; the residents were either rich or noble.

The "Miss Yang" mentioned by Young Master Liu lived here.

Inside Miss Yang's duplex apartment,

Swarovski crystal chandeliers cast warm light onto the imported calfskin sofa.

Her sister sat stiffly on the edge,

her fingers twisting the silk hem of her dress—

this dress was brought back for her from Hong Kong by her younger sister last year.

"Sister, have some ginseng tea."

A voice so sweet it could ooze honey came from the living room as Miss Yang walked over gracefully, carrying a gilded bone china cup.

Today, she wore only a simple white low-cut sweater,

which outlined her voluptuous figure in a heart-stopping way—

especially when she turned around,

the rounded, perky curves of her buttocks were faintly visible under the tight wool skirt,

making even her own sister unable to resist taking a few extra glances.

As her sister took the teacup,

Miss Yang leaned over with concern, revealing a section of her snow-white neck at the collar.

She was born with a natural charm.

Even without makeup, the corners of her eyes naturally tilted upward,

and when she smiled, her eyes curved into two crescents, as alluring as if they could speak.

"What happened?"

She suddenly grabbed her sister's wrist, her sweet voice abruptly tightening.

The bruises on her sister's wrist were particularly glaring under the light.

"This morning... several men came to the gallery."

Her sister's voice trembled. "They said that Young Master Liu wants to invite you to Dongguan to watch some... underground boxing match.

If you don't go, they will..."

She suddenly choked up. "If Young Master Lai were still here, how would these people dare to be so arrogant..."

"Sister!"

Miss Yang interrupted quickly and sharply, her fingertips digging into her palm.

"It's been so many years, why bring him up..."

She knitted her brows, her red lips slightly pursed.

Even her angry look carried a pitiful charm that made one want to protect her.

She looked out the window, and as she turned,

her perky buttocks, wrapped in the wool skirt, swayed gently with her steps, trembling like a ripe honey peach.

The fountain of the Luxury Residence was reflecting a rainbow glow in the setting sun.

This former national sweetheart,

even though she had faded from the music scene for many years,

still possessed the magic to make men fall head over heels with every frown and smile.

Only at this moment,

those crescent eyes were filled not with sweetness,

but with bottomless worry.

—

That evening,

in a private room of a club at Honey Lake, Shenzhen,

crystal chandeliers cast warm light onto the gilded tableware.

Miss Yang sat by the window.

Her cashmere coat was casually draped over the back of the chair, revealing the form-fitting pearl-white knit dress underneath.

Her voluptuous figure outlined heart-stopping curves under the light,

especially when she leaned forward slightly to pour tea,

the rounded line of her buttocks pressed an inviting curve into the leather seat.

The gazes of several "old friends" were stuck to her like glue.

The deputy director of the TV station let his gaze linger on her V-neck,

while the son of a real estate developer stared blankly at her crossed jade-like legs.

"I've encountered some trouble recently..."

Miss Yang took a small sip of red wine,

her sweet voice carrying just the right amount of vulnerability.

She briefly mentioned being threatened, her crescent-like eyes welling with tears.

"I really don't know what to do..."

"How dare he!"

The deputy director slapped the table and stood up, his fleshy palm "coincidentally" resting on her shoulder.

"I'll call Old Chen at the Public Security Bureau right now..."

The real estate developer's son was also filled with righteous indignation.

“I'll go find someone from the Chaoshan Gang.

Their influence in Dongguan is very large... they can definitely settle this for you...”

But when the four words "Young Master Liu of Dongguan" escaped her red lips, the room suddenly went silent.

The deputy director's phone suddenly rang, and he rushed out the door as if he had been granted a reprieve.

The real estate developer's son began to talk incessantly about the analysis of the Shenzhen Stock Index,

as if the person who had just thumped his chest wasn't him.

...

The gathering ended quickly.

Miss Yang stood alone on the club's terrace,

the cold wind blowing the mist from Honey Lake into her face.

She hugged her arms tightly.

The cashmere coat was blown tight against her body, showing a heart-stopping waist-to-hip ratio.

In the distance,

the lights of the Luxury Residence were as warm as ever,

but they could not illuminate the cold light gradually gathering in her eyes.

The former sweet song queen, who once received countless gifts,

was finally tasting the bitterness of reality at this moment.

In this vanity fair where power and money were intertwined,

the halo of a washed-up star

was nothing more than wrapping paper that the powerful could tear up at will.

The night wind ruffled her long hair,

and also blew away the last trace of innocence.