Post by HungryHunter on Feb 6, 2022 6:17:26 GMT
“That the place?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re insane. This ain’t Japan, and that ain’t a dojo. You aren’t gonna get respect throwing down with them, you’re gonna get everybody in the martial arts business pissed.”
“Hope so.”
“I say we let Cheng do this. If he can pull it off, we’re gonna be big leagues for sure. One guy smashing up a whole training hall? The triads will be tripping over themselves hiring him.”
Cheng Xu, 17, stood across the street from the Plum Blossom Hall of the Mantis, surrounded by his gang. They made themselves obvious by the various levels of pink in their outfits. Cheng wasn’t technically in charge. That honor went to 19 year old Jiahao Wong, who solidified his senior status with an attempted mustache. However, if Cheng wanted to do something, Jiahao could never tell him no outright. The only thing that kept this from being a problem was that usually, Cheng didn’t get nutty ideas like this into his head. He was quiet and submissive, easily pushed around into whatever Jiahao wanted. It was frustrating Jiahao to no end that he suddenly dragged them out here for no gain, and Rong Jie was only making matters worse by supporting the idea.
The Plum Blossom training hall was a respectable martial arts school, teaching Taiji Praying Mantis Boxing, a style of kung fu particularly popular in Hong Kong and surrounding areas like their nowhere town. Jiahao wasn’t sure how he got the idea, but Cheng wanted to fight the entire school at once. The problem wasn’t that Cheng couldn’t do it. He totally could. The man was superhuman. He was what made the Dagger Flamingos a real name in their town, with outsized power for their numbers. Knives and clubs he laughed at, and even though their former muscle Shun was a head taller than him and 50 pounds heavier, Cheng could manhandle him with ease. No, the problem was that this was a big, flashy, crazy stunt. Beating up other gangs didn’t bother the police. Beating up law-abiding martial artists? That got you undue attention.
“Can you at least tell me why the hell you’re doing this?” Jiahao asked.
“I need a real fight. Every gang has their strongest man who turns out to just be some joke I take out in one punch. So maybe some ancient traditions will provide a better challenge.” Cheng had an ugly smile. The unspoken assumption was that if they weren’t better fighters than the gangsters he so easily crushed, they would be punching bags.
“You’re nuts. But fine. Get it over with.” Jiahao couldn’t talk him out of it, so he just sighed and followed behind. Rong was obnoxiously bouncing, clearly excited at the carnage Cheng was about to unleash. Jiahao had never liked her, but Cheng insisted on keeping her around. Irritating. Just like this fight-crazy nature of his. Whatever, it was worth it. Wasn’t a damn person alive stronger than Cheng.
Cheng wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t targeting the kung fu students here out of the cruelty or fight-craziness that Jiahao assigned to him. Sure, he wanted a real fight, and perhaps to beat some idiots to a pulp, but his deeper motivation was growth. Simply put, Cheng had stopped growing. He wasn’t getting stronger and he wasn’t getting more skilled. Nobody could push him to be better than he was. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t find a fight that got his blood pumping, it was that he was going stagnant, stuck as he was. The thought horrified him. To be stuck without growth, as pathetic and stagnant as his father. He would never allow it.
Cheng led the way across the street, shoving open oversized, temple-style doors. In front of him a good couple dozen students practiced in sync, all making the same motions. It didn’t impress him. They might as well have been dance moves for all the good they would do in a fight. A few turned at the noise, looks of annoyance turning to confusion and even anger when they saw his clothing. Cheng had made no effort to hide his street punk look, and the rest of the gang followed suit. Cheng waited for more to notice him and stop their exercises until a critical mass had lost their concentration, making him the center of attention. He rolled his neck and smiled when he found the school’s master. As anticipated, an old man, clean-shaven and tanned. If anybody here held ancient secrets of combat, it would be him.
“Sup. I’ll keep it simple for you guys. I’m just a brawler looking for a real match. I’m unchallenged in the streets, but I heard your Kung Fu was strong. Anybody want to try me?” Cheng looked around, both amused and disappointed to see the students shrinking away.
“You will not find what you are looking for here. This is not a house of violence.” The master spoke from the front of the room, voice willowy and barely strong enough to carry across the hall.
