Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 30: New Arrivals

The Siberia region refers to the vast area of Russia stretching from the eastern slopes of the Ural Mountains, spanning most of the northern half of the continent of Asia and bordering Russia’s Far East. The region borders the Arctic Ocean to the north, Kazakhstan, Mongolia, China’s Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, and Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region to the south, and the Sakha Republic and Amur Oblast in Russia’s Far East to the east. Administratively, Siberia falls under the jurisdiction of the Russian Federation. It is a vast and fertile region, as well as a world of ice and snow. After a long flight lasting a day and a night, the transport plane finally entered airspace over Siberia. Although Zhao Wuji was seated inside the cabin, he could still feel the bone-chilling cold. Through the airplane window, he saw a vast expanse of white outside. Sikov gazed out at the landscape; a wistful expression appeared in his eyes, and a rare warmth spread across his face. After an unknown amount of time, the transport plane swayed slightly before coming to a steady stop. It seemed they had landed. Sikov walked over to the cabin door, turned his head toward Zhao Wuji, and smiled broadly. “Zhao,” he said, “welcome to Siberia.” Then, he yanked the cabin door open. A cold wind mixed with snowflakes swept in, and the temperature inside the cabin instantly dropped by several degrees. Sikov had already donned a thick leather coat to ward off the cold, but Zhao Wuji didn’t mind—his physique was more than capable of withstanding the chill. Outside the airport, the landscape was a frozen wasteland. This wasn’t a standard airport, but it made up for it with its vast expanse. Seven or eight people from Russia, all wrapped in thick leather coats, met with the crew from the transport plane to discuss unloading the cargo. Zhao Wuji and Sikov stepped out of the cabin, their feet touching the ground, which was lightly dusted with snow. Since the area had just been cleared to facilitate the plane’s landing, the snow wasn’t very deep here, but the ground in the distance was covered by a very thick layer of snow. This was Diliasi, a medium-sized city in northern Siberia that held a rather important strategic position in the region. And this was Sikov’s hometown. Ever since they disembarked from the transport plane, they had been traveling on their own. Strictly speaking, the spot where the transport plane landed was a transit hub for live cargo, where planes landed and trucks came and went. Sikov led the way, chatting nonstop as he introduced Zhao Wuji to everything around them. Listening to Sikov describe the local customs and culture, Zhao Wuji found it quite fascinating; he never would have imagined that such a unique place could exist in the midst of this frozen wasteland. Zhao Wuji’s trip to the Siberian Training Camp was entirely his own initiative; Adelaide hadn’t used her connections to arrange anything for him, because she believed that, given Zhao Wuji’s capabilities, there was absolutely no need to worry about him here. Moreover, Adelaide didn’t want to be associated in any way with the Siberian Training Camp. All Zhao Wuji needed was a guide familiar with the area. Someone like Sikov, for example. Registration for the training camp was set to begin in exactly two days, so Sikov planned to first take Zhao Wuji to the home of a childhood friend of his to get him settled in. Then they would go to the registration site to sign up. The Siberian Training Camp has three registration sites throughout the region of Siberia, and Diliasi is one of them. However, before registering, there were a few important matters to take care of. First, the registration fee—no need to worry about that; Adelaide had already taken care of it for Zhao Wuji. Of course, even if he didn’t have the money to pay the tuition, it wouldn’t be a problem; he’d simply need to sign a contract with the training camp, and the boxer could repay the camp with his earnings from fighting. Second, two letters of recommendation from renowned coaches are required; these are primarily to guarantee that the trainee has potential for development. For the time being, Zhao Wuji didn’t have any letters of recommendation. Although Adelaide had the best coaches, she hadn’t asked them to write one for him. Was there really no way out? Of course not. Zhao Wuji didn’t know any coaches, but Sikov did. Although Sikov wasn’t very close with Coach Nail either, as long as Zhao Wuji could demonstrate his skills in front of them, obtaining a letter of recommendation would be a simple matter. After walking for about half an hour, they arrived on the streets of Diliasi. There were quite a few pedestrians on the street, even though heavy snow was falling and thick drifts had accumulated on the road. But as residents of Diliasi, they were long accustomed to all this; everything here had become an integral part of their lives, inseparable from one another. By the bus stop on the side of the street, several Diliasi locals were waiting for a bus. They were tall, with rosy cheeks that revealed their robust health. Sikov’s good friend, Garcia, ran a tavern on a street two blocks away. While Sikov was in Diliasi, he had always been on good terms with Garcia, but after Sikov grew up and left the town to move to the United States, their relationship gradually faded. When Sikov called Garcia this time to explain the situation, Garcia agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Zhao Wuji and Sikov waited for the bus for a while with the people gathered at the bus stop. A short time later, a