Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

Chapter 35 Showdown

The VIP seating area at Wild Fox Ridge is on the second floor, consisting of several small rooms separated by wooden partitions. Once the curtains are drawn, the outside cannot see inside.

Inside, there was a thick felt mat, and a low table with fruits and wine piled on it.

Two young women leaned against the low table on either side, their clothes so thin they were almost translucent, with low necklines that revealed their fair collarbones and half of their breasts, and the curves of their waists were faintly visible beneath the fabric.

Their hands rested on the shoulders of a middle-aged man, their fingertips painted with nail polish, gleaming a seductive red in the dim light.

The man had a scraggly beard, his hair was messy and tied up at the back of his head, and his silk robe was wrinkled with the collar open, revealing his muscular chest.

He leaned back on the cushion, holding a wine glass in one hand and slowly caressing the woman's waist with the other, his fingertips slipping under the hem of her clothes and circling her smooth skin.

The woman didn't flinch; instead, she pressed herself closer to him, the skin below her collarbone gleaming in the candlelight.

"Iron Tower injured his right shoulder in the fight with the Zhao Family Martial Arts School last time." The man took a sip of his drink, his voice low, as if talking to himself. "He's getting old, and his recovery is slow. He might not come out on top in this fight."

The woman next to him tilted her head and said in a coquettish voice, "Boss, are you saying you don't think much of the Eiffel Tower?"

"Whether I'm optimistic or not is one thing, and whether he wins or loses is another." The man put down his glass. "The Eiffel Tower was undefeated for twenty-three games, that was before. Now?"

He chuckled, his hand sliding from the woman's waist to her hip, giving her a light pat. "I've seen that kid Stone. He's fearless, a ruthless fighter. If Iron Tower were five years younger, I'd bet on him to win. Now—it's hard to say."

Another woman poured him a glass of wine, brought it to her lips, her breasts almost pressed against his arm: "So, who are you betting on?"

The man didn't reply, but just smiled and drank his wine.

Sun Gengsan sat in a seat near the front of the audience, neither too close nor too far. He could see every rope in the arena and every movement of the two people on stage.

The area was filled with people: wealthy merchants dressed in silk, martial artists with knives at their waists, and several masked men in black whose faces were obscured. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, alcohol, and cheap cosmetics, making one's nose sting.

"The main event tonight is Stone versus Iron Tower!" A fat man with a face full of scars shouted to his companion. "Stone is a newbie, he's only had four or five matches, right? He doesn't have much experience, but I heard he's pretty ruthless. Iron Tower is the old star of Wild Fox Ridge, he hasn't lost in three years. Tonight we'll see if Stone can take Iron Tower down."

His companion scoffed, "Take him down? Iron Tower has four weaknesses, undefeated in twenty-three matches. Stone only has three weaknesses, a whole level below. What are you going to do?"

"That's not necessarily true. I watched Stone's matches; his fighting style is different from others. He doesn't engage in direct confrontations; he targets weaknesses. Didn't he drive Green Snake away?"

"The Green Snake is a rat in the gutter, how can it compare to the Iron Tower?"

The two argued for a few moments, neither convincing the other. An old man in front turned around and lowered his voice: "Stop arguing, the betting has started. The Eiffel Tower is 0.3 to 1, the Stone is 3 to 1."

Sun Gengsan's ears perked up. One to three odds. If you bet on stones and win, your winnings triple.

He pulled a cloth bag from his pocket, untied it, and poured all the loose silver and copper coins inside onto the table. Four taels and two mace—he kept not a single coin. Those around him stared, dumbfounded.

"Are you crazy? Betting everything on stones?"

Sun Gengsan ignored him and pushed the money to the dealer. The dealer counted it, wrote a note, and handed it to him. The people around him murmured amongst themselves; some said he was crazy, some said he was stupid, and some hesitated for a moment before betting a few coins on the stone. But most people still bet on the iron tower.

Sun Geng tucked the note into his pocket, leaned back in his chair, his palms sweaty.

The iron tower walked in from the east end of the site.

He was shirtless, his muscles like cast iron, each one sharply defined. A bandage was wrapped around his right shoulder, and underneath it bulged something, whether muscle or an old injury, it was hard to tell.

He walked steadily, each step causing a slight tremor in the ground. His face was mostly covered by a black veil, revealing only his eyes—not fierce, but calm, like those of a seasoned wolf.

A deafening roar erupted from the crowd: "Eiffel Tower! Eiffel Tower! Eiffel Tower!"

The tower did not respond, but simply walked to the center of the field, stood still, clasped its hands together, and bowed to the surroundings.

Jiang Lan walked in from the west end of the venue.

Dressed in black and masked, only his eyes were visible. A wooden plaque was affixed to his chest—"Three Holes, Stone." His steps were neither fast nor slow, each one firm and measured. The cheers subsided somewhat; some shouted "Stone," others "Newcomer," and most whispered amongst themselves.

He stood in the center of the room, facing the Eiffel Tower, three steps away.

The two stared at each other for a moment.

Iron Tower spoke first, his voice muffled behind his mask: "You're Stone? Three Holes?"

"Three acupoints," Jiang Lan said. He didn't mention four acupoints—that was his trump card, and he couldn't reveal it too early.