“If that’s true, than your martial art is trash and you’re a shit teacher.” Cheng spat on the floor.
“Bastard!” The closest student stepped up, making the mistake of entering Cheng’s range. Cheng put a foot forwards and threw out a single strike, not quite a flicker jab and not quite a slap. With a pop, the ground was sprayed with blood and the student stumbled backwards. His nose was smashed at an unnatural angle, twisted nearly sideways. It took him only another second to topple, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
“I sure hope he wasn’t your best.” Cheng sneered, taking a step forwards. He was letting himself get surrounded. Come on, let this push your confidence, you idiots.
“Somebody call the cops!” One yelled.
“You think you can get away with that!?” Another jeered from a safe distance.
“You call yourselves martial artists!? This is sickening.” Cheng felt his temper rising for real this time. If the cowards wouldn’t come to him, he would force them to make a move! He chose a target at random, a man to the left who was easy prey for his jab. One shot to the jaw and he knew it was over. The student fell as he pushed past, among them now. Now, finally, they began to fight. Most of them were panicking in their first real fight ever, throwing regular, shoddy punches. He let a few of them hit him as he waltzed through the crowd. They weren’t even getting his heart rate up. He broke ribs with elbows, twisted arms out of sockets, swept people’s feet out from under them. A few were throwing out proper kung fu strikes and they too were depressing, pathetic little slaps. He snapped a few wrists out of sheer pettiness. Another pathetic punch was thrown and he snapped. He caught the unfortunate martial artist by the arm and shirt and lifted them, then threw them to the floor. While they lay gasping, he stomped on one leg and snapped it like a twig.
“Fuck, man, you’re gonna kill somebody!” Jiahao yelled.
“Enough! I will fight you, so leave my students be!” The master called out at the same time. Cheng paused, registering both at once. He looked around him, finding there was almost nobody left actually fighting him. Most of the remaining students were huddled along the walls, the remainder standing cautiously out of his range. One took advantage of the pause to charge, but Cheng just caught him by the shirt and savagely shoved him away, hard enough to bowl him over but positively gentle compared to how he had been.
“Come on, old man. Show me what a master can do.” Cheng approached the old man, hands still low, no guard in place. He didn’t have the patience to let his enemy start the fight. He lunged forth and threw out a testing jab, weaker than the jawbreakers he had been handing out left and right. The master knocked it aside and in one clean motion threw out an attack. An eye jab? Cheng swung his head down and the fingers painfully bounced off his skull. It was surprisingly dirty, something he could approve of, but to throw it at a standing, moving opponent? It was insane. He threw another jab and this time, his arm was caught. The old man’s hand flicked out again and this time, Cheng realized there was nothing special here. No ancient secrets, no superior mastery. It was probably decades since the old man had a real fight.
“That’s enough.” Cheng swayed back to avoid the swipe, then caught the next attempt, grabbing the man’s pointer finger. One twist, and it was hopelessly broken. The old man screamed and his knees failed. Cheng let him fall, letting go like he was dropping trash. He sighed and turned to leave, only to pause. Somebody new was standing in the doorway, stunned besides a dropped bag. He didn’t seem to be a student. He was in street clothes, simple jeans and a t-shirt with English writing Cheng couldn’t read at a glance. In fact, that wasn’t the only thing western about him. His spiked hair was reddish, and something about his facial features looked different from the average man Cheng saw on the streets. A foreigner? Half-foreign? There was muscle under his clothing, Cheng noted with mild interest. Ah well. Just a student who showed up late.
“Get lost.” Cheng said, walking back towards the entryway.
“You… what the fuck are you doing!?” The stranger said. “You damn piece of shit! You don’t even have the right to set foot in here!” The rest of Cheng’s gang, only feet from the newcomer, was too relaxed. After what they had just seen, what could they possibly fear from another pathetic kung fu faker? Shun fell first, his legs knocked right out from under him. Before he even realized what had happened, the foreigner clipped his nose with a lightning-fast axe kick, bouncing his head from the floor. Cheng’s eyes widened, but the martial artist was nowhere near done. Two more gangsters fell in the next second, and Jiahao ate a perfectly-spaced kick to the temple when he reached for his knife. Rong had her knife out quicker, but her first stab was deflected and a palm strike put her down.