bus that wasn’t very crowded pulled up beside the stop. Everyone at the bus stop—including Zhao Wuji and Sikov—boarded the bus. Since there weren’t many passengers, there were more than enough seats. After Zhao Wuji and Sikov found places to sit, there were still two empty seats left. The car started up and headed toward Andrew Street, two blocks away. Zhao Wuji and Sikov sat on opposite sides of the car, each gazing at the scenery outside. Just a few minutes after setting off, before they even reached the next bus stop, the bus suddenly came to a halt. “What’s going on?” the passengers asked in puzzlement, noticing the driver looked flustered. Four burly men were blocking the front of the bus, each wearing an arrogant expression, as if they were superior to everyone else. This was clearly not a bus stop, yet they were brazen enough to stop the bus right there. Although it wasn’t unusual for people to flag down buses outside of stops, the fact that they dared to stand directly in front of the vehicle—certain that the driver wouldn’t dare run them over—showed just how arrogant they were. Judging by the driver’s expression, he seemed to know exactly who these four men were. “Bang, bang!” The four men pounded roughly on the car doors, and Zhao Wuji frowned. Although the people of Diliasi are generally simple and honest, that doesn’t mean there aren’t some shady characters among them—like these few right in front of him, who are clearly used to acting with impunity. The driver’s face betrayed fear as he hurriedly opened the door to let Ma and his group get in. The men strode into the car with heavy footsteps. Once inside, they looked around, their eyes sweeping over everyone present with a rather brazen air. Two of them immediately took the two empty seats in the back, while the other two—tall, burly men with no seats—quickly surveyed the interior. A skinny boy in the front row caught their attention. He looked like a student, with a few books tucked under his arm and a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—an easy target to bully. The tall man in the black leather jacket stepped forward, grabbed the boy by the collar, yanked him out of his seat, and cursed, “Get the hell out of here! This seat is mine now!” After saying that, the tall man actually stepped over the boy’s head to sit down, leaving the boy slumped on the floor. His face was etched with humiliation and helplessness, yet he didn’t have the courage to say a word. His friends burst into laughter at the sight, treating it like a spectacle, while casting threatening glances at all the passengers on the bus. The passengers remained silent; only the boy’s quiet sobs stood out starkly in the stillness. It was the silent cry of the powerless. “You. You short Asian guy, get off your seat.” The remaining man, the one with the tattoo on his left arm, had actually set his sights on Zhao Wuji. It was hardly surprising, really—Zhao Wuji was the only Asian on the bus, and he stood out all too clearly among a sea of Western faces. Consequently, his subconscious automatically labeled Zhao Wuji as someone he could bully. Unfortunately, he’d picked the wrong person—a mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Zhao Wuji had already been deeply annoyed by the arrogant behavior of those few moments ago; he never expected someone would actually come looking for trouble right then. Wasn’t this just asking for trouble? Zhao Wuji looked up and cast a detached glance at the tattooed man approaching him. A faint, contemptuous smile played at the corner of his mouth, but he remained motionless, simply staring at the man. “Are you talking to me?” Zhao Wuji spoke, his tone infuriating the tattooed man. “Get down. That’s not a seat for someone like you—an Oriental. You’re only fit to crouch at my feet like a dog,” the man said to Zhao Wuji with utter malice, his words enough to make anyone’s blood boil. Zhao Wuji didn’t show the slightest hint of anger. The people in the car secretly thought to themselves that Zhao Wuji was in for a world of trouble, while also believing that this Eastern man before them was a naturally weak creature, destined to be trampled underfoot for the rest of his life. Little did they know that just moments ago, they’d been too terrified to utter a single word—what did that make them, then? “Get out now, and I’ll just break your legs—that’s a favor I’m doing you, got it? Don’t let me down.” The tattooed man continued to threaten Zhao Wuji, unaware that the more arrogant he acted now, the more miserably he would cry later. “Get down here, you dog of a bastard,” his three companions chimed in from the sidelines, laughing shamelessly. In their eyes, Zhao Wuji was just another target for their bullying. Zhao Wuji still didn’t budge an inch. The man laughed in exasperation, “I never thought there’d be someone as stupid as you. You’re turning down a favor like this—you’re really asking for it.” “Who the hell are you?” Zhao Wuji suddenly asked. “What?” the man said, somewhat incredulous. “I said, what kind of creature are you, daring to speak to me like that? Come on, show me what you’ve got.” Zhao Wuji raised his voice, leaping to his feet and striding step by step toward the man. “Where’s your mettle?” Zhao Wuji reached out with both hands toward the man’s neck. The man seemed to have some skills; he reacted quickly and tried to block Zhao Wuji’s hands as they closed in on his throat. However, there’s often a gap between intention and reality. And in this case, that gap was quite wide. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop Zhao Wuji’s hand from closing in on his neck. As the grip tightened around his neck, he was lifted off the ground.