Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 42: What Is It to Be Fearless in the Face of Death?

After stretching his arms, the man felt much better. He took out a cloth strip, handed it to Zhao Wuji, and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, but to get in, you’ll have to blindfold yourself.” Zhao Wuji understood this was for the sake of secrecy, so he didn’t object and voluntarily tied the black cloth strip around his eyes. Everything was pitch black. The man gripped Zhao Wuji’s elbow and guided him forward. Zhao Wuji felt as if he were stepping on soft, muddy ground. He didn’t know how long they’d been walking when he realized the ground beneath his feet had become incredibly firm—it seemed he had entered an indoor space. At first, the surroundings were completely silent, and the scent of rotting wood lingered in the air. Gradually, the air around him grew fresher. Sounds also began to reach Zhao Wuji’s ears—a variety of voices. Suddenly, his vision brightened—the man had reached out and pulled the black cloth from Zhao Wuji’s head. Zhao Wuji now found himself in a different space. It was an enormous hall—he had no idea how he’d ended up there. There were no fewer than fifty people standing in the hall. Every one of these fifty people exuded a fierce aura and had icy stares; they represented a wide range of ethnicities and skin tones. They had all gathered here for one purpose: to gain entry into the Siberian Training Camp. Although there were sounds in the room, it didn’t feel noisy; in fact, there seemed to be an unspoken order among the crowd. At the very front of the hall, seated at a long table, was a menacing-looking man whose wrists were as thick as an adult’s calf. He fiddled with a military dagger in his hand, gazing at the assembled agents from around the globe with a cold smile, saying nothing. Zhao Wuji blended in among them, quietly observing his surroundings. The fighters weren’t talking to one another at the moment; they were simply staring at the exceptionally burly man at the head of the table—the person in charge of their registration. After a long while, the man spoke. His voice was as cold as ice, sending a chill straight to the bone. Many of the boxers shuddered—after all, they were facing men from the Siberian Training Camp! The Siberian Training Camp—a mecca for boxers from all over the world. “Welcome, boxers,” the man said with a wide grin, though no one could sense any goodwill in it. “My name is Max, and I’m in charge of this recruitment drive.” Not a single boxer spoke; most looked at him with fear in their eyes, yet a few in the crowd still shot him intense, burning glances. Max gave a meaningful smile, as if he could sense those gazes. “I understand your enthusiasm, but before we begin the recruitment process, I’d like the boxers without recommendation letters to step forward. Someone will escort you out. Remember, only recommendation letters from coaches—specifically those allocated by the training camp—are valid. Understood? All right, let’s begin.” A stir ran through the crowd. Before long, more than a dozen of the fifty boxers stepped out of the crowd, clearly reluctant to do so. “Why? Just because we don’t have a recommendation letter, you’re kicking us out? That’s not fair!” A brown-haired boxer protested defiantly. His words struck a chord with the other boxers who also lacked recommendation letters, and they vented their frustration in unison, completely forgetting what kind of place this was. “Hah.” Max’s laugh was somewhat cold. “You can’t even manage to get a recommendation letter, yet you dare to dream of joining the training camp? You’re living in a fantasy!” Max’s tone suddenly turned harsh, causing the boxers who had stepped forward to turn pale. “However, in the spirit of tolerance, the training camp has long since agreed to give you a chance,” Max said, his tone shifting. The boxers looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain. He surveyed them for a moment… Max waved his hand, and immediately several boxers—some burly, others lean and agile—stepped out from behind him. Each had a cold, determined gaze, and the difference in caliber between them and the boxers present was starkly evident. With a sinister smile, Max pointed at them and said, “You want to join the Siberian Training Camp? Fine! The boxers standing before you right now are all failures from the Siberian Training Camp. If you defeat any one of them, you’ll be allowed to join the Siberian Training Camp.” Smiles immediately spread across the boxers’ faces, and they were all eager to step forward and give it a try. “However, everything you do from this point on must be of your own free will. You take full responsibility for your own lives. Are you willing?” “Yes, yes!” The brown-haired boxer, his face beaming with excitement, leaped out of the crowd. Max waved his hand casually. “Since these are your own rules, then pick any fighter you like from among them as your opponent. Beat him, and you’ll become a fighter in the Siberian Training Camp.” There was no shortage of temptation in Max’s voice as he kept drawing in that boxer—and the others without letters of recommendation. “No problem!” The brown-haired boxer stepped in front of the group, scanning from the first to the last, from the burliest to the skinniest. His expression shifted constantly as he hesitated, but finally, gritting his teeth, he chose the smallest, most compact fighter. To be honest, his choice wasn’t a bad one. By all accounts, a physically imposing boxer naturally possesses superior explosiveness, punch speed, and strength; therefore, selecting the slender, compact boxer was a wise move. Max’s smile widened, as if he were about to witness a great show. The boxer didn’t even reach the brown-haired boxer’s shoulders; the brown-haired boxer towered over him by a full head. The slender boxer stepped out of the line, stood expressionlessly in front of the brown-haired boxer, and stared at him coldly. “Heh,” the brown-haired boxer laughed arrogantly, gesturing with his hands in a provocative manner. “Come on, let’s have a go. I’ll show you what I’m made of.” He kept goading the small boxer. The slender boxer took a step forward but made no move, merely staring intently at him. The brown-haired boxer felt a chill run down his spine under the intense stare; his face twisted into a savage grimace as he took a huge stride forward. “Go down!” The brown-haired boxer threw a hook, the wind from his punch whipping through the air as it slammed into the slender boxer’s chin. The slender boxer didn’t even try to dodge, letting the punch land squarely on his chin. “Thud!” Blood trickled from the boxer’s mouth. Finally, the slender boxer launched his attack—but as he did, he left himself wide open, with vulnerabilities all over his body, as if anyone could defeat him. But was that really the case? The brown-haired boxer struck him again, but the small boxer shifted his stance and, with a strange maneuver, locked the brown-haired boxer in a tight grip, making it difficult for him to break free. Startled, the brown-haired boxer lost his balance and crashed heavily to the ground, dragging the slender boxer—who was still locked onto him—down with him. Lying on the ground, his face contorted, he struggled desperately, but to no avail—he couldn’t move a muscle. He suddenly grew anxious—the only part of his body he could move was his fist—so he frantically rained punches down on the slender boxer’s head. Once, twice. He didn’t know how many times he’d struck… The small boxer didn’t budge an inch, only tightening his grip on the brown-haired boxer even further. The brown-haired boxer’s face had turned slightly purple; though his hands were stained with the slender boxer’s blood, he himself was nearing the brink of death. The slight boxer still didn’t budge, his head completely covered in blood. It was unclear how much time had passed. Finally, the brown-haired fighter went still, a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. He ultimately suffocated to death—a rather humiliating end. Dead. Just like that. It was hard to believe. The other boxers stared wide-eyed, as if trying to etch the scene before them into their memories to distinguish fact from fiction. At that moment, the slight boxer stood up as if nothing had happened and returned to where he had been standing. Behind him, the corpse lay with its eyes wide open—unable to rest in peace! He hadn’t yet seen the true face of the Siberian Training Camp; he hadn’t yet carved out a place for himself in the world of boxing. And just like that, he was dead—in the blink of an eye, he was gone. How could this be? No one could believe it. Max smiled smugly: “Do you understand now? At our Siberian Training Camp, even the most unremarkable boxer is no pushover. Each of them has their own strengths, and most importantly, they aren’t afraid to die!” Max stood with his hands behind his back, his voice suddenly rising. Pointing at the boxer, whose head was still bleeding, he said, “He—due to his build—naturally can’t compete with those heavyweights, and he can’t land a single, decisive blow in a fight. But he isn’t afraid of death. We taught him a joint-locking technique: once he locks you in, even if you attack his vulnerable spots, as long as he’s not dead, you’re the one who’ll die.” “Unafraid of death.” Zhao Wuji repeated the phrase under his breath and nodded slightly. It seemed that the Siberian Training Camp did indeed have its own unique approach. “So, what do you say? Do you want to continue? If not, you’re still free to leave,” Max asked, pointing at the remaining fighters. Then, he turned to those with recommendation letters and added, “The same goes for you—if you want to leave, you can do so right now.” Some of them stirred. Watching a person who had been alive just moments ago turn into a corpse in the blink of an eye, they felt a sense of sorrow and, at the same time, realized the preciousness and fragility of life. They made their choice—at least, they believed it was the right one, at this very moment! The boxers who walked out were all those without letters of recommendation, while not a single one of those with letters of recommendation moved—for they had long since come to deeply understand the brutality of the Siberian Training Camp and were therefore well prepared for all of this. Though it was hard to accept, they could still bear it for the time being—after all, the recommendation letters in their hands had been hard-won. “Very well, you may go.” Max pointed at the boxers who had asked to leave and assigned several outer-circle members to escort them out. “So, you’re all ready to go head-to-head with them. Remember this: it’s a matter of life and death!” The boxers who remained nodded solemnly and walked toward the boxers standing there, waiting to be selected as opponents. Max’s head nodded ever so slightly as he continued to observe the bouts below. After a series of brutal fights More than a dozen fighters lay dead or wounded, and the intensity of the scene gripped everyone present. But there was an exception. Two fighters remained standing. Max watched them, a barely perceptible smile playing at the corners of his mouth, nodding repeatedly. One fighter possessed absolute skill, capable of a one-punch knockout; naturally, this fighter earned Max’s approval. However, Max admired the other fighter even more. His opponent wasn’t afraid of death, but he was even less afraid of it. It was a contest to see who would die first—he held out until the very end, and thus, he emerged victorious. In Max’s view, strength could be fully acquired through training, but this fearless spirit—which could be cultivated and developed—was far more important. “What’s your name?” Max asked the fearless fighter. “Alan, Alan Kens.” “Good. You’re good,” Max said to Alan with a note of approval. Yet no one noticed the lingering shadow in the eyes of that boxer who had achieved a one-punch knockout.