“Rong!” Cheng felt his heart rate finally rise. He ran to check on her, but he stopped himself just in time to avoid the foot that flashed past his face. The stranger stood in front of him, glaring like the protective god of a rural temple. Cheng lunged to smack him aside, but he slipped just out of range and this time, his kick did not miss. Cheng was smacked down to a 3-point stance. His face stung, and he smiled at the realization. For the first time in years, he had felt a strike thrown by an opponent. He easily rose. This guy was holding back, just like him. Still, there was a look of surprise on the stranger’s face when he took to his feet again.
“You’re just like me.” Cheng said.
“I’m not a thing like you, shitsucker.” The stranger sneered, hopping backwards.
“No, no, you are! How did it feel, seeing somebody get up from a punch you pulled!? Isn’t it grand!? Isn’t it exactly what you were looking for!?” Cheng called out, only to take a step-in jab that forced him to take a step back himself.
“I’m only surprised because it’s worthless gutter trash like you taking my hits and not a real fighter. I am not a pathetic, parasitic bully who finds only weak foes. I am Julian Fang. Know the name?” This time it was Julian’s turn to be surprised by an attack, barely evading a jab.
“Nope. Just that unlike these clowns, you can fight.” For the first time, Cheng Xu drew upon his actual skills, bending over slightly and raising his arms.
“A boxer…” Julian mused. “Let me show you the power of the arts you so clearly disrespect.”
“I’m way more than a boxer!” Cheng initiated a rush, pushing in and throwing every kind of punch. Fang put up an impressive defense, ducking and weaving and parrying only when he had to. Cheng couldn’t touch him, but he couldn’t throw anything in return. And finally Cheng threw a feint with enough force to get Fang to duck right into an uppercut. Julian’s head flew back and Cheng drove him to the floor with a line-driving straight. Cheng moved to drop upon him elbow first, but Fang flipped up, smashing Cheng’s chin with his feet on the way up. Cheng stumbled. It was a better hit than before. This is what Fang could do when he was serious. It was incredible. A shot that made his knees weak!
He tried to push forward again and took a flying kick for his hubris. Julian kept the kicks up, keeping Cheng from closing. Every time he ducked in, he took a stinging shot across his block, pushing both of them back. Just a few kicks, and his arms felt like lead. He ducked lower than ever and found a kick coming from below to smash him back once more. This was incredible! Fang was repelling him! He laughed as he pushed in, digging in his feet so Julian couldn’t push him away. He was growing again! Bit by bit, he was taking the hits better, lessening the damage.
It wasn’t a proper parry, but he moved with the kicks to reduce the damage. He pushed in once more and tapped into something that his gang had never seen, something he had never drawn upon in a real fight. Pink energy flowed from his arm, pooling into his palm. He chucked it underhanded, and Julian barely noticed in time to jump, letting it explode beneath him. A hole was blown in the floor and Julian was forced into a flip by the sheer force, landing awkwardly. Cheng caught him with a punch before he recovered and he doubled over. A final right should have finished it, but Julian’s reflexes were inhuman. He fell lower to slip under it and pushed off with his hands, landing upright a few feet away.
“That… wasn’t Qi.” Julian mumbled, barely loud enough for Cheng to read.
“You’re right, it wasn’t. My dad never could figure out just what it was… he never liked it, I can tell you that much.” Cheng shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter what it is. I’ll crush you nonetheless!” Cheng could see whispers of Julian’s qi when he lunged in, something that left blue streaks in the air after him. Cheng ducked a flying kick, but found Julian catching his back with his leg in order to throw knees into his chest. It was such an unexpected attack that he took them clean, the attack only dampened by his aura. The spots where Julian’s knee struck felt like he was being prodded with a branding iron. He threw himself forward to pin him, but Julian slipped his leg out and jumped off of Cheng’s back, letting him sprawl in a heap.
“Is that enough for you? I fight with 1,000 years of martial arts at my back. You have no hope, street savage.” Fang danced in and out, snapping at Cheng’s side with sharp kicks.
