Chapter Nine: The Star Martial Hall

This chapter is long.

Zhang Zixing looked at Song Yue and smiled faintly, admitting, "You hit my little brother, and my mother was so distressed she cried all day at home. So there has to be some explanation, but I won't lay a hand on you myself—that would make it look like I'm bullying the weak."

Such posturing?

If it were me, I'd start fighting as soon as we met, regardless of who you are.

Song Yue looked at him and said, "So you mean I'm not qualified to fight you?"

Zhang Zixing’s expression remained calm: "If you want to interpret it that way, that’s fine."

Song Yue raised an eyebrow: "Then lay out the terms."

"Tomorrow morning at nine, at Xing Martial Hall. I’ll have a junior who’s your age fight you. Win or lose, the matter will be settled." Zhang Zixing spoke with quiet confidence.

"A martial hall?" Song Yue frowned. "On the ring?"

Zhang Zixing nodded. "On the ring."

"Is there an appearance fee?" Song Yue asked.

Zhang Zixing was instantly baffled.

"Who fights for free?" Song Yue replied with conviction.

Zhang Zixing’s lips twitched, his eyes narrowing coldly as he stared at Song Yue. "How much do you want?"

Song Yue pondered seriously—he had little experience with this. If he went by the news about Meng Xudong winning the World Martial Arts Championship, the prize money was huge.

Hundreds of thousands!

And that was just the prize, not counting the rewards from various parties afterward.

He didn’t care much for the World Martial Arts Championship, but those hefty prizes were tempting.

Still, he was a civilized and polite person, and didn’t want to make things too difficult.

"Five hundred thousand?" he offered conservatively.

"Five hundred thousand?!" Zhang Zixing’s voice suddenly soared, drawing the attention of many passersby.

"Isn’t that a bit... too little? Sorry, I don’t have much experience. How about you name your price?"

Song Yue was agreeable—since he had no experience, let the other party decide.

Name your price? Are you kidding me?

Zhang Zixing almost coughed up blood in anger. This kid looked tall and handsome, but his brain was clearly off. Did he not understand the language?

I’m here on behalf of my little brother, following martial artists' protocol to initiate a challenge, and you want to talk money?

After holding it in, Zhang Zixing pointed to his own head. "Is there something wrong with you?"

Song Yue nodded. "Yes, yes, I’ve always been too clever for my own good, and it makes me feel out of place among ordinary people like you. Just give me a straight answer—five hundred thousand, yes or no!"

What a madman!

Zhang Zixing looked at Song Yue coldly. "Fine, five hundred thousand it is!"

He really has money!

Song Yue marveled inwardly, and then wondered if he’d asked for too little.

At the same time, he felt something was off.

This was supposed to be a duel, not an invitational match. He just wanted to annoy the guy, but was surprised he agreed.

Song Yue didn’t believe things would be that simple.

He looked at Zhang Zixing. "Meng Xudong isn’t even my match. Are you sure you want your junior from Xing Martial Hall to fight me?"

While Xing Martial Hall’s reputation wasn’t as loud as Elite Martial Hall, it was still among the top in Hangzhou. But with Meng Xudong, who was said to be undefeated before twenty, none of the other young members seemed particularly outstanding.

Song Yue had learned about Meng Xudong, and after researching local martial halls and the best young martial artists, found that Meng Xudong was the most famous.

He didn’t believe Zhang Zixing didn’t know Meng Xudong wasn’t his equal.

"I’ve already said it: you’ll fight my junior who’s your age. Are you afraid to accept?" Zhang Zixing asked quietly.

"I accept," Song Yue replied immediately.

There was nothing to fear. According to the sage, he was already ready to challenge martial halls outright.

If he dared to challenge halls, why worry about the opponent?

Let’s start with Xing Martial Hall!

Zhang Zixing gave Song Yue a deep look. "Tomorrow morning at nine, I’ll be waiting for you at Xing Martial Hall."

He turned and left without further ado.

"Remember to prepare the money!" Song Yue called loudly, then watched as the luxury sedan disappeared into the night traffic, and strode home.

The next morning, Song Yue got up early and began his training.

At seven, he ate breakfast, washed up, greeted Aunt Wang, and headed out to Xing Martial Hall.

This time, he didn’t ride his bike—he hailed a taxi.

Though confident, he still sensed that beneath Zhang Zixing’s calm face hid something unspeakable.

