Cosmic-Level Demon God-Chapter 33 - 30 Betting on a Win, The Eve of the Storm

Cheng Ze called for me?

Qin Shi’s heart skipped a beat, recalling how the boss of North Gate Street had once asked him whether he was Old Liang’s disciple.

"A disciple, not a student. Looks like Cheng Ze knows the old martial rules well."

Thinking this, he headed up to the second floor, the lazy guard down the stairs shifting to let him pass.

He pushed open the door of the private room. Cheng Ze was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, dressed in a floral shirt and jeans, the top button undone, holding a square glass of liquor, lips tightly pursed.

Compared to the efficient number one man working for the big boss, his aura was more like that of a boxer from North Gate Street.

Tough and aggressive!

"Shi, come here."

Cheng Ze waved, his attitude friendly.

"The big show has started."

Qin Shi intentionally stayed a step behind, not walking alongside Cheng Ze.

His eyelid twitched, suppressing the risky urge to use introspection to probe the boss’s strength.

Being a bit transparent wasn’t a problem, but it needed the right occasion.

Just by listening to Cheng Ze’s breathing rhythm, he could detect that excessive calmness.

Very shallow, very faint, almost unnoticeable unless you listened carefully.

Yet, it was relaxed and gentle, as if he was completely at ease.

"Very fierce!"

Qin Shi evaluated Cheng Ze’s life force level and personal strength as absolutely not low.

"And very reasonable. In a place like Old Factory Street, you couldn’t become the boss just by talking sense or cozying up to the big guys."

"Who do you think is stronger between the two in the octagon?"

Cheng Ze raised his hand holding the glass, pointing down.

Black Ronnie and the Suffering Monk had already entered the ring, the former raising his hands, resembling a heavyweight champion asking for applause and cheers, while also performing stunts like crushing watermelons and smashing steel plates.

The Suffering Monk closed his eyes, nourishing his spirit, seemingly impervious to the surrounding noise, looking mysterious with his white headscarf and burlap robe.

"Brother Yuan told me, neither of them are real fighting warriors."

Qin Shi maintained his image as an honest kid.

He was just a working waitstaff, not planning to get involved with the triads.

This was a good chance to show off, one that should be left to Brother Yuan and Brother Cheng.

"Though they are hired actors, not real boxers, the audience paying to watch the show isn’t stupid or blind. If they were just two ordinary people performing a martial arts skit, who would be willing to buy it?"

Cheng Ze laughed, then explained:

"They both got injected before the match. Black Ronnie’s sense of pain will be dulled, and his spirit will be more excited.

The Suffering Monk’s adrenaline levels are several times higher than normal so he can unleash more power than usual."

Too intense!

Qin Shi’s mouth twitched. These injections were much more harmful than old martial arts, and over-excitement could very well lead to sudden death in the ring.

"One fight can earn you thirty thousand bucks."

Cheng Ze added.

Qin Shi immediately understood.

Setting aside high-risk gray industries, the average salary on Old Factory Street was around three thousand, mostly hard labor.

One fight could earn as much as others made in half a year of grueling work.

Quite worthwhile!

As for potential injuries and bodily harm, such factors never entered the consideration of those at the bottom.

"The Suffering Monk should win."

Qin Shi seriously observed the two before the fight started and gave his careful answer.

"Why?"

Cheng Ze raised an eyebrow.

"Black Ronnie’s physique is stronger, and he’s bigger. Plus, he doesn’t feel pain. The Suffering Monk can’t really hurt him."

Qin Shi enunciated clearly, speaking slowly:

"Precisely because of this, he has more to bear, and he will tire faster. The overly bulky muscles limit Black Ronnie, making his reactions slower. Every punch, run, and rush puts pressure on his heart and lungs.

In contrast, the Suffering Monk is more flexible and knows how to wear down his opponent."

Cheng Ze raised his head and downed his amber liquor, then praised:

"You’re really good at observing details and judging strengths, but you’re missing something more important."

Qin Shi frowned, his gaze falling on the intense fight in the octagon.

As he predicted, Black Ronnie’s initial onslaught was fierce, like a solid wall, constantly squeezing space, several times cornering the Suffering Monk.

But the Suffering Monk was as slippery as a mouse, always escaping unscathed, eliciting gasps from the audience.

By the eighth-minute mark, Black Ronnie, like an enraged bull, was breathing heavily and moving sluggishly.

The Suffering Monk, like an ancient matador, toyed with Black Ronnie using an imaginary red cape, occasionally striking under the ribs or kicking the knee joints.

Finally, at eight minutes and forty-seven seconds, the Suffering Monk floored Black Ronnie with a sweeping kick, followed by several targeted attacks.

In the end, a powerful stomp on the forehead left him bleeding and unconscious.

The audience who had bet on Black Ronnie’s victory were thoroughly disappointed, with the sporadic sound of shattering glasses.

Meanwhile, the lucky ones who bet on the underdog Suffering Monk cheered loudly.

But before the referee could announce the result, the Suffering Monk, proud after removing his white headscarf, suddenly felt tightness at his ankle and was yanked down.

As the back of his head hit the ground, a pair of large hands grabbed his neck, lifting him before slamming him down hard.

Thud! Thud! Thud—

After several heavy impacts, the Suffering Monk was beaten unconscious, bloody from his ears and mouth, in a miserable state.

"Black Ronnie! Let’s chant Black Ronnie’s name! He is the winner of this match!"

The host’s electrified shout echoed through the hall via the microphone.

The sudden turn of events brought the room to a brief silence.