Cheng didn’t say a thing. He just laughed and he rolled to his feet, absorbing the momentum of a kick. He pushed off, parrying a kick and nearly catching Julian. Julian kicked again and it was blocked, the momentum carrying him back once more. His back touched a wall and he looked back with shock. Had Cheng been aiming for this!? He barely dodged a punch that went right through the wall, side stepped an uppercut that tore a furrow from floor to ceiling. He bolted, tried to escape, but Cheng caught his jacket and threw him back into to the wall, cracking it again, following up with smaller, tighter movements, short punches and knees and elbows that sent crackling agony through Julian’s body. He realized it now. This piece of shit had been aiming for this, pushing into his ultra-close range. A savage elbow ripped across Fang’s brow, pouring blood into his eyes. Damn. His qi senses were something grandfather told him he should develop, and now…
Cheng smacked him with another elbow, splitting his chin from below. He was winning now, he knew it. The lucid members of his gang were cheering for him, pushing him on. Fang couldn’t counterattack at all, just rolling with the punches as best he could. Cheng supposed that was admirable too. If the wall broke, after all, Fang got his space back and Cheng would have to corner him all over again, if he even could. So he took his time with his meal, only using careful attacks that wouldn’t collapse the wall further, even smacking him around to force him to less damaged sections. Fang wouldn’t get away that easily. Another elbow slammed his skull and he began to slump. This was it! This was the real victory he had craved for years! Cheng had him! His hook was coming to finish it when he suddenly stopped.
He gasped, choked. Why couldn’t he breathe!? He looked down and saw Fang’s fist buried in his solar plexus. No, not a normal fist. It was held strangely, something he had never seen. Just the first two joints were folded, forming a longer, narrower fist that dug deeper into the soft points of the body. He stumbled back, heaving for air and finding none. Fang stepped in and threw it again. Liver. Spleen. The solar plexus again. Cheng couldn’t do a thing about it. He tried to block and Julian struck around it. He threw an elbow out and it was ducked for another of these agonizing punches. He couldn’t even stand, but Julian wouldn’t even let him fall. Another punch to the chin to move his head up, then one of those cruelest of blows to the neck. With that, he was down, and could not rise. None of his limbs worked, down to his fingers and toes. They just shook violently with every impulse he sent, and his lips foamed when he tried to breathe.
“No do you understand scum? Now that I beat you at your own fucking range? You came here looking for easy prey, but you found the strongest man in China. Have your lackeys drag you out of here before I change my mind and decide to kill you.” Julian stepped back. “What are you waiting for!? Take him!” He commanded the Dagger Flamingos.
“Cheng? Cheng, come on, get up, kick his ass!” They called, but there was no response. It dawned on them finally that he couldn’t get up. He had lost. For the first time they had ever seen, somebody was strong enough to not just give him a real fight, but win.
“I hope you’re happy, moron…” Jiahao was stiff himself, but he led the way, getting his arms under Cheng’s to drag him away. The rest of the gang moved to help out, carrying away their fallen champion.
“Your dad was a real jerk back then, it’s true.” Dan finished.
Qiang looked up with awe. For a moment, he thought, then transferred images of Julian Fang and held up 9 fingers.
“Yeah, he’s number 9 in the HWBC. He’s amazing, really. I’m not sure the gap has narrowed at all since then.” Dan looked wistful, dreaming of a match he may never earn. “He’s a big part of why I went into the HWBC instead of spirit boxing. And there’s 8 people better in the league… I’ll never run out of great fights again.”
Qiang sent him a picture of a dojo with a giant no sign over it.
“Heh, no, of course. No more sacking dojos. You know I don’t do that anymore! Now come on, get to bed. You have your own challenges tomorrow.”
Long after Qiang was in bed, Dan stood on the porch, fighting his shadow. He had a mental image of Julian Fang, one pieced together from watching him fight in the ring and their brawl all those years ago. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where he won. There just wasn’t a way. And he still hadn’t seen everything that Fang could do. It wasn’t habitual. Fang was normally too far off for him to think of fighting. But that story had gotten him fired up, drawn stars in his eyes. Fang had taught him that there were people stronger than him out there, that he could always aim higher. And no doubt to Fang’s annoyance… he taught him the condensation of ultra-close quarters combat. Dan flicked out a one-inch punch, admiring the power and precision of the strike. “Thanks Fang. I owe you.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re insane. This ain’t Japan, and that ain’t a dojo. You aren’t gonna get respect throwing down with them, you’re gonna get everybody in the martial arts business pissed.”
