Chapter Fifteen: Fulfillment

Although Zhang Wenhao usually kept a low profile and had always appeared to be an honest, trouble-avoiding student at school, deep down, he was just as stubborn, unyielding, and uncompromising as his father, who had once served as a soldier and bled on the southwestern battlefield. It was said that back then, Zhang Xingping, his father, had achieved great merit in the war in the southwest, but became disheartened by the loss of his comrades. After the fighting ended, Zhang Xingping insisted on retiring and returning home, becoming an ordinary worker at Jiangcheng City’s mold factory. Zhang Wenhao, too, had inherited his father's indomitable spirit. From childhood to adulthood, no matter how he was bullied, he never bowed his head. This time was no different.

Like a lone wolf waiting for its prey, Zhang Wenhao waited for two hours in front of No. 6 Middle School. At last, as the evening self-study session ended, he spotted Feilong at the school gate.

Feilong swaggered out with his usual crowd of rowdy friends, his arm around his girlfriend. Zhang Wenhao’s eyes locked onto him, never leaving his target for an instant. This was not the moment to act; it was Feilong’s turf, and too many people could come to his aid. Even if Zhang Wenhao could fight, he would be hard-pressed to win against so many. The best plan was to tail Feilong and wait for the perfect opportunity.

After leaving the school, Feilong and his