Police officer Chen Shu

Chapter 809 My name is Zheng Xia, the Xia of Xia Ke (Part 1)

Ten years ago, in the capital city of Yunnan Province, at an underground boxing gym.

The lighting was dim, with only a few creaking and swaying chandeliers barely illuminating the boxing ring. The surroundings weren't completely dark, but they were just short of total darkness, except for the countless pairs of gleaming eyes beneath the ring.

The air here is thick with a stench of sweat, cheap tobacco, and alcohol, so stuffy that any newcomer would feel suffocated the moment they took a breath.

In the center of the boxing gym stood a boxing ring surrounded by four iron pillars, with thick wires, about the thickness of a thumb, forming a net-like structure between the pillars. The pillars and wires were covered in rust, and upon closer inspection, one could see numerous bloodstains.

The area below the boxing ring was packed with a frenzied crowd. They grabbed bottles and shouted wildly, cheering for each heavy blow they had bet on, and then cursing loudly for the occasional mistakes or blows the boxers took.

In just a few seconds, one can travel back over thousands of years, greeting people from their ancestors to their descendants.

Of course, some people lack this historical knowledge and directly assert that the boxer's son is born without an anus. Although the words are harsh, they only insult two generations. In underground boxing gyms, such a restrained way of speaking can be considered civilized.

On the second floor, a little further away, some well-dressed middle-aged men, clutching cash or betting slips, gathered in groups of three or five, intently watching the boxing ring. Their brief exchanges were quiet and rapid, as if they were afraid of missing even a second of interaction between the two boxers on the field.

In the inner room separated by a wall, a bald, fat man wearing a black leather jacket stared coldly at the screen, a small cigar much thinner than usual cigar dangling from his mouth.

The skinny guy won, a major upset, and he made a fortune.

The strong man wins, but the odds are extremely low; however, he can still make a small profit.

Unless the bookmaker encounters a corrupt official or starts betting themselves, they generally won't lose money.

The entire boxing gym, with so many people, was completely focused on the boxing ring at this moment.

boom!
The two boxers on the ring pounced on each other like fighting dogs, each recklessly pounding their fists into the other's head.

Clearly, this energy-consuming fighting style was not suitable for the skinny guy. In less than half a minute, the skinny guy could only passively withdraw his fists to block in front of him, and was suppressed by his opponent.

When he was hit, the skinny guy was struck in the chin by a poorly executed but clearly powerful right hook. Under the lights, the skinny guy spat out a mouthful of saliva, and then his body slumped down against the ropes.

The atmosphere inside the venue suddenly became electric, with cheers resounding throughout the hall.

The burly man proudly raised his hands, like a victorious general returning from ancient times, facing the audience outside, circling around the boxing ring.

As the burly man passed the skinny man, he maintained his arrogant demeanor. Unexpectedly, the skinny man, who had recovered, opened his half-closed eyes and kicked the middle-aged boxer in the groin.

While the other person was in a daze, the skinny man pushed off the ground with his legs and rammed his hard forehead straight into the other person's nose.

Unsurprisingly, the rather muscular middle-aged boxer was instantly stunned, collapsing hard onto the boxing ring, hitting the back of his head on the ground, and losing consciousness.

Then, the skinny man pulled on the rope behind him and slowly stood up.

The noise in the boxing ring first stopped abruptly, like a malfunctioning stereo, and then suddenly burst into the loudest and most intense commotion of the night.

Screams, curses, and cheers mingled together, creating a massive sound wave.

"Damn it! Cheating! Cheating!"

"They lost this time! And they still dared to launch a sneak attack!"

"You son of a bitch, you still have the nerve to stand on this stage?"

The spectators, their eyes blazing with gambling frenzy, waved their bottles and cash wildly. Glass bottles flew over the metal cage and into the boxing ring, slamming into the feet of the skinny man still standing there. A few pieces of debris hit him, but he didn't flinch; he just stood there, stunned and panting.

The skinny, swaying man did not raise his hands like the victorious boxers of the past, enjoying the cheers and adoration that come with victory.

He simply looked down through his bloodshot eyes at the burly boxer he had defeated, who lay motionless on the ground, his expression forlorn, as if he were the one who had lost.

The skinny man forgot to wipe away the blood that had soaked half his head.

At this moment, a middle-aged referee, who looked quite respectable, wearing a white shirt, black suit, and floral tie, suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Without even glancing at the boxer lying on the ground, he stepped over him, jogged over to the skinny man, and swiftly raised the skinny man's left hand.

The skinny man, who was already exhausted, was swayed by the referee with the traitor-like hairstyle, but his gaze remained fixed on the boxer lying on the ground, wondering why the other party was not reacting at all, and why the organizers had not yet taken him away for treatment.

Even as he was being led away from the boxing ring like a star surrounded by the crowd, the skinny man still didn't notice that a stretcher had appeared on the scene.

In the next room, the bald, fat man smiled slightly, exhaled a long smoke ring, and a hint of satisfaction and appreciation flashed in his eyes.

"Boss, won't ruling him the winner damage the reputation of our boxing scene?" one of the henchmen standing behind the bald, fat man asked doubtfully.

"Black boxing, what rules are there? No matter what methods he uses, the one who stands to the end is the winner." The bald fat man explained sternly, but in his heart he was thinking: Idiot, doesn't he even use his brain to calculate how much we can make from this kind of upset?
"Bring him here," the bald, fat man ordered, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes."

The young man walked away quickly, and a few minutes later, he returned to the office with the victorious, skinny man.

The skinny man's eyes were unfocused. The bloodstains on his head and body had been wiped clean, but he was still shirtless, wearing the shorts he wore during the competition, with several red spots on the shorts.

"Call him boss!" the young man standing to the side snapped at the skinny man, his attitude stern. Clearly, this newly victorious boxer was nothing to them, just a playing card on the gambling table.

"It's alright, it's alright. The young man just finished a match and hasn't recovered yet, haha."

The bald, fat man was kind and approachable. He got up, walked over to the thin man, pulled him to sit down, and tried to get closer to him, saying, "I remember your registered name was 'Masked Swordsman'? It has a bit of a江湖 (jianghu, the martial arts world) feel to it."

The skinny man remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

The bald fat man didn't care about the skinny man's attitude. No matter what, if the skinny man could make money for him, he was a benefactor and should be treated well.

Even though this kind of person can only help him earn money for a month or two at most, it's still money, isn't it?

The reason why it's said to be a month or so is explained by the burly man lying in the boxing ring now.

The audience's weariness with veteran boxers is one thing; disliking them is another. But the boxers' inability to accept their defeat, whether physically or psychologically, is a completely different matter.

"A chivalrous knight-errant." The bald fat man seemed curious about the skinny man's nickname, and kept pondering his own unique explanation, "You fight in underground boxing matches, which is actually a form of robbing the rich to help the poor."

"Hmm?" The skinny man tilted his head slightly, glancing at the shiny head sitting next to him, his face full of doubt.

Seeing that he had finally attracted the other party's attention, the bald fat man grinned and said, "Look, most of these people who come to gamble on boxing don't have much money. They're lazy, lazy, and not very bright. If you asked them to go to work in society and earn money, how many coins could they make?"

As he spoke, he tapped the coffee table with his finger and once again declared sternly, "Only here can provide them with a place to turn their lives around with a small investment."

After a pause, the bookmaker, who had made a fortune in underground boxing, swallowed hard and said decisively, "And it's absolutely fair and just."

(End of this chapter)