“Hope so.”
“I say we let Cheng do this. If he can pull it off, we’re gonna be big leagues for sure. One guy smashing up a whole training hall? The triads will be tripping over themselves hiring him.”
Cheng Xu, 17, stood across the street from the Plum Blossom Hall of the Mantis, surrounded by his gang. They made themselves obvious by the various levels of pink in their outfits. Cheng wasn’t technically in charge. That honor went to 19 year old Jiahao Wong, who solidified his senior status with an attempted mustache. However, if Cheng wanted to do something, Jiahao could never tell him no outright. The only thing that kept this from being a problem was that usually, Cheng didn’t get nutty ideas like this into his head. He was quiet and submissive, easily pushed around into whatever Jiahao wanted. It was frustrating Jiahao to no end that he suddenly dragged them out here for no gain, and Rong Jie was only making matters worse by supporting the idea.
The Plum Blossom training hall was a respectable martial arts school, teaching Taiji Praying Mantis Boxing, a style of kung fu particularly popular in Hong Kong and surrounding areas like their nowhere town. Jiahao wasn’t sure how he got the idea, but Cheng wanted to fight the entire school at once. The problem wasn’t that Cheng couldn’t do it. He totally could. The man was superhuman. He was what made the Dagger Flamingos a real name in their town, with outsized power for their numbers. Knives and clubs he laughed at, and even though their former muscle Shun was a head taller than him and 50 pounds heavier, Cheng could manhandle him with ease. No, the problem was that this was a big, flashy, crazy stunt. Beating up other gangs didn’t bother the police. Beating up law-abiding martial artists? That got you undue attention.
“Can you at least tell me why the hell you’re doing this?” Jiahao asked.
“I need a real fight. Every gang has their strongest man who turns out to just be some joke I take out in one punch. So maybe some ancient traditions will provide a better challenge.” Cheng had an ugly smile. The unspoken assumption was that if they weren’t better fighters than the gangsters he so easily crushed, they would be punching bags.
“You’re nuts. But fine. Get it over with.” Jiahao couldn’t talk him out of it, so he just sighed and followed behind. Rong was obnoxiously bouncing, clearly excited at the carnage Cheng was about to unleash. Jiahao had never liked her, but Cheng insisted on keeping her around. Irritating. Just like this fight-crazy nature of his. Whatever, it was worth it. Wasn’t a damn person alive stronger than Cheng.
Cheng wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t targeting the kung fu students here out of the cruelty or fight-craziness that Jiahao assigned to him. Sure, he wanted a real fight, and perhaps to beat some idiots to a pulp, but his deeper motivation was growth. Simply put, Cheng had stopped growing. He wasn’t getting stronger and he wasn’t getting more skilled. Nobody could push him to be better than he was. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t find a fight that got his blood pumping, it was that he was going stagnant, stuck as he was. The thought horrified him. To be stuck without growth, as pathetic and stagnant as his father. He would never allow it.
Cheng led the way across the street, shoving open oversized, temple-style doors. In front of him a good couple dozen students practiced in sync, all making the same motions. It didn’t impress him. They might as well have been dance moves for all the good they would do in a fight. A few turned at the noise, looks of annoyance turning to confusion and even anger when they saw his clothing. Cheng had made no effort to hide his street punk look, and the rest of the gang followed suit. Cheng waited for more to notice him and stop their exercises until a critical mass had lost their concentration, making him the center of attention. He rolled his neck and smiled when he found the school’s master. As anticipated, an old man, clean-shaven and tanned. If anybody here held ancient secrets of combat, it would be him.
“Sup. I’ll keep it simple for you guys. I’m just a brawler looking for a real match. I’m unchallenged in the streets, but I heard your Kung Fu was strong. Anybody want to try me?” Cheng looked around, both amused and disappointed to see the students shrinking away.
“You will not find what you are looking for here. This is not a house of violence.” The master spoke from the front of the room, voice willowy and barely strong enough to carry across the hall.
“If that’s true, than your martial art is trash and you’re a shit teacher.” Cheng spat on the floor.
