Chapter 33: Masters Never Open Their Eyes

The inevitable had finally come.

Chen Fan gazed at the crowd before him; a gleaming bald head drifted conspicuously among the throng—the origin of all this evil.

“Why are all of you lying on the ground? Where’s that brat?”

Bald Hui strode forward, astonished at the sight of his fallen brothers and the unconscious Short Qiang slumped in Liu Dong’s arms. For a moment, he questioned reality itself.

“Boss, we… we didn’t win…” Liu Dong spoke haltingly. Even he could scarcely believe it—more than twenty robust men, and they’d lost to a single bookish student. In their world, this was a humiliation beyond measure.

Bald Hui’s face was a picture of confusion as he surveyed the carnage. He’d arrived only a moment too late. Just before time slipped by, Short Qiang had been jubilant on the phone, boasting that they’d caught their target. Yet, in the blink of an eye, the situation had utterly reversed by the time Hui arrived.

“Take your men to the hospital and get treated. Let’s turn the page on this, and please, don’t disturb my life again,” Chen Fan said with a flourish, flicking away his cigarette and flexing his wrists, as if eager for more action.

“Shut your mouth, you damned brat! I’m settling this grudge here and now. Everyone, grab your weapons and beat him half to death!” Bald Hui’s eyes bulged in fury, thick veins pulsing on his forehead.

With the White Wolf King’s power flowing through him, Chen Fan felt utterly unfazed by the mass of thugs before him. A grin spread across his face as he yanked the collar of a fallen hoodlum nearby, tearing off the man’s necktie in one swift motion.

“There’s nowhere here for you to hang yourself, I advise you—” Bald Hui’s taunt died in his throat as Chen Fan tied the necktie over his own eyes.

“Trying to spare yourself the indignity of dying with your eyes wide open? I won’t go easy on you!” Bald Hui continued to curse, though his tone had lost much of its former ferocity. Chen Fan’s face showed no fear at all—if anything, there was a glimmer of anticipation.

“Is this guy a masochist or something?” Bald Hui glanced at his men sprawled across the ground and shook his head. “Just got lucky, and now he thinks he’s some kind of super soldier.”

Once again, Chen Fan faced many with only himself. Yet this time, he was serene—he knew he would win.

Masters never open their eyes.

Chen Fan held his breath, honing his senses to every sound ahead, using them to judge the direction of the next attack.

“Elbow from the left, about nine o’clock. Target is five paces away. By his speed, he’ll reach me in one second.”

Chen Fan gripped his steel pipe tightly and swung it with precision, intercepting the blow perfectly—without the slightest error.

“Fast-moving target on the right, two o’clock. Will pounce in about two seconds.”

With a flick of his wrist, Chen Fan sent the opponent’s weapon flying, then drove a kick into the attacker’s chest, forcing him back several steps—a distinct shoe print left on his half-open white shirt.

Then, following the momentum, Chen Fan swept his steel pipe sideways, striking the assailant squarely across the cheek. As he listened to the anguished scream, he felt a satisfaction unlike any he’d known before.

A discordant night breeze swept past. Unhurried, Chen Fan raised his left hand and caught a steel pipe flying toward him.

“Violence is nothing but a tally of victims,” Chen Fan said, kicking the enemy before him and returning the steel pipe to its owner with force.

Bald Hui roared, “Impossible! There’s no way a worthless student could be this strong—take this!”

Hearing the oncoming threat in his opponent’s frenzied yell, Chen Fan read the trajectory with ease, raised his steel pipe, and readied himself for a head-on clash.

A sharp clang rang out. There was no needless wrestling—Chen Fan simply brought the pipe down hard on Bald Hui’s forehead, like whacking a mole. Blood spurted, blurring the man’s vision as it streamed down his face.

Through the blindfold, Chen Fan smelled the tang of blood. His brow twitched; he pulled off the makeshift eye covering to reveal eyes glowing a fierce crimson.

“Damn you, brat! What kind of kung fu did you learn?” Bald Hui clutched his wound, the searing pain leaving him powerless to fight back—but still able to run.

“Military boxing—good for health, and for subduing the enemy,” Chen Fan replied, taking a textbook stance, two sharp fangs glinting between his teeth.

A bald gang leader, with a troop of toughs at his back, defeated by a student wielding military boxing—what humiliation…

Bald Hui sensed something was seriously amiss. He stared into Chen Fan’s crimson eyes and suddenly felt like prey, toyed with by a predator.

“Mo… monster! Why are you all still lying there? Is the ground that comfortable? Get up, now! This guy isn’t human—he’s a monster, a man-eating monster!”

Bald Hui had noticed Chen Fan’s peculiar features: ears like sharp cones, eyes glowing red like a cat’s, and fangs sharp as blades. None of these belonged on a human face—terror seized him completely.

“Monster? I’m no monster—I’m just a little sleep-deprived, so I might look a bit haggard,” Chen Fan replied, twitching his ears. He was tired, but didn’t realize his body had quietly changed.

The underlings who’d been feigning unconsciousness scrambled away, crawling and rolling, putting distance between themselves and those extraordinary eyes—eyes that held nothing but contempt for the weak.

In the distance, police sirens wailed, growing nearer. Red and blue lights flashed in the dark. At last, those whom Chen Fan had been waiting for arrived.

“This… let’s call it even then. In the future, let’s stay out of each other’s way. Maybe share a drink sometime. Brothers, retreat!” Sensing the danger, Bald Hui quickly ordered Liu Dong, “Drag Short Qiang to the car—hurry, the cops are almost here!”

Chen Fan had no intention of stopping them. In three minutes, it would be midnight. Maintaining his composure, he watched Bald Hui and the others depart.

“Good heavens, that was terrifying. If this had dragged on a minute longer, I’d have been minced meat. Thank goodness I kept my cool—no one noticed anything strange. My acting was flawless,” he muttered to himself.

Now, he was the only one left at the school gate. He couldn’t be bothered to explain anything to the police; first, no one would believe a scrawny student had taken out forty-odd gangsters, and second, too much attention would only bring trouble.

Tossing the steel pipe into the roadside bushes, Chen Fan swaggered back toward the school—only to find the campus gates already locked, leaving him stranded outside.

“The student handbook says being recorded for curfew is a problem. Should I climb the fence?” Chen Fan eyed the iron bars by the gate, four or five meters tall, their sharp spikes making him think twice.

“Better not gamble my future away,” he decided.

Suddenly, two beams of light swept toward him. Chen Fan had no time to hide and was caught in their glare.

“Why are you only just returning to the dorms at this hour?” Wang Debiao shifted his flashlight aside. Chen Fan saw the uniform—he was with the campus patrol.

“On my way back, I saw a big fight at the school gate, so I took a detour. But I’m new here and got lost. It took me a while to find the side entrance,” Chen Fan improvised, hoping the story would suffice.

Wang Debiao nodded, “The school’s already been notified and is taking it seriously. If anyone asks about your whereabouts tonight, just say you don’t know anything. I’ll notify the gatekeeper to let you in.”

Chen Fan understood perfectly and left it at that—a fair exchange.

“Thank you, sir.” He entered the campus smoothly, waving his thanks as he went.

“Knock, knock, knock—”

“Open up, I’m back!”