Then came an even more fervent roar of excitement!

The patrons who had bet on Black Ronnie stood up, clutching their tickets from the Midnight Imperial Palace, eager to cash out!

"A fixed match?"

The thought flashed through Qin Shi’s mind.

"There’s no collusion, just that Xiao Yu didn’t tell the Suffering Monk that he had also given Black Ronnie a slow-acting central nervous stimulant.

It makes the act more convincing and keeps the audience entertained."

Cheng Ze set down his glass:

"An upset is exciting, but an unexpected twist and a rational counter-attack make the fight even more memorable."

Qin Shi remained silent. Cheng Ze, from a hooligan in the Old Factory Street arcades to the most renowned boss of North Gate Street, clearly did not rely solely on fists.

"Being a triad requires brains; otherwise, you’re a ’putz’ for life."

The Suffering Monk was dragged out of the octagon and carried away on a stretcher, likely having a severe concussion.

But Black Ronnie was also swaying, with multiple fractures in his chest and ribs.

The audience, however, didn’t care, only reveling in their jubilation or frustration.

Watching this scene, Qin Shi heard Cheng Ze speak beside him:

"If you want to make big money on Old Factory Street but have no skills, this is what it takes—to risk your life."

Qin Shi sensed something unusual. As the manager behind Midnight Imperial Palace and the person in charge of North Gate Street, Cheng Ze had no need to bond with him or confide.

But ever since he entered the room, Cheng Ze had been steering the conversation.

"Does Cheng Ze want to recruit me?"

Qin Shi lowered his eyelids.

His future goals were qualifying exams, a Martial Artist certificate, and top academies.

He had no interest in joining a gang or fighting for dominance.

"Shi, I heard from Ah Yuan that you have a great physical talent and are improving quickly through old martial arts training.

How about working for me?"

Sure enough, Cheng Ze asked the question.

"Cheng Ze, I’m a student."

Qin Shi pretended to be troubled.

"I promised my big sister to study hard and get into college."

Cheng Ze didn’t seem surprised, only regretting:

"Sorry, I got drunk, don’t take it to heart.

You need to study hard and go to university. Only those with nothing to lose become boxers. Studying is still the best path."

He shook his head, looking at the now cleaned and descending octagon:

"Earlier was just the warm-up. This is the real underground fight now."

The hall saw two-thirds of the audience leave, with only familiar VIP customers led to the lower-level "dogfight arena" by waiters.

"Such dazzling physical intensity."

Following Cheng Ze down the stairs, Qin Shi saw two carefully trained fighting warriors appear before him.

This time, he used his introspection, the red and white colors bright like blazing torches.

"Each fight earns them seventy thousand."

Cheng Ze whispered, then turned to the two warriors ready for a fight to the death.

"You two got the draw from the death lot. The old rule stands: whoever falls in the ring, I’ll take care of their family, and Righteous Fist Society pays the settle-in fee."

"Understood, Cheng Ze!"

"Thank you, Cheng Ze!"

The two boxers, in their mid-twenties, had determined eyes, unafraid of the brutal fight ahead.

"Go ahead."

Cheng Ze waved without much enthusiasm, not entering the lower level to watch the fight.

He sat alone in the empty hall, having Qin Shi fetch a bottle of strong liquor, drinking one glass after another.

About forty minutes later, the satisfied rich patrons returned upstairs and were sent off by the manager of Midnight Imperial Palace.

"Ah Ze, your guys are really brave! One stood back up after getting his eye gouged out; the other tore the opponent’s throat with his teeth!"

The tall skinny man with gold wire glasses came up to Cheng Ze, excitedly saying:

"The big bosses from Yan City watching were thrilled and very pleased with my hospitality. Discussions on investing and co-funding a fight club should soon follow!

I used to hear people say that the guys from your Righteous Fist Society are all fierce fighters. I finally got to see it today.

With them, the club should hold up well in the early days!"

Cheng Ze kept his head down, hiding his expression:

"Brother Luo, everyone in Righteous Fist Society is family. We should get outsiders to fight these death matches from now on..."

The skinny man with gold wire glasses stiffened, a forced smile:

"Big Brother Hao gave the compensation, didn’t he? When you’re in this line of work, it’s not about brotherhood, it’s about earning money.

I’m even planning to get some surgically modified killer dogs for man-dog fights!

If you ask me, Ah Ze, you’ve been too lenient with Righteous Fist Society.

I checked the books recently: too many useless eaters.

Crooked legs, missing hands, sick... the expenses are huge every year.

Ah Ze, having a strong sense of loyalty is fine, but using Big Brother Hao’s money to feed your brothers isn’t right."

Like a small, transparent figure, Qin Shi sensed the tension, observing Cheng Ze as though drunk.

In his perception, the usually faint, calm breathing of Cheng Ze surged, a moment transforming into a great disparity.

It was like a calm sea hit by a wild storm, very unnerving!

After a brief silence, Cheng Ze looked at the skinny man with gold wire glasses:

"Brother Luo, they’ve all worked for Righteous Fist Society; they deserve a bit of consideration. Just give me that courtesy."

The skinny man adjusted his glasses:

"Ah Ze, I’m stuck too. After all, Righteous Fist Society and the club are ultimately Big Brother Hao’s businesses.

How about you take it up with Big Brother Hao and see if he agrees."

He then left with his bodyguards and driver.

Cheng Ze’s lips tightened before suddenly smiling at Qin Shi:

"Shi, your sister’s right. Study hard, don’t become a thug.

Old Factory Street has enough thugs; their lives worth nothing, with no future."