“Bastard!” The closest student stepped up, making the mistake of entering Cheng’s range. Cheng put a foot forwards and threw out a single strike, not quite a flicker jab and not quite a slap. With a pop, the ground was sprayed with blood and the student stumbled backwards. His nose was smashed at an unnatural angle, twisted nearly sideways. It took him only another second to topple, collapsing in a heap on the floor.
“I sure hope he wasn’t your best.” Cheng sneered, taking a step forwards. He was letting himself get surrounded. Come on, let this push your confidence, you idiots.
“Somebody call the cops!” One yelled.
“You think you can get away with that!?” Another jeered from a safe distance.
“You call yourselves martial artists!? This is sickening.” Cheng felt his temper rising for real this time. If the cowards wouldn’t come to him, he would force them to make a move! He chose a target at random, a man to the left who was easy prey for his jab. One shot to the jaw and he knew it was over. The student fell as he pushed past, among them now. Now, finally, they began to fight. Most of them were panicking in their first real fight ever, throwing regular, shoddy punches. He let a few of them hit him as he waltzed through the crowd. They weren’t even getting his heart rate up. He broke ribs with elbows, twisted arms out of sockets, swept people’s feet out from under them. A few were throwing out proper kung fu strikes and they too were depressing, pathetic little slaps. He snapped a few wrists out of sheer pettiness. Another pathetic punch was thrown and he snapped. He caught the unfortunate martial artist by the arm and shirt and lifted them, then threw them to the floor. While they lay gasping, he stomped on one leg and snapped it like a twig.
“Fuck, man, you’re gonna kill somebody!” Jiahao yelled.
“Enough! I will fight you, so leave my students be!” The master called out at the same time. Cheng paused, registering both at once. He looked around him, finding there was almost nobody left actually fighting him. Most of the remaining students were huddled along the walls, the remainder standing cautiously out of his range. One took advantage of the pause to charge, but Cheng just caught him by the shirt and savagely shoved him away, hard enough to bowl him over but positively gentle compared to how he had been.
“Come on, old man. Show me what a master can do.” Cheng approached the old man, hands still low, no guard in place. He didn’t have the patience to let his enemy start the fight. He lunged forth and threw out a testing jab, weaker than the jawbreakers he had been handing out left and right. The master knocked it aside and in one clean motion threw out an attack. An eye jab? Cheng swung his head down and the fingers painfully bounced off his skull. It was surprisingly dirty, something he could approve of, but to throw it at a standing, moving opponent? It was insane. He threw another jab and this time, his arm was caught. The old man’s hand flicked out again and this time, Cheng realized there was nothing special here. No ancient secrets, no superior mastery. It was probably decades since the old man had a real fight.
“That’s enough.” Cheng swayed back to avoid the swipe, then caught the next attempt, grabbing the man’s pointer finger. One twist, and it was hopelessly broken. The old man screamed and his knees failed. Cheng let him fall, letting go like he was dropping trash. He sighed and turned to leave, only to pause. Somebody new was standing in the doorway, stunned besides a dropped bag. He didn’t seem to be a student. He was in street clothes, simple jeans and a t-shirt with English writing Cheng couldn’t read at a glance. In fact, that wasn’t the only thing western about him. His spiked hair was reddish, and something about his facial features looked different from the average man Cheng saw on the streets. A foreigner? Half-foreign? There was muscle under his clothing, Cheng noted with mild interest. Ah well. Just a student who showed up late.
“Get lost.” Cheng said, walking back towards the entryway.
“You… what the fuck are you doing!?” The stranger said. “You damn piece of shit! You don’t even have the right to set foot in here!” The rest of Cheng’s gang, only feet from the newcomer, was too relaxed. After what they had just seen, what could they possibly fear from another pathetic kung fu faker? Shun fell first, his legs knocked right out from under him. Before he even realized what had happened, the foreigner clipped his nose with a lightning-fast axe kick, bouncing his head from the floor. Cheng’s eyes widened, but the martial artist was nowhere near done. Two more gangsters fell in the next second, and Jiahao ate a perfectly-spaced kick to the temple when he reached for his knife. Rong had her knife out quicker, but her first stab was deflected and a palm strike put her down.
