Chapter Thirty-Nine: You Never Said to Stop!

Chapter Thirty-Nine: You Didn’t Say When to Stop!

Lu Yifei gathered a few people and discussed things with Li Tieshu, then lit several fires in the middle of the basketball court, turning the duet between men and women into something of a bonfire party.

The students’ material lives were meager, but their spiritual lives were exceptionally rich. They were young in body and unwilling to settle for ordinariness; a touch of decoration was enough to create a romantic atmosphere.

The fragrant Tang Zhong entered the scene, accompanied by the equally fragrant Hua Ming, Liang Tao, and Li Yu. By now, a crowd had gathered at the basketball court. There were both boys and girls from the psychology department. Although there were fewer girls, their presence made the boys’ eyes shine; when they looked at each other, the meaning was clear: you know what I mean.

Perhaps the scent clinging to the four was too strong, or perhaps the drama from earlier that day hadn’t fully subsided. Their arrival drew a lot of attention.

“Look, look! 307 is here—do you know which one is Tang Zhong?”

“He’s the one with glasses. Last time the instructor made us run laps as punishment, he ran twenty laps with us—”

“He doesn’t look like much. Doesn’t seem like someone who can fight—”

—

Because the instructors were present, everyone lined up according to their respective class squads. This disappointed Hua Ming and Liang Tao, who had hoped for free mingling.

Hua Ming ultimately didn’t bring his rabbit, fearing the instructor would force him to eat it raw in front of everyone—ever since that porcelain-doll-like beauty mocked him, he’d developed a phobia of eating raw rabbit.

Standing to Hua Ming’s left was a bespectacled student named Ye Feng, who sniffed the air and asked, “Hua Ming, why do you smell so good?”

Hua Ming proudly sniffed his own armpit, grinned, and replied, “Because I’m scented.”

A wave of retching swept through the squad.

“Attention!” Li Tieshu shouted. Once the boys stood tall and passed his inspection, he issued rapid commands: “All together. March. One, two, three, four—stop.”

When the front row was nearly upon the fire, Li Tieshu halted the squad. The female instructor followed suit, positioning the girls’ group opposite the fire.

Upon realizing this, the boys’ burning enthusiasm cooled considerably. Even with flames dancing in front of them, they still felt cold.

Separated by fire, unable to even exchange greetings—the clothes they changed into, the cream on their faces, the mousse in their hair, the perfume on their bodies—it all seemed wasted.

Li Tieshu, sensing their thoughts, smiled and said, “I understand how you feel—so few girls. But there’s nothing I can do. I’d love to go to the art school and bring back a few squads for you—”

“Instructor, go ahead. Our happiness depends on you.”

“Instructor, my dear brother, we’ll remember you forever—”

“With you on the job, it’s as good as two men.”

Li Tieshu waved his hand dismissively. “I’m afraid if I go, I won’t make it back. Women are scarce these days. The boys in that department would fight me for them. Enough about that. Fewer girls means fiercer, more interesting competition. Let’s sing a song and draw their attention. Don’t let the boys from Class Two and Three outshine us.”

“Instructor, what should we sing?”

“Sing ‘Unity is Strength.’”

“Too old-fashioned,” the boys protested in unison.

“Let’s sing something by Yoga Lin. Girls love his songs. Eason Chan’s aren’t bad either—”

Li Tieshu nodded. “Alright. Let’s sing Eason Chan’s ‘Ten Years.’”

The boys groaned.

Someone suggested the song was too old to attract girls.

“I only know this one,” Li Tieshu said, embarrassed. “We’ll go with it. I’ll start—If those two words hadn’t trembled, I wouldn’t have realized I was upset. Ready, go.”

If those two words hadn’t trembled
I wouldn’t have realized I was upset
If I had spoken, it wouldn’t have been a breakup
—

Though Eason Chan’s song was an old one, its beautiful lyrics and mournful melody, coupled with the boys’ heartfelt singing, won them enthusiastic applause from the girls across the fire.

Class Two and Three’s boys weren’t to be outdone, singing “Longing in the Wind and Rain” and “Back View.”

Then, a petite girl from the girls’ side stepped forward and sang “Eighteen Bends on the Mountain Road.” Her powerful voice and professional-level performance ignited everyone’s passion. Wild applause and cheers followed. Finally, the atmosphere became harmonious. Boys and girls took turns singing, each performance raising the party to new heights.

Before long, it wasn’t just singing; someone performed vocal mimicry, another did stand-up comedy, someone danced hip-hop, and someone even ran back to their dorm to fetch a guitar and performed “Youth.”

At that moment, a sturdy boy from Class Two stood up.

He smiled amiably and said, “I’d like to perform some martial arts for everyone.”

“Wow—!”

Both boys and girls applauded warmly. Among these young people, anyone who could do martial arts was rare and popular.

Scratching his head, he said shyly, “Performing alone is dull and doesn’t show the effect—I’d like to invite someone up to spar with me.”

“Instructor! Instructor!” The students shouted for the instructor’s name. In their eyes, only the instructor could spar with a martial arts expert.

The sturdy boy hurriedly waved his hands, feigning fear. “I wouldn’t dare challenge the instructor. That’s asking for trouble—this is just for fun. I’ll spar with Tang Zhong.”

