Chapter Fifteen: I’ll Crush Your Balls

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Dinner never arrived, but uninvited guests did. Old Wu entered, escorting four burly men with broad shoulders and thick arms. Their exposed skin revealed tattoos, marking them as trouble from the moment they stepped in. Old Wu glanced at Zhuo Nan, who was sleeping on his bunk, and almost called out to him, but the words died on his lips. He closed the door with a sigh and left. Zhuo Nan had expected Du Fanhong's arrival here would not be a peaceful vacation; these men were clearly after the young man.

He rolled over and squinted, counting their number before closing his eyes again. Four of them, each as muscular as Long Kun. Clearly, Du Fanhong’s enemies had spared no expense to finish him off. And Old Wu—knowing their intentions—still locked them together. Judging by his sigh, perhaps he had no choice but to obey orders.

Du Fanhong grew anxious, a sense of dread rising within him. The four men glared at him with malice. Could it be...? He cursed Zhang Xinhong inwardly. He had helped him start their business, forgave him for embezzling funds, endured being framed, but now, these four were obviously bought off by Zhang Xinhong to do him harm.

Swearing wouldn't help now; no amount of cursing would solve the crisis. Instinctively, he looked to Zhuo Nan for help, hoping the little hoodlum might lend a hand. Yet Zhuo Nan kept his eyes half-closed, feigning sleep, detached and indifferent.

But Zhuo Nan wasn’t sleeping—he was calculating what these four would do next. Last time he fought Long Kun, he could predict only the immediate next second. But after days of training and frequent mental exercises, Zhuo Nan could now extend his calculations, seeing up to five seconds into the future.

The four strong men had indeed been hired by Zhang Xinhong to deal with Du Fanhong. If Du Fanhong died, the company would be Zhang’s alone. So their orders were to kill.

Seeing Du Fanhong glance at Zhuo Nan, the four followed his gaze. Zhuo Nan lounged leisurely, making them snicker inwardly. What was there to fear from this kid? He was just another petty thief—no threat at all.

If they were to do business, the brothers had to clear the room. In this cell, they couldn’t throw anyone out, but they could make sure the others kept their mouths shut. Everyone knew the rules.

The leader signaled to his companion, who swaggered over to Zhuo Nan’s bunk and barked, "Get up, kid! Our boss has something to say."

Zhuo Nan’s peaceful rest was disturbed. He sat up, stretched lazily, scratched between his legs without a care for appearances, and grumbled, "Speak if you have something to say. Don’t pretend to be the boss."

His nonchalant attitude stunned the four. This kid seemed like a seasoned inmate himself.

The leader stepped forward, unsure what to make of Zhuo Nan. "Brother, my name is Sang Qiang. The four of us have business here. I believe you understand what I mean—on the streets, we see each other coming and going. I hope, whatever happens next, you’ll pretend you saw nothing. How about it?"

Du Fanhong immediately understood—the four were here for him. He rushed to the cell door, shouting, "Help! Help!" But there was no response; Old Wu had probably slipped away already.

Zhuo Nan rose from the bunk and pulled Du Fanhong from the door. "Du, are you stupid? These four came for business. Do you think the guards outside don’t know? Shout all you want—it won’t help. Better be quiet and stay put."

Sang Qiang was startled, realizing he had underestimated Zhuo Nan’s knowledge of street affairs. He decided to be more polite. "Brother, what do you say to my proposal? You can go back to resting. We’ll finish our business quickly."

"Go to hell!" Before Sang Qiang finished, Zhuo Nan struck. He had deliberately moved to the door, making it easier to attack first.

With a sharp smack, Sang Qiang hadn’t even reacted before Zhuo Nan’s fist connected with his face. Zhuo Nan always believed in striking preemptively. As he hit Sang Qiang, he kicked Du Fanhong out of the fray.

While lying down, Zhuo Nan was already calculating. His superbrain continued working, predicting the next five seconds of opponents’ movements. Sang Qiang, stunned by the punch, quickly recovered, cursing loudly as his heavy right fist swung at Zhuo Nan’s head. Zhuo Nan lifted his left arm to block, absorbing the blow. In terms of strength, Sang Qiang was far inferior to Long Kun. Zhuo Nan’s left arm defended, while his right hand, clenched into a fist, swung upward. As he absorbed the punch, his uppercut landed squarely on Sang Qiang’s chest. Sang Qiang’s wide swing left his chest exposed, giving Zhuo Nan ample room to attack. He used his full strength.