“Rong!” Cheng felt his heart rate finally rise. He ran to check on her, but he stopped himself just in time to avoid the foot that flashed past his face. The stranger stood in front of him, glaring like the protective god of a rural temple. Cheng lunged to smack him aside, but he slipped just out of range and this time, his kick did not miss. Cheng was smacked down to a 3-point stance. His face stung, and he smiled at the realization. For the first time in years, he had felt a strike thrown by an opponent. He easily rose. This guy was holding back, just like him. Still, there was a look of surprise on the stranger’s face when he took to his feet again.
“You’re just like me.” Cheng said.
“I’m not a thing like you, shitsucker.” The stranger sneered, hopping backwards.
“No, no, you are! How did it feel, seeing somebody get up from a punch you pulled!? Isn’t it grand!? Isn’t it exactly what you were looking for!?” Cheng called out, only to take a step-in jab that forced him to take a step back himself.
“I’m only surprised because it’s worthless gutter trash like you taking my hits and not a real fighter. I am not a pathetic, parasitic bully who finds only weak foes. I am Julian Fang. Know the name?” This time it was Julian’s turn to be surprised by an attack, barely evading a jab.
“Nope. Just that unlike these clowns, you can fight.” For the first time, Cheng Xu drew upon his actual skills, bending over slightly and raising his arms.
“A boxer…” Julian mused. “Let me show you the power of the arts you so clearly disrespect.”
“I’m way more than a boxer!” Cheng initiated a rush, pushing in and throwing every kind of punch. Fang put up an impressive defense, ducking and weaving and parrying only when he had to. Cheng couldn’t touch him, but he couldn’t throw anything in return. And finally Cheng threw a feint with enough force to get Fang to duck right into an uppercut. Julian’s head flew back and Cheng drove him to the floor with a line-driving straight. Cheng moved to drop upon him elbow first, but Fang flipped up, smashing Cheng’s chin with his feet on the way up. Cheng stumbled. It was a better hit than before. This is what Fang could do when he was serious. It was incredible. A shot that made his knees weak!
He tried to push forward again and took a flying kick for his hubris. Julian kept the kicks up, keeping Cheng from closing. Every time he ducked in, he took a stinging shot across his block, pushing both of them back. Just a few kicks, and his arms felt like lead. He ducked lower than ever and found a kick coming from below to smash him back once more. This was incredible! Fang was repelling him! He laughed as he pushed in, digging in his feet so Julian couldn’t push him away. He was growing again! Bit by bit, he was taking the hits better, lessening the damage.
It wasn’t a proper parry, but he moved with the kicks to reduce the damage. He pushed in once more and tapped into something that his gang had never seen, something he had never drawn upon in a real fight. Pink energy flowed from his arm, pooling into his palm. He chucked it underhanded, and Julian barely noticed in time to jump, letting it explode beneath him. A hole was blown in the floor and Julian was forced into a flip by the sheer force, landing awkwardly. Cheng caught him with a punch before he recovered and he doubled over. A final right should have finished it, but Julian’s reflexes were inhuman. He fell lower to slip under it and pushed off with his hands, landing upright a few feet away.
“That… wasn’t Qi.” Julian mumbled, barely loud enough for Cheng to read.
“You’re right, it wasn’t. My dad never could figure out just what it was… he never liked it, I can tell you that much.” Cheng shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter what it is. I’ll crush you nonetheless!” Cheng could see whispers of Julian’s qi when he lunged in, something that left blue streaks in the air after him. Cheng ducked a flying kick, but found Julian catching his back with his leg in order to throw knees into his chest. It was such an unexpected attack that he took them clean, the attack only dampened by his aura. The spots where Julian’s knee struck felt like he was being prodded with a branding iron. He threw himself forward to pin him, but Julian slipped his leg out and jumped off of Cheng’s back, letting him sprawl in a heap.
“Is that enough for you? I fight with 1,000 years of martial arts at my back. You have no hope, street savage.” Fang danced in and out, snapping at Cheng’s side with sharp kicks.