Knowing full well that Meng Xudong, a gold medalist in the World Martial Arts Championship, wasn’t his match, yet Zhang Zixing was so full of confidence—either he was utterly arrogant, or there was some scheme involved.

Though he looked down on the championship, he had to admit Meng Xudong wasn’t weak.

So he didn’t want to ride, as it would cost him some stamina.

When facing opponents, one must look down on them strategically but take them seriously tactically.

When Song Yue arrived at Xing Martial Hall, he found a sizable crowd had already gathered, and among them, he spotted Meng Xudong.

Their eyes met; Meng Xudong nodded. Perhaps because of the crowd, or perhaps because this was Xing Martial Hall’s domain, he didn’t say much to Song Yue.

Song Yue noticed Meng Xudong’s face didn’t look good—probably felt disgraced?

Elite Martial Hall people needing Xing Martial Hall to settle scores was indeed embarrassing.

But it was the beaten brother who sought the challenge, so others couldn’t say much.

Seeing Song Yue arrive on time, the Xing Martial Hall crowd grew excited.

At first, hearing someone had defeated Meng Xudong, most didn’t believe it. Meng Xudong’s strength was well-known; they couldn’t imagine anyone in Hangzhou beating him.

And rumor had it the victor wore slippers... That was even more shocking.

The Xing Martial Hall folks didn’t know what their senior brother was thinking. Meng Xudong wasn’t Song Yue’s match, yet he dared to let Chen He take the stage.

Chen He, following Zhang Zixing, was the face of Xing Martial Hall’s young generation.

But he couldn’t beat Meng Xudong.

The gap wasn’t huge, but defeat was defeat.

Their senior brother had just returned from a trip off-world yesterday. Did he not know Meng Xudong wasn’t Song Yue’s equal?

Chen He sat in the ringside rest area, expressionless, conserving his energy.

He’d asked the freshly returned senior brother the same question, but Zhang Zixing answered grandly—matters among martial artists should be settled with martial methods.

He was too old, too advanced; if he acted, it would be seen as bullying.

Letting Chen He fight was above board.

"And besides, this is a rare chance for you to gain real combat experience, isn’t it?"

Chen He was convinced by this.

Martial artists carry pride deep within their bones.

Skill may fall short, but never shrink before battle.

He looked forward to the match.

Song Yue could sense the crowd’s curiosity toward him outweighed any hostility.

After all, Zhang Zixing’s brother was from Elite Martial Hall, not theirs.

So even though Zhang Zixing was their senior brother, few empathized enough to hate Song Yue.

But the friendlier the environment, the more vigilant Song Yue became.

He hadn’t fought much in recent years, but his countless childhood brawls taught him: if the weak want to defeat the strong, they must either feign weakness to lull their opponent, then strike unexpectedly, or resort to schemes.

For instance, agreeing to a solo fight, but then calling a dozen buddies to beat the opponent bloody.

He didn’t believe Zhang Zixing, as an adult, would stoop so low as to make him face a gauntlet, especially since he’d clearly said it would be just one fight.

So there had to be other schemes.

When it was nearly time to go on stage, Song Yue squatted to tie his training shoes, while secretly observing the people around Zhang Zixing.

There were men and women, some young and arrogant-looking—not martial artists, but nothing obvious. He could only remind himself not to let his guard down.

Though rushed, this was his first official hall challenge.

Before stepping onto the ring, Song Yue remembered something. He took out his phone, opened his payment barcode, and walked up to Zhang Zixing’s group, thrusting the screen in Zhang Zixing’s face.

The crowd: ?

Zhang Zixing was stunned for a moment, then, with a dark expression, silently took out his phone and transferred five hundred thousand to him.

He really has money!

My transfer limit is only tens of thousands, I think?

Well, I’ve never transferred that much, so I wouldn’t know.

Song Yue ignored the sullen Zhang Zixing and the baffled crowd, pocketed his phone. Though it wouldn’t buy much top-grade food, it would cover plenty of regular martial artist meals.

Getting paid for hall challenges—some of his new strength was thanks to Zhang Zixing.

Those gains would thank him.

While asking for money, Song Yue closely observed the arrogant young people around Zhang Zixing. Aside from indifference, he sensed no hostility.

That eased him a bit, but he remained alert.

On the ring.

Chen He cupped his fists toward Song Yue. "Chen He, from Xing Martial Hall."