A hint of disdain flashed in Iron Tower's eyes as he clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Iron Tower."

Jiang Lan also clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Stone."

First courtesy, then force. The scene quieted down, and the torchlight flickered on the two men's faces.

The lame old man stood on the sidelines, raising his hand.

"start!"

Iron Tower didn't rush to attack. He stood still, his fists slowly clenching, like a cast-iron statue. Jiang Lan didn't move either; he was waiting, waiting for Iron Tower to make the first move, waiting to see through his opponent's tactics.

The two faced off for three breaths.

The iron tower moved. He took a step, and the ground trembled slightly. He took another step, and the ground trembled again. He was like a moving mountain, each step carrying a sense of oppression as he pressed down on Jiang Lan.

Then, his right fist shot out from his waist like an iron hammer, heading straight for Jiang Lan's chest. The fist whistled through the air, carrying a heavy and fierce force.

Jiang Lan turned to the side, crossing his arms to block. The fist slammed into his forearm, like being hit by a galloping carriage. He was jolted back two steps, his feet carving two shallow furrows in the ground.

The bones in my forearm felt like they were about to crack, and my whole arm was numb.

The tower only retreated half a step.

The place erupted in uproar.

"The stone has been driven back!"

"The Eiffel Tower is still the same Eiffel Tower!"

Jiang Lan shook her numb arm and stared at the Iron Tower's shoulder. The Iron Tower's right shoulder paused slightly at the moment of throwing the punch—it seemed that his old injury on his right shoulder was real.

Iron Tower struck again, his left fist sweeping straight towards Jiang Lan's temple.

Jiang Lan ducked to avoid the blow, the fist grazing his hair, the force of the wind stinging his scalp. He didn't retaliate, but instead jumped back a step, creating distance.

Iron Tower followed up, delivering another heavy right punch. Jiang Lan blocked again, taking a half-step back. This time, he saw it clearly—Iron Tower's right punch was weaker than his left, and his right shoulder would involuntarily sink down for a moment after the punch.

This is a flaw left by an old wound.

Iron Tower clearly noticed that Jiang Lan was observing him. He stopped using his right fist and switched to attacking fiercely with his left fist, while using his right fist only as a feint.

Jiang Lan was forced to the edge of the arena, his back almost touching the ropes. The Iron Tower's left fist came crashing down; he had nowhere to dodge and could only take the blow. The fist struck his forearm, the bones cracking, and he groaned, his knees buckling, almost collapsing to his knees.

But he didn't kneel down. Using the tower's momentum, he rolled to the side, slipped under the rope, and stood up.

Iron Tower turned around, a hint of impatience in his eyes. He stopped probing, seemingly forgetting the old injury on his right shoulder, and swung both fists out simultaneously, like two iron hammers, smashing towards Jiang Lan one after the other.

Jiang Lan dodged the first punch, but the second grazed his side, the force tearing a gash in his clothes. Gritting his teeth, he advanced instead of retreating, slamming his fist into the iron tower's right shoulder—a crushing force, an explosive burst of power, striking precisely at the site of his old injury.

Iron Tower grunted, his right arm jerked violently, and his punch paused for a moment. But his left fist had already come crashing down, and Jiang Lan had no time to dodge, so he could only raise his arm to block. The fist struck his forearm, and he was jolted two steps to the side, a metallic taste rising in his throat.

The tower did not give chase. He stood still, his right shoulder slightly slumped, his breathing becoming heavy. He stared at Jiang Lan, his gaze shifting from disdain to seriousness.

"You're asking for it."

His voice was deep, as if it were squeezed out of his chest.

Jiang Lan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth without replying. His right arm was trembling, his thumb and forefinger split open, and blood dripped from his fingertips. The Iron Tower's strength far surpassed his own; in a head-on collision, he was no match.

The lame old man shouted from the sidelines, "Round one, over!"

Eiffel Tower turned and walked back to his corner, took the water bag handed to him, and tilted his head back to gulp it down. His right shoulder was trembling, and dark red blood seeped through the bandage.

Jiang Lan leaned against the rope, panting heavily. In her mind, a golden panel flickered slightly—

[Collapse Mountain Fist (Dacheng): 48/1000]

Sun Gengsan sat in the audience, clutching the betting slips, his fingernails digging into his palms. The people around him murmured amongst themselves.

"Stone won't work; it'll just get crushed."

"It looks like the tower has an injury on its right shoulder; you can see it's been shaking."

"So what if he's injured? Stone can't even break through his defenses."

Sun Gengsan didn't speak, his eyes fixed on the stage.

The lame old man raised his hand again.

"Round Two, Begin!"

The second round begins.

The iron tower came hurtling towards them, its fists sending gusts of wind making the rope net buzz.

Everyone assumed Jiang Lan would continue to dodge and weave.

next moment--

Jiang Lan took root in his feet and advanced instead of retreating.

The Qi and blood in the four acupoints exploded without reservation!

The audience erupted in uproar:

"He doesn't have three acupoints?!"

"This is... the aura of the four acupoints?!"

The iron tower's pupils contracted sharply, revealing surprise for the first time.

A cold, sharp smile curled at the corner of Jiang Lan's mouth beneath her mask.

"Now, it's my turn."