Chapter Sixty-Eight: A Promise Between Men

"Not bad, you actually managed to block my move," Gao Zheng remarked, surprised to see Xiao Lin only take a few steps back. The force behind his last strike was considerable; an ordinary person would have lost the ability to fight.

Xiao Lin shook his still aching arm and fixed his sharp gaze on Gao Zheng, who stood two steps away.

"Now watch what I can do," Xiao Lin shouted, charging toward Gao Zheng. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of him, and without any fancy moves, simply swung his fist straight at Gao Zheng’s right cheek. The punch whistled through the air, and Gao Zheng did not back down, meeting Xiao Lin’s fist with his own. A resounding "thud" echoed as their fists collided, and the impact forced Gao Zheng to stagger back a step, while Xiao Lin only swayed slightly.

Xiao Lin pressed his advantage, giving Gao Zheng no chance to catch his breath. He moved in swiftly, his fists raining down—straight punches, hooks, jabs, uppercuts, each strike aimed at Gao Zheng’s vital points. Gao Zheng, having felt the power in Xiao Lin’s fist, was forced to dodge and retreat. Yet Xiao Lin's attacks were relentless; despite Gao Zheng’s best efforts, he still took several hits, slowing him down and making his movements less agile.

Xiao Lin, seeing his dominance, increased the tempo, determined to bring Gao Zheng down in one surge. Gao Zheng should never have chosen to box with Xiao Lin—taekwondo excels in agile and varied kicks, but is no match for Sanda in punching. Sanda focuses not on technique but on practical effectiveness; its sole purpose is to defeat the opponent and render him powerless. Xiao Lin was a Sanda expert, and his fists, heavy and steady, would land with a dull, reverberating thud.

With Xiao Lin pressing in, both fists blocking Gao Zheng’s attack routes, Gao Zheng soon found himself on the edge. This couldn’t go on, and anxiety gnawed at him. Xiao Lin launched a left straight at Gao Zheng’s left cheek—a wide, powerful punch that drove the fist forward in a straight line, the knuckles facing downward, delivering enormous force. This time, Gao Zheng didn’t dodge; he took the punch head-on. The blow twisted his face forty-five degrees, and he staggered, nearly collapsing.

Seeing his punch land solidly, Xiao Lin was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected Gao Zheng to take the hit without dodging. Still, there was no time for surprise—the duel was still on. Xiao Lin raised his right hand for another straight punch. Yet in his moment of hesitation, four or five seconds passed.

Gao Zheng seized the opportunity—a side kick shot toward Xiao Lin’s chest. Xiao Lin had no choice but to draw back his fist and defend. Gao Zheng, now wiser, unleashed his signature moves: a dazzling array of kicks—front kick, roundhouse, side kick, push kick, back kick. Taekwondo is renowned for its unpredictable, graceful kicking techniques, and Gao Zheng, a black belt master, turned the tide. Now he was on the offensive, with Xiao Lin forced to defend.

Xiao Lin rapidly retreated, guarding his vital points with both fists, while Gao Zheng pressed his attack. Gao Zheng’s legs moved like fluttering butterflies, striking from every angle toward Xiao Lin’s weak spots. Gradually, Xiao Lin was forced to the edge; in terms of agility, he simply couldn’t match Gao Zheng, who had trained in this for years.

Side kicks, back sweeps, roundhouse kicks, downward chops—a flurry of single-leg attacks rained down. Xiao Lin gritted his teeth, amazed that Gao Zheng had driven him this far. He didn’t dodge; he let the two consecutive kicks hit him. He felt his chest tighten, his head dizzy, but Xiao Lin silently told himself this was his chance. While Gao Zheng’s leg was still extended, Xiao Lin launched a straight kick at Gao Zheng’s chest. Sanda has kicks, but its focus is on power, whereas taekwondo emphasizes speed. When it lands, the force is overwhelming. Gao Zheng let out a muffled groan, stumbling back six or seven steps, unable to dissipate the force, and finally collapsed, gasping on the floor.

Xiao Lin did not pursue further—not because he didn’t want to, but because the continuous offense and defense had exhausted him. Even with stamina above most, he was spent. He rubbed his head and lay down as well.

Though both lay on the ground, neither relaxed. Their hearts still burned with the desire to defeat the other. They locked eyes, unwilling to yield. After more than ten seconds, both suddenly sprang up, charging at each other. Once again, kicks, punches, and moves flew back and forth. Two boys, driven by their convictions, enacted a timeless duel.

"Brother Long, do you think the young master can win?" In the reception hall downstairs, Zhao Mingliang asked the square-faced middle-aged man anxiously.

"Come on, with my junior’s strength, dealing with that guy is a breeze," he replied, full of confidence in Gao Zheng, whose skills were not far from his own.

"But it’s been twenty minutes and neither has come out. Maybe we should go check?" Zhao Mingliang suggested nervously.

"Relax," the man said coolly, casting a disdainful glance at Zhao Mingliang.

On the second floor, Xiao Lin landed another punch on Gao Zheng’s eye socket, and at the same time a heavy kick struck his face. Neither yielded; fists and kicks hammered each other’s faces and bodies. After a long struggle, the two exhausted youths finally spent their last ounce of strength and collapsed to the ground.

"Haah... haah..." Xiao Lin panted heavily. He saw stars swirling before his eyes, couldn’t remember how many kicks he’d taken from Gao Zheng, and his whole body ached so badly he couldn’t summon an ounce of strength. Even moving a finger was agonizing. He had to admit, Gao Zheng’s tenacity was admirable—after taking so many punches, he still managed to fight back. By the end, neither had any real technique left. It was down to the basics: you punch me, I kick you. Xiao Lin’s once handsome face was now swollen and bruised, especially his right cheek, which was puffed up, his eye swollen shut, his black sweater covered in footprints, and one shoe missing.

Beside him, Gao Zheng was in even worse shape. His once immaculate taekwondo uniform was torn and tattered, with holes everywhere—he looked like a beggar. His formerly handsome face was completely swollen, particularly his eyes, which were reduced to narrow slits. Blood flecked his face where Xiao Lin’s fist had struck his nose. Gao Zheng’s noble appearance was gone; he looked for all the world like a vagrant.

Both boys looked at each other’s battered state, their eyes still blazing, but neither could stand up.

"How about we call it a draw?" After a few minutes, they both said at once.

"Hey, Xiao Lin, I still refuse to admit defeat. Yuqing is such a wonderful girl—I won’t give her up easily. I will keep pursuing her," Gao Zheng said, grimacing in pain.

"If you refuse, then I’ll fight until you concede. I won’t give up either. I’ve made up my mind," Xiao Lin replied with fierce determination.

"Then let’s keep competing—not with our fists, though. Let’s make a pact: apart from the two of us, no one else may pursue Yuqing," Gao Zheng said.

"Agreed!" Xiao Lin shouted.

They both burst out laughing, finding a sense of mutual respect in their rivalry.

(The book’s discussion group: 47525481. I hope readers will join and offer suggestions. Gao Zheng is a supporting character—perhaps not everyone likes him, but he’s a decent boy, just a bit spoiled. Thank you all for your support, especially those who have helped Smile.)