Song Yue nodded. "Enough talk, let’s fight."

How rude!

That was Chen He’s immediate impression.

Even knowing this guy had beaten Meng Xudong, his heart surged with indignation.

His blood boiled.

With his opening stance, his energy surged forth.

Another young master!

Chen He didn’t even probe, launching a powerful punch straight at Song Yue.

Song Yue focused, entering his state instantly, raising his arm to block Chen He’s fierce punch, then with his other fist, hammered toward Chen He’s chest.

Chen He blocked with his arm.

With two muffled thumps, the crowd watching grew excited, fully engaged.

In just a few exchanges, Song Yue’s fierce punches and agile footwork soon overwhelmed Chen He. Hard skills pit real strength against real strength—no faking it.

If you have it, you have it; if not, you don’t.

The Xing Martial Hall crowd watched, blood pumping, but also worried.

Their senior brother... might be in trouble!

And he’d just paid five hundred thousand?

Wouldn’t that be losing both the money and the fight?

They only hoped this wild, ruthless, unaffiliated youth would respect martial artist rules—no grudge, so don’t hit too hard.

Song Yue had not used his full strength.

After the first exchange, he knew Chen He wasn’t up to par.

Not weak, but not his match, so he kept his focus on the crowd.

He still didn’t believe Zhang Zixing would spend five hundred thousand just to settle his brother’s score—he couldn’t be that foolish.

Three minutes passed in a flash.

Chen He’s hair was damp, his face pale, his energy visibly waning.

But he was unwilling.

He could tell his opponent wasn’t using full strength. The fierce blows were actually half-hearted.

This shamed and angered him.

With a roar, he forced his energy up and attacked again, tangling with Song Yue.

In one unguarded exchange, Song Yue suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his head.

It came without warning or reason!

Like a migraine, but much sharper.

Even though he’d been wary, his movements slowed for a moment.

Chen He wasn’t his equal, but as a young master, he seized the opportunity.

A heavy punch was about to land on Song Yue’s face, but at the last moment, Chen He hesitated.

He didn’t know what happened, but sensed something was wrong!

If his opponent wanted to win, he wouldn’t need so much time, nor leave such a glaring opening.

Especially aiming for the head!

He couldn’t think of more in that split second, but he shifted his fist downward, aiming for Song Yue’s right shoulder instead.

At the same time, Song Yue let out a roar, twisting his right shoulder back, pulling it in slightly.

Bang!

Chen He’s heavy punch struck Song Yue’s right shoulder.

Pain shot through him, and Song Yue stepped back twice.

He took a deep breath, the pain in his right shoulder making him break out in cold sweat—a minor fracture, most likely.

He admitted defeat, facing the stunned Chen He. "I lost!"

Chen He’s lips moved, and he looked first at Zhang Zixing, expressionless below the ring, then at Song Yue, finally gathering his courage to say, "No, this isn’t right! I’m not your match!"

Song Yue grimaced in pain, but gazed at Chen He. "Your name’s Chen He, right? I’ll call you a friend!"

He stepped down from the ring, went up to Zhang Zixing, and raised his eyebrow provocatively. "Trying to cripple me?"

Zhang Zixing was stone-faced. "I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you a sore loser?"

Song Yue was now certain the sudden headache was Zhang Zixing’s doing. Though it hurt enough to make him want to scream, he held back, smiling brightly. "I can lose, I can lose. I’m not some unbeatable protagonist, steamrolling the world. A loss is a loss."

Then he looked at Zhang Zixing. "The matter with your brother—is it settled?"

Zhang Zixing spat out, coldly, "Settled."

Song Yue smiled. "Then our business has only just begun."

Zhang Zixing narrowed his eyes. "I’ll be waiting anytime."

Song Yue grinned. "Thanks for the five hundred thousand in medical fees. This unforgettable ring fight—I’ll remember it."

He ignored Zhang Zixing’s dark expression, walked up to Meng Xudong, and chuckled, "Meng, you’re alright!"

Meng Xudong wasn’t blind; he’d seen everything on the ring, but felt aggrieved.

He looked at Song Yue. "I..."

Song Yue shook his head. "No need to explain. Whether you’re involved or not, you’re all in the same martial circle!"

He turned to the Xing Martial Hall crowd. "Xing Martial Hall is a good place. I’ll be back!"

With that, he strode out without another word.