Chapter Forty-Two: Lovers in Martial Arts (Part One)

Chapter Forty-Two: A Couple's Martial Arts (Part One)

The virtuous do not come; those who come are not virtuous.

Meeting an acquaintance in a foreign land was a surprise to Zhang Le. Though their previous encounter was brief, the man's appearance had left a deep impression on him.

Yet Zhang Le was puzzled—wasn’t the fellow afraid of courting disaster by acting so recklessly? If these thugs so much as harmed Yang Xin’er, not just him, but even his wealthy father would tremble in fear.

Instinctively, Zhang Le shielded Yang Xin’er behind him, leaving her momentarily stunned, but deep inside, she was touched.

The program crew immediately sensed these men were here to cause trouble. A staff member stepped forward to intervene, saying, “What are you doing? We’re filming a show here. Please—”

Before he could finish, one impatient thug kicked him to the ground. The force of the blow was so great that the staffer couldn’t get up.

Out of the country, the crew brought as few staff as possible. With four groups of guests filming separately, each group had limited staff. Zhang Le and Yang Xin’er’s group, including themselves, numbered only six, half of whom were women.

The thugs were both black and white; some were extremely thin, but most were muscular brutes. Westerners were generally taller and bulkier than Asians—one black man stood nearly two meters tall, with arms thicker than Zhang Le’s legs, presenting a truly intimidating sight.

Their unruly demeanor and fierce appearance surrounded Zhang Le’s market stall, leaving no doubt they were here to pick a fight.

“Let me handle this,” Zhang Le said to the staff, then turned to the apparent leader and spoke in English, “Whatever the fat man paid you, I’ll double it. Let’s settle it right here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the man hesitated, his eyes flickering, then feigned ignorance.

“So, what business do you have here?” Zhang Le stared at him, and the man’s reaction confirmed Zhang Le’s suspicions.

Instead of answering, the rest began trampling the goods on the stall, making a mess.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to collect protection money?” Zhang Le remarked coolly. He wasn’t truly running the stall, so he wasn’t too concerned about the items, nor was he especially angry at their actions.

“You broke the rules,” the leader said coldly, glancing at Yang Xin’er behind Zhang Le.

“Rules—your rules?” Zhang Le sneered. “Enough nonsense. What do you want? Or did the fat man send you just to scare me?”

“What’s going on? Fat man—who’s the fat man?” Yang Xin’er was puzzled, then whispered to Zhang Le. Despite the gang of thugs, she showed no fear or panic.

“I saw Lin Xiaofan, the fat man, just now. It’s no coincidence—we’re probably here because of him,” Zhang Le replied. “They’re here for me. Stay alert and try to keep your distance.”

“Distance? If they dare touch you, I’ll beat them till they’re hunting for their teeth, not even recognizing their own mothers!” Yang Xin’er said fiercely.

Zhang Le was momentarily stunned.

“Hmph!” The leader snorted. “You broke the rules here—pay a hundred thousand and clear out, or let the girl behind you entertain my boys. If everyone’s happy, you can keep your stall.”

A cold gleam flashed in Zhang Le’s eyes. Yang Xin’er was about to explode with rage and attack, but Zhang Le held her back.

“Is this your idea, or the fat man’s?” Zhang Le asked icily.

The man was about to reply when his phone rang. He answered, and Zhang Le’s sharp hearing caught an impatient voice: “Stop wasting time with him—the police are almost here.”

The English voice was unmistakably the fat man’s.

The leader hung up and, without another word, gave a signal to his group. They responded instantly—one thug charged forward, aiming a kick at Zhang Le.

Zhang Le grabbed the attacker’s ankle, spun him with borrowed force, and sent him crashing into two others. Then he said to Yang Xin’er, “Get clear.”

Before he finished speaking, Yang Xin’er was already moving—not away, but swinging her fist at the nearest thug’s nose.

This particular thug was one of the thinner ones and hadn’t expected the seemingly gentle Yang Xin’er to attack. He failed to dodge and took the punch squarely, blood streaming from his nose.

Furious, he tried to retaliate, but Yang Xin’er seized his shoulders and drove her knee into his abdomen. He felt his organs shift, cried out in agony, collapsed, and curled up convulsing on the ground.

Zhang Le was stunned, as were the other thugs for a moment.

He hadn’t expected Yang Xin’er to be so violent, but upon reflection, it made sense—her family was not only a military one but also famed for martial arts. Her moves were pure Shaolin boxing.

Still, these thugs knew nothing of martial arts, and Yang Xin’er caught them off guard. Once they recovered, their experience and ferocity in street fighting would make it hard for even two or three like her to hold out.

Fearing Yang Xin’er might get hurt, Zhang Le fought more ruthlessly. His blows broke legs and arms, ensuring his opponents lost all fighting ability. To finish the fight quickly, he even took a few punches himself, but their force barely affected him.

The huge brute had great strength, but limited agility. Zhang Le was wary and avoided his attacks easily.

While fending off the gang, Zhang Le kept a watchful eye on Yang Xin’er. Whenever she struggled, he would leap in to help.

“Xin’er, look out!”

One thug, enraged by Yang Xin’er, drew a machete from his waistband and swung at her from behind. At that moment, she was dealing with another attacker and couldn’t dodge.

Without hesitation, Zhang Le pulled Yang Xin’er aside and shielded her with his body.

A searing pain struck Zhang Le’s back—the blade had sliced him, but thankfully the wound was not deep.

Turning, Zhang Le twisted the attacker’s wrist, snapping it with a crack, snatched the machete, and kicked the thug away with full force. The man would be lucky to survive without spending a year or more in the hospital.

“Zhang Le, are you all right? Is it serious?” Yang Xin’er froze, then her expression changed. She hurried over, fury blazing in her eyes as she glanced at the remaining thugs.

“It’s just a scratch. Take this,” Zhang Le handed her the machete, tore his shirt, and bound his wound. With cold eyes, he beckoned the thugs, “Come here. I promise I won’t kill you!”