Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 25: I Am a Boxer, and I Have a Dream

The people here live in a drunken haze; they will never understand that in this world, there are those who are constantly struggling on the brink of life and death. Such people might be impoverished, starving civilians whose next meal is always uncertain. They could be soldiers on the battlefield, risking their lives and shedding their blood—fighting for their country and their families. These people could be mercenaries active all over the world; wherever there is war, there they are, trading their lives for generous rewards. They might also be assassins or bodyguards—some appear to live a respectable life on the surface, while others lead utterly miserable lives. Then there is another group of people with a simple title: boxers. According to statistics, more than half of the boxers active in the world’s underground boxing circuits took this path because of poverty in their families from a young age; the rest turned to boxing for various unknown reasons. After all, without a compelling reason, who would choose this path? Although boxers’ earnings are quite substantial, they never know whether they’ll live or die in their next bout—or if they’ll even be alive to enjoy that seemingly lavish money. Through one fight after another, they become Mamu and bloodthirsty; it’s unclear how many of them have managed to preserve their true selves. Of course, there are certainly boxers among them who were born to fight—they fear neither life nor death, driven solely by the pursuit of a higher realm of combat. Yet such individuals are few and far between. The crowd, waving wads of cash, screamed as if in a trance. In their eyes, the boxers in the ring not only provided them with mental thrills but also brought them untold wealth. The crowd surrounding the ring had packed the area so tightly that it was impossible to move; for an ordinary person, trying to squeeze in at this moment would be sheer folly. But for Zhao Wuji, it was no problem at all. Zhao Wuji walked into the crowd without pausing for a moment. He was like a giant ship cutting through the waves, moving forward unimpeded. The people around him felt a tremendous force sweep over them, causing them to fall uncontrollably to either side. By the time they came to their senses and tried to locate the source of that immense force within the crowd, they found nothing. In the blink of an eye, Zhao Wuji had reached the base of the stands. A large pool of sweat had already formed at the feet of the two men on the ring. They stood in silence, glaring coldly at one another. The sweat soaked the wounds on their faces, and the stinging sensation caused their eye corners to twitch slightly. It was clear these were two boxers of equal skill. Asim was 18 years old. He came from the slums of a certain East Asian country. Two years ago, he joined a relatively obscure training camp and became a boxer. After signing a contract with the camp’s owner, he was assigned to fight at the Sharon Hotel in the Duchy of Limes. Asim was a capable fighter; during his time at the Sharon Hotel, he had defeated his opponents on numerous occasions. Although Asim was from Asia, his skin was naturally ruddy, and now, after the intense bout, it had taken on a dark reddish hue, with wisps of steam rising from his skin. His opponent was Jack, a native of the Duchy of Limes. His family had been butchers for generations, but by his generation, Jack no longer wanted to follow in their footsteps, so he decided to become a boxer. He was quite talented; while not the strongest in the ring, he was still a formidable opponent. However, for various reasons, this particular fight had reached a stalemate. Asim’s usually icy gaze suddenly flickered as he recalled the events of his past. “At eight, I begged on the streets for my little sister, enduring countless cold stares and humiliations. At ten, when the blacksmith’s shop was taking on apprentices, I turned to theft—I stole half a jin of meat and gave it to the master blacksmith, which allowed me to become a blacksmith’s apprentice. At the blacksmith’s shop, I did the dirtiest and heaviest work, all to earn enough money to send my sister to school.” A hint of anguish flashed across Asim’s eyes. “When I was fifteen, my sister fell seriously ill and needed a large sum of money urgently. To pay for her treatment, I did whatever it took—and in the end, with no other choice, I joined a training camp to earn what they called a ‘signing bonus.’ ” “At the training camp, I trained harder than anyone else, all to improve my skills so I could enter the ring as soon as possible and give my sister a better life.” “I’ve fought a brown bear, battled a starving wolf, and held out for ten minutes while being attacked by a pack of hungry wolfhounds. Now, I finally stand in this ring. My entire life is destined to be a struggle between life and death.” He ran his hand over the scars on his chest, once so deep they exposed bone—they bore witness to the countless times he’d narrowly escaped death. With extraordinary composure, Asim reflected on his life’s journey, only to realize that in just over a decade, he had lived a life as rich and eventful as anyone else’s. “I am my sister’s rock.” “I will survive no matter what!” No one noticed that Asim had changed, but Zhao Wuji did. The Asim standing before him seemed like a completely different person, facing his opponent with extraordinary poise. “A boxer with conviction is a formidable opponent,” Zhao Wuji thought to himself. To put it simply, a boxer who possesses conviction—that is, a pillar of strength—will remain undefeated when facing an opponent of equal skill. Asim