"Ugh... ugh..." Sang Qiang coughed violently, nearly losing his life with that blow, gasping for breath.

"Go on, what are you waiting for?" Sang Qiang, their leader, had suffered a humiliating hit—not enough to lay him low, but enough to lose face. The remaining three rushed at Zhuo Nan in a swarm.

Sang Qiang would be out of commission for at least twenty seconds; Zhuo Nan could safely ignore him. Facing the most aggressive attacker, Zhuo Nan advanced, then suddenly changed tactics. As they were about to collide, Zhuo Nan slid low, kneeling and punching the opponent’s abdomen—a move he had pre-calculated.

He’d thought about striking below the belt, but decided that was too vicious, so he settled for the stomach. With full force, it would still knock the guy out.

Clutching his stomach, the man bent over. That was the move Zhuo Nan wanted. He demonstrated what consecutive strikes meant—no need for elaborate punches. He sprang up and, with a loud bang, knocked the guy over with his head.

Never hesitate in emergencies; speed, precision, and ruthlessness are key. As Zhuo Nan stood up, his left leg whipped out in a spinning kick. The man on the right dodged quickly, but the one on the left wasn’t so lucky. The kick hit his left shoulder, throwing him off balance. Zhuo Nan jumped, bringing his right elbow down in a Muay Thai strike, smashing the man’s face. In an instant, he dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, motionless. In less than half a minute, Zhuo Nan had subdued three men.

Du Fanhong was dumbfounded. Was this the legendary kung fu master? A martial arts prodigy? The young man before him was formidable. If Jianxiang were here, he’d be cheering, "At this moment, Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan’s souls have possessed him. He’s not fighting alone!"

The only remaining combatant was sweating, swallowing hard, thinking, Damn, is this even human? So strong. Sang Qiang was named for his reckless fighting, always tough and dangerous. Yet this youth was even stronger. Heaven help him—he regretted taking this job. If he didn’t kill his target, he might be killed himself.

Four are nothing; now only one remains. If he didn’t attack first, what was he waiting for? He lunged, right elbow ready to strike. With a solid smack, Zhuo Nan sent him staggering back. Without pause, Zhuo Nan grabbed his hair and yanked down, driving his left knee into the man’s face. Two moves ended the fight.

"Watch out..." Du Fanhong began to warn, but before he could finish, Zhuo Nan heard the wind behind him and dodged, turning to see Sang Qiang holding a small knife. Not long, but surely the guards knew he had smuggled it in.

"Kid, you’re tough. Let’s see if you can handle my knife," Sang Qiang said, breathless after Zhuo Nan’s two heavy blows.

Zhuo Nan smiled faintly. "You’re all bark, pretending to be the boss." With that, he moved. Sang Qiang charged, squealing like a pig.

Sang Qiang’s knife didn’t touch Zhuo Nan. He truly thought he’d land the attack, but in the blink of an eye, Zhuo Nan vanished. The next thing he knew, pain exploded below his waist—intense, excruciating pain.

"Sang Qiang, drop the knife or I’ll crush your balls," Zhuo Nan knelt before him, hand gripping between Sang Qiang’s legs. The pose was... spectacular.

"I’ll drop it, I’ll drop it! Please, boss, go easy!" The knife clattered to the floor.

Zhuo Nan’s hand remained locked. "Boss, I dropped it. Let go, please let go!" Sang Qiang—now neither fierce nor tough—his face a kaleidoscope of expressions, more dramatic than any comic actor.

Old Wu appeared at the cell door, likely drawn by the commotion inside. Seeing the scene—a trio sprawled on the floor, Du Fanhong trembling on his bunk like a frightened chick, Zhuo Nan kneeling before Sang Qiang, gripping his privates, Sang Qiang’s face unreadable, neither laughing nor crying—Old Wu’s face was covered in dark lines. He opened the cell door, thinking to himself that if he’d known, he would never have locked Du Fanhong in the same room as Zhuo Nan.