“Heh. Second Brother, he’s coming for you,” Hua Ming poked Tang Zhong in front of him, sneering.

“Is this guy desperate for fame?” Liang Tao complained. “Second Brother, don’t hold back. Beat him so badly his own mother won’t recognize him.”

Li Yu glanced sideways at the sturdy boy, his face flushed by the firelight, pondering.

When the crowd heard Tang Zhong was to be challenged, excitement exploded among boys and girls alike.

“Tang Zhong!”
“Tang Zhong!”
“Tang Zhong!”
“Tang Zhong—!”

All the students in the department shouted his name, louder and more urgent by the second.

Tang Zhong knew that keeping a low profile was now impossible.

When Instructor Li Tieshu realized who Tang Zhong was, he joined the students in shouting. He had always remembered Tang Zhong, the freshman, and was eager to see his performance.

Unfortunately, Tang Zhong only shook his head and said, “After training all day, I’m exhausted. Find someone else. Besides, I only know how to fight, not martial arts.”

Most of those who served time in prison were brawlers, with deep understanding of the human body—knowing which moves and which targets could inflict the most harm.

But their techniques were all born from street fights, not systematic or continuous. Whether they counted as martial arts, Tang Zhong couldn’t say.

Tong Shangwu wasn’t willing to give up. “Everyone’s waiting. Are you really going to let your classmates down? Besides, we want to know if what happened at noon was true—”

He resorted to provocation: implying that if Tang Zhong wouldn’t accept his challenge, how could he possibly have fought six at once?

Tang Zhong remained unmoved. He didn’t care whether others believed him. He didn’t think fame from this would bring him any pride.

“People might think you made it all up. Of course, I believe you. That’s why I’m stepping up to prove it.”

Tang Zhong’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t mind being provoked, but he disliked sarcastic remarks and disliked people who appeared honest yet played tricks in front of him.

With a slight push of his legs, Tang Zhong bounced up from the ground.

As he stood, the crowd’s shouting weirdly ceased.

“Second Brother, take your glasses off,” Hua Ming said, worried they’d hinder Tang Zhong’s performance.

“No need,” Tang Zhong refused. “If I take them off, I might not find his nose.”

“Good, flatten his nose,” Liang Tao punched the air fiercely.

Tang Zhong smiled and walked out from the lineup, stopping at the bonfire between the boys and girls.

“How should I address you?” Tang Zhong asked, smiling.

“Tong Shangwu,” the sturdy boy replied, his face honest with a smile.

“Since you already know, there’s no need for introductions,” Tang Zhong said. “Shall we begin?”

“Please,” Tong Shangwu gestured invitingly.

“After you,” Tang Zhong said. He didn’t attack first but stood waiting for Tong Shangwu to make the initial move. To have the courage to step up and challenge him meant he was confident in his skills—Tang Zhong was curious to see where that confidence came from.

Tong Shangwu spread his feet, wider than shoulder-width. His second toe muscles pulled inward and back, his hip joints also pulling against each other, force gathering within the bones. He positioned himself in a “Second Toe Clamp Yang Horse” stance.

With a moment’s buildup, he advanced rapidly.

His hands, swift as serpents, darted toward Tang Zhong’s face.

“Wing Chun,” Tang Zhong murmured.

Wing Chun was described as “hands without feet,” for its speed. Tong Shangwu’s attacks were fast and balanced; in Tang Zhong’s eyes, he had at least ten years’ training.

Tang Zhong waited until Tong Shangwu’s palms nearly struck his face, then sidestepped, punched at his ribs, and drove his knee hard into Tong Shangwu’s leg.

Tong Shangwu was shocked!

This was supposed to be a friendly exhibition, yet Tang Zhong opened with lethal moves.

If he were struck in the ribs or knee, he wouldn’t just have to concede defeat—he’d be bedridden for three months.

A hundred days to heal bones and tendons.

Tang Zhong’s counterattack enraged Tong Shangwu. He’d come to dampen Tang Zhong’s spirit in front of the department, and now Tang Zhong was being reckless—he decided not to hold back.

He retreated, then charged again.

His left hand shifted to a pillow-hand, right hand guarded, sun-character fist striking straight for Tang Zhong’s head.

If Tang Zhong wanted to break his bones, he would turn Tang Zhong’s face into a swollen mess.

These two young men radiated killing intent from head to toe.

The students outside watched, blood rushing, shouting wildly. Several instructors, though unfamiliar with martial arts, saw the force and targeting of their attacks and grew serious.

Li Tieshu was the first to react, shouting, “Stop! Both of you, stop!”

Unfortunately, it was already too late.

Tang Zhong’s body hunched, like a leopard about to pounce.

As Tong Shangwu rushed him, Tang Zhong countered. He grabbed Tong Shangwu’s waist, swept his legs out, and slammed him to the ground.

Before Tong Shangwu could react, Tang Zhong punched him in the nose.

Crack—

The sound of a broken nose, followed by spurting blood.

Bang—

Tang Zhong landed another punch on Tong Shangwu’s eye, blinding him and robbing him of strength through pain.

Tang Zhong meant to throw in another punch, but several instructors pulled him off.

So, with genuine regret, he looked at the prone Tong Shangwu and said, “I’m really sorry—you never said when to stop. I was afraid you’d hit me, so I hit you first.”