launched his attack without any warning. A man like this—if he believes he will win, then he will surely win! Jack was taken slightly off guard; he hadn’t expected Asim to strike so suddenly, and in his panic, he hurried forward to block the blow. Jack’s raw skill was solid; though caught off guard by Asim’s attack, he quickly regained his composure and threw himself into the fight. The fierce battle between the two once again ignited the passionate fervor in the hearts of the crowd below. They screamed and roared at the top of their lungs, their eyes bloodshot from overexertion. Back and forth they went, trading blows on the ring, with neither clearly gaining the upper hand. The turning point of the fight came after several dozen seconds of this back-and-forth exchange. Zhao Wuji watched the two men on the ring and reached a conclusion in his mind. Boxers on the ring face death at any moment—so are they not afraid of dying? Of course not. As long as a person lives with a purpose, they will fear death. The reason many boxers appear unafraid of death is that they understand fear is useless—it only hastens their own demise. This is no different from soldiers on the battlefield: their only way to survive is to keep fighting; the more they fear death, the faster they die. Asim’s expression remained unchanged, but Jack was already growing impatient. Boxing matches are typically quick and decisive; the fact that they had been fighting for so long was already a major faux pas. The moment Jack’s emotions wavered, he revealed an opening. At that very instant, Asim lunged forward, closing the distance to Jack in the blink of an eye. By the time Jack came to his senses, a storm of blows was already raining down on him. Every one of Asim’s punches was aimed at Jack’s head, but Asim wasn’t a power puncher. Although he launched a fierce assault, he couldn’t knock Jack out instantly and end the fight cleanly. Although Jack was reeling from the blows, he still had the strength to fight back. He gathered his strength, seized a moment amid the barrage, and drove a fierce punch into Asim’s Temple of the Sun. Asim felt a wave of intense dizziness wash over him; fortunately, he clenched his teeth just in time, preventing him from losing consciousness. Despite this heavy blow, Asim’s assault didn’t let up for a moment. Jack’s mind was already growing hazy, and he began lashing out wildly at Asim. He struck at his head, pounded his chest, grabbed his throat, and finally, wherever he could find flesh, tore at it frantically. Although Jack’s face was beaten beyond recognition, Asim’s entire body was drenched in blood, with not a single patch of uninjured skin left. Jack’s resistance gradually weakened, but Asim failed to notice this and continued to attack Jack frantically. Asim's body was covered in wounds, and his mind was growing hazy—yet one phrase kept circling in his head. Kill him! Stay alive! Give my little sister a good life. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Jack had long since stopped breathing, his head a mangled mess of blood and flesh, while Asim, after landing his final punch, also collapsed to the ground with a thud. On the ring lay two unconscious boxers. Below the ring, the crowd remained silent for a long time. A staff member stepped onto the ring to check on the two fighters. Finally, the referee raised his right hand and shouted, “The winner of this bout is—Asim!” As soon as the result was announced, the crowd below the ring—which had been silent just moments before—suddenly erupted into frenzied cheers, like a raging ocean. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story. Those who had bet on Asim’s victory naturally made a fortune, while those who had bet on Jack’s victory were now left with nothing but tears. Representatives from both boxers’ camps came onto the ring to carry the two men away. Zhao Wuji casually collected Jack’s life force, his gaze following Asim as he was carried off, before leaving the area beneath the ring. No one noticed Zhao Wuji’s departure. Gammon was Asim’s backer. More than a decade ago, he had been just an ordinary businessman, but after marrying a wealthy widow, he began to amass a fortune. He made a fortune off the war and later turned to all sorts of shady dealings—human trafficking, violent crime, and drug trafficking—eventually becoming a full-fledged local crime lord. By nature, he was vicious, callous, and ruthless toward others. A few years ago, he established a training camp, aggressively recruiting fighters to box for him. Within the camp, he trained his fighters using the most brutal methods, and he did not hesitate to kill those he deemed worthless to avoid wasting his money. At that very moment, inside the private box, Gammon was smoking a cigar while calculating his profits from this event; Asim’s victory would bring him a huge sum of money. Gammon was quite handsome, aside from a slightly paunchy belly. His hair was neatly combed and slicked back with pomade, giving it a glossy sheen. He had high cheekbones and narrow, slanted eyes that gleamed with a venomous, ruthless glint. The door to the private box swung open, and one of his henchmen walked in. He leaned close to Gammon’s ear and whispered something. Gammon’s eyes flickered as he said, “So he won’t be able to box anymore. In that case, there’s no need to send him for treatment. You guys take care of him! I’ve just recruited a batch of promising young fighters recently; I’m sure they won’t be any worse than him.” The subordinate paused for a moment upon hearing this, then nodded and withdrew from the private room. A human life was thus casually discarded by him, even though this man had once earned him a vast fortune.