Cheng didn’t say a thing. He just laughed and he rolled to his feet, absorbing the momentum of a kick. He pushed off, parrying a kick and nearly catching Julian. Julian kicked again and it was blocked, the momentum carrying him back once more. His back touched a wall and he looked back with shock. Had Cheng been aiming for this!? He barely dodged a punch that went right through the wall, side stepped an uppercut that tore a furrow from floor to ceiling. He bolted, tried to escape, but Cheng caught his jacket and threw him back into to the wall, cracking it again, following up with smaller, tighter movements, short punches and knees and elbows that sent crackling agony through Julian’s body. He realized it now. This piece of shit had been aiming for this, pushing into his ultra-close range. A savage elbow ripped across Fang’s brow, pouring blood into his eyes. Damn. His qi senses were something grandfather told him he should develop, and now…
Cheng smacked him with another elbow, splitting his chin from below. He was winning now, he knew it. The lucid members of his gang were cheering for him, pushing him on. Fang couldn’t counterattack at all, just rolling with the punches as best he could. Cheng supposed that was admirable too. If the wall broke, after all, Fang got his space back and Cheng would have to corner him all over again, if he even could. So he took his time with his meal, only using careful attacks that wouldn’t collapse the wall further, even smacking him around to force him to less damaged sections. Fang wouldn’t get away that easily. Another elbow slammed his skull and he began to slump. This was it! This was the real victory he had craved for years! Cheng had him! His hook was coming to finish it when he suddenly stopped.
He gasped, choked. Why couldn’t he breathe!? He looked down and saw Fang’s fist buried in his solar plexus. No, not a normal fist. It was held strangely, something he had never seen. Just the first two joints were folded, forming a longer, narrower fist that dug deeper into the soft points of the body. He stumbled back, heaving for air and finding none. Fang stepped in and threw it again. Liver. Spleen. The solar plexus again. Cheng couldn’t do a thing about it. He tried to block and Julian struck around it. He threw an elbow out and it was ducked for another of these agonizing punches. He couldn’t even stand, but Julian wouldn’t even let him fall. Another punch to the chin to move his head up, then one of those cruelest of blows to the neck. With that, he was down, and could not rise. None of his limbs worked, down to his fingers and toes. They just shook violently with every impulse he sent, and his lips foamed when he tried to breathe.
“No do you understand scum? Now that I beat you at your own fucking range? You came here looking for easy prey, but you found the strongest man in China. Have your lackeys drag you out of here before I change my mind and decide to kill you.” Julian stepped back. “What are you waiting for!? Take him!” He commanded the Dagger Flamingos.
“Cheng? Cheng, come on, get up, kick his ass!” They called, but there was no response. It dawned on them finally that he couldn’t get up. He had lost. For the first time they had ever seen, somebody was strong enough to not just give him a real fight, but win.
“I hope you’re happy, moron…” Jiahao was stiff himself, but he led the way, getting his arms under Cheng’s to drag him away. The rest of the gang moved to help out, carrying away their fallen champion.
“Your dad was a real jerk back then, it’s true.” Dan finished.
Qiang looked up with awe. For a moment, he thought, then transferred images of Julian Fang and held up 9 fingers.
“Yeah, he’s number 9 in the HWBC. He’s amazing, really. I’m not sure the gap has narrowed at all since then.” Dan looked wistful, dreaming of a match he may never earn. “He’s a big part of why I went into the HWBC instead of spirit boxing. And there’s 8 people better in the league… I’ll never run out of great fights again.”
Qiang sent him a picture of a dojo with a giant no sign over it.
“Heh, no, of course. No more sacking dojos. You know I don’t do that anymore! Now come on, get to bed. You have your own challenges tomorrow.”
Long after Qiang was in bed, Dan stood on the porch, fighting his shadow. He had a mental image of Julian Fang, one pieced together from watching him fight in the ring and their brawl all those years ago. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where he won. There just wasn’t a way. And he still hadn’t seen everything that Fang could do. It wasn’t habitual. Fang was normally too far off for him to think of fighting. But that story had gotten him fired up, drawn stars in his eyes. Fang had taught him that there were people stronger than him out there, that he could always aim higher. And no doubt to Fang’s annoyance… he taught him the condensation of ultra-close quarters combat. Dan flicked out a one-inch punch, admiring the power and precision of the strike. “Thanks Fang. I owe you.”