Chương 30: Chapter 29 — Martial Competition (2)

The interval only lasted ten minutes, so both fighters were still visibly tired. Guo Mingzhe may have physically recovered from the final strike, but his breathing was still quite laboured. The referee dropped his hand and the fight started immediately. Zichen, seemingly wanting to take advantage of his opponent's breathlessness, immediately shot forwards like a bullet, aiming straight towards Mingzhe's lungs.

Guo Mingzhe hurriedly stepped sideways, just about managing to not trip over his feet, and dodged the attack. Both were in range of each other, and both were wary of this fact. Mingzhe should have had the upper hand, having dodged an attack and now with the option to strike Yang Zichen who was still moving with the inertia of his failed strike. But something changed. Every instinct he had as a martial artist was warning him not to get any closer.

His gut feeling hadn't failed him before, so Mingzhe retreated backwards, buying more time to recover his breath. Yang Zichen pivoted off his front foot and rotated himself to face Mingzhe once again, giving him a smirk as the two made eye contact. Yang Zichen drove his weight into the stage arena, sweeping along the edges of the chalk circle denoting the boundaries of their fight. Some of the powder rose up with this motion like a smoke bomb, albeit quite a terrible one.

Zichen clenched his foot and charged ahead once again. This time, Mingzhe had no way out, as he found himself near the corner boundary once again. He had to act fast — he could either jump above since Zichen ducked low to charge, or somehow attempt to slide through between his legs. Guo Mingzhe jumped. He forced his palms down on Zichen's back to further his leap into the air and in an attempt to push him out of bounds, but Zichen did not falter.

Instead, as Guo Mingzhe was still mid-air, a foot launched backwards and slammed him in the chin. Yang Zichen unclenched his foot, and chalk dust found its way up Mingzhe's nostrils, causing him to cough and sneeze, preventing him from finding his footing. A fist drove into Mingzhe's stomach. His torso folded around the impact and his knees gave way. Mingzhe fell, and Zichen won. The crowd went silent, and the referee barely registered what had just happened.

He raised his arm and announced the winner of today's matches: Yang Zichen. Xu Fang sat in the sponsor booth with his unfinished drink in his hand and punched the railing.

"Second place. He got so so close."

"He was," said Lin Che.

"He really was excellent."

"The winner gets the sponsor meeting?"

"Yeah, he'll be up soon." Xu Fang looked at the platform where Mingzhe was being announced as the runner up, much to the crowd's applause.

"I'll text him afterwards. Tell him to come find us when he's out." He paused.

"He'll be disappointed, but he won't show it. He never does."

Around fifteen minutes later, the man with the lanyard entered the booth and announced that the winner was ready to come up. Lin Che straightened in his chair and fixed his face into a neutral position, having prepared himself for this meeting. Zichen came through the door. He was in the same composed state he had during the bout against Mingzhe, which caused a couple of Lin Che's hairs to raise, but he understood that this man was not there to attack him.

Zichen blinked for a split second longer than usual upon recognising Lin Che's face in front of him.

"Lin Chen," he said, managing a wry smile.

"Zichen!" Lin Che stood and shook his hand, returning a toothy grin.

"Good fight. I told my friend here you were one of the best I'd seen." He turned to Xu Fang.

"Xu Fang. Yang Zichen."

"You two know each other?" asked Xu Fang. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Through my wife," replied Lin Che.

"Zichen has worked with the Shen family for a while. We've run into each other a few times." His eyes moved towards Zichen, motioning a Xu Fang doesn't know anything, please keep up, and hoping that the message made it through. Zichen kept up without effort.

"Small city," he said pleasantly.

"Very small indeed. Xu Fang's friend was the runner up."

"Ah, he's a very good fighter. I wasn't quite sure I could defeat him with martial arts alone." Yang Zichen shot Lin Che a wink.

"But the chalk helped quite a lot." Xu Fang scratched his head as though he were being praised rather than his friend.

"He's been doing it since he was ten," he said.

"Did you train together anywhere or—""Actually," said Zichen, turning to Xu Fang.

"I'd love to hear more about him. I try to connect with serious competitors when I can. Would you mind—" He gestured outside of the booth.

"I have a couple of questions that are probably boring for someone who isn't in the circuit." Xu Fang, who was incapable of refusing an opportunity to brag about his friends, spared no moment in taking up Zichen on his offer. Lin Che watched them both leave the booth, before the door opened again and Mingzhe came in.

"You're the sponsor?" he asked, looking Lin Che up and down in surprise. Guo Mingzhe had just a few minutes earlier received notice that he was being summoned to the sponsor box despite not being this year's champion. He was thrilled to see what industry connections he could make with this rare opportunity to meet an investor, only to be greeted by a man with remarkably soft hands instead.

"Guest of the sponsor," said Lin Che.

"Sit down and get a drink." Mingzhe sat down and accepted a drink. He held it as he looked down at the platform past the railing, where staff were already cleaning away all traces of today's fights.

"Good final," said Lin Che, breaking the silence that overcame them.

"I lost."

"You took three rounds off someone extraordinarily good. That's not the same as losing badly." Mingzhe looked up.

"He was better," he simply said."Especially in the third round — he knew how to adapt to the terrain."

"He adjusts very quickly," said Lin Che.

"The chalk was good. I'll give him that." Mingzhe took a sip.

"I take it you had this conversation with him just before I came here?"

"Something of that sort."

"You know, this is going to sound really silly to someone who's not in martial arts, but I knew I was going to lose before the first round even started," admitted Guo Mingzhe before taking a sip of his drink. Lin Che wasn't sure of how to reply. He looked at him for a moment, letting silence fill the gaps before finally saying: "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"How would you handle someone who had significantly more physical strength than you but no formal training? Just strength and very fast reactions." Mingzhe let out a quiet laugh.

"Depends on the strength differential. If it's significant, you don't rush contact and instead force them to chase. Strength without training can't match up with technique."

"And if they don't chase? Let's say they wait instead."

"Then it'll be much harder. How come you're asking this?"

"Curiosity." Lin Che stood up.

"Would you be willing to find out? Right now." Mingzhe looked at him.

"No contact to the face," said Lin Che.

"I want to see if your assessment is right."

"You're serious."

"I wouldn't ask otherwise."

"I wouldn't like to hurt a sponsor."

"Try your hardest." Mingzhe set down his drink and stood up next to Lin Che, unsure what to make of him. He pushed the table and chairs to one side of the room before standing opposite the sponsor. The decision was made.

"Five minutes," he said.

Mingzhe moved first, aiming for a quick attack to subdue the sponsor without dealing any harm. He opened his arms aiming to tackle down Lin Che in his grip, but there was suddenly nothing between his arms.

"Too slow," goaded Lin Che.

"Again." Mingzhe reset. His expression had changed slightly. He came in properly again, low and angled, but Lin Che stepped off the line of his movement and let Mingzhe pass by him. Guo Mingzhe gulped mainly out of confusion. There was no hint of his opponent planning his next movements, as though he himself did not know where his body was taking him.

That is to say: there was no way to predict his opponent's movements They went on like this for two minutes, with Mingzhe not going into contact and Lin Che simply watching and observing. Then, Lin Che closed the distance, simply by taking a couple of slow steps. Mingzhe attempted to respond correctly, taking equal steps backwards. Suddenly, he felt a hand closed around his wrist, and it would not move at all. It was as if his wrists were trapped under a mountain.

They stood in the middle of the booth, the table pushed to the side. Mingzhe looked at the hand around his wrist and at Lin Che with shock on his face.

"You said no training," he said.

"Yes. Yes I did."