The Heir to the Seven Killers in the City

Chapter 45: Let’s Have a Fight, Then

Yang Yong sat in his room, drinking. He hadn’t touched alcohol in many years due to health issues. But today he was going to have a little—he was simply too elated. Previously, Lin Hao had been crushing him, leaving him gasping for breath, but today he’d finally delivered a hard kick right back at him. The wind was blowing rather strongly on the island today—a biting chill. After Luo Jiang brought him an extra blanket, he went to bed. Yang Yong continued drinking. Ever since he began martial arts training at sixteen, his physical condition had improved steadily, and he’d become increasingly resistant to alcohol. It was now nearly impossible for him to get drunk, so he was simply drinking for fun. Sometimes Yang Yong really wished he could get drunk—that way, he could temporarily forget all his troubles. He wasn’t afraid of anyone coming to kill him either; after all, he didn’t keep his dozen or so mercenaries around for nothing. Each one was a skilled fighter, and they usually lay in wait on the island—you wouldn’t be able to find them unless you went looking specifically for them. Yang Yong closed his eyes, thinking back on his past life—it had truly been spectacular. Even when bragging about it himself, he’d have to use the word “spectacular,” but there were also regrets and despair—things he wanted to forget. Yang Yong’s father was a big shot in the underworld, while his mother was a gentle and virtuous young woman. Ever since he was a child, Yang Yong had listened to his father brag about how “awesome” he was, but his father never failed to mention that the happiest moment of his life was when he’d “tricked” Yang Yong’s mother into marrying him—and he’d always add that she’d been drawn to him by the dashing way he fought. Yang Yong’s mother truly loved her husband. In Yang Yong’s memory, his young mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. Even after he traveled far and wide, from one end of the country to the other and across the globe, he could never find anyone who could compare to the mother in his memories—though, of course, Yang Yong knew deep down that it was simply because that memory was so perfect. The tragedy struck when Yang Yong was ten years old. His father, who had supposedly turned over a new leaf, suddenly got into a dispute with someone and beat the man up. The next day, the man’s associates blocked the entrance to Yang Yong’s home. Yang Yong’s father said he’d be right back, but he never returned. His mother searched everywhere as if she had lost her mind. Eventually, the police found his father’s body in an abandoned building near their home. His mother, driven to the brink of madness, hanged herself in their own home just a few days later. At just ten years old, Yang Yong was tossed around like a rubber ball by his parents’ relatives, with no stable home or anyone to look after him. Left to his own devices, he quickly picked up the ways of the streets and began hanging out with the wrong crowd, but because he was malnourished, he was often the one getting beaten up. It wasn’t until he was sixteen that Yang Yong met the mentor who would change his life—an elderly man with white hair at his temples. By a stroke of luck, Yang Yong became his disciple, laying the foundation for his martial arts training. By the time he was eighteen, he had traveled the length and breadth of the country to study martial arts from various schools, and in the blink of an eye, another ten years had passed. Then, by chance, Yang Yong saved Luo Jiang, who was only about ten years old at the time and a street kid in Jiangcheng. Because of Luo Jiang, Yang Yong began to get involved with his gang. Later, his restless spirit was fully awakened, and he founded the Fire Scorpion Gang, which grew larger and larger. He eventually got involved with drugs and began dealing them on a small scale, but his rise hit a roadblock. It was then that the emergence of Yuanshan Group opened up a whole new world for him. Through relentless hard work and risking his life, he eventually built up his current empire. For some reason, he found himself reminiscing and musing so easily now—perhaps he was already a little tipsy. He wasn’t sure how to assess his current situation, but he felt he was in a transitional phase; once he got through it, his final golden age would arrive. With his eyes closed, he heard the sea breeze picking up and the sound of footsteps. He wondered why Luo Jiang wasn’t asleep yet at this late hour. Then he heard a thud—as if something had hit the floor—and Yang Yong sat up with lightning-fast reflexes. “Luo Jiang!” Yang Yong called out, but heard no response. He swallowed hard. Then, grabbing the handgun from his bedside table, he kicked his door open with a single kick and aimed the gun outward. There was nothing outside—only Luo Jiang, lying on the floor, his condition unknown. Without a second thought about whether anyone might be lying in wait, Yang Yong immediately crouched down to check on Luo Jiang. “Don’t worry, he’s just passed out—he’s not dead,” said Qin Yu, stepping out of the shadows. Feeling Luo Jiang’s faint pulse, Yang Yong exhaled in relief, then asked, “Did Lin Hao send you here?” Qin Yu nodded and said, “I don’t want to kill innocent people, so I didn’t kill him. But he won’t escape the law—and neither will you. Are you going to put up a fight?” Yang Yong’s face was slightly flushed from the alcohol, so his smile didn’t carry quite as much malice. “Are you that confident you can beat me? But you’re not the only one here, are you? Otherwise, those mercenaries wouldn’t just stand by and do nothing,” Yang Yong said. “Others will handle the mercenaries. Just know that I’m your only opponent,” Qin Yu said. Hearing Qin Yu’s slightly over-the-top words, Yang Yong—who’d had a few drinks—suddenly felt as if he’d been transported back to his youth, to that time when he defied heaven and earth just to prove a point. He felt a warmth spreading through his body, filled with strength, and realized he was about to face what was likely the most powerful enemy of his entire life. Qin Yu was the first to strike. He took a quick step toward Yang Yong and launched a fierce attack. Yang Yong’s reflexes were even sharper than usual; he dodged the blow with a light sidestep, then redirected his punch toward a very unusual spot on Qin Yu’s body. This unexpected spot left Qin Yu momentarily unable to dodge. Realizing that Yang Yong was targeting certain meridians—just like that Taoist priest had done before—and knowing he had to evade, Qin Yu took several quick steps back. But that wasn’t enough; after dodging, he lunged forward with a powerful flying kick. Yang Yong gritted his teeth and took the blow head-on. It was excruciatingly painful, because Qin Yu—that inhuman monster—was incredibly weak. Yang Yong thought to himself that if it weren’t for the alcohol’s numbing effect on his nerves, he would likely be shaking from the pain. The reason Yang Yong deliberately took the blow when he could have dodged it was that he intended to repay blood with blood. Just as Qin Yu was still regaining his balance, Yang Yong struck quickly, landing a punch to his chest and continuing to pound downward toward his abdomen. Before the blow even reached his groin, Qin Yu stumbled back several steps and fell flat on his back. Thinking this was his chance to deliver the finishing blow, Yang Yong quickly drew his pistol, intending to end it. But Qin Yu, who had already fallen, suddenly sprang back to his feet—as if propelled by an unseen force—and rammed his head into Yang Yong’s. Yang Yong was instantly dazed, and his pistol flew several meters away. Yang Yong didn’t possess Qin Yu’s “iron head” technique; he now felt dizzy and disoriented, and blood was even beginning to flow from his head. As for Qin Yu, he was naturally in no better shape, standing to the side, gasping for breath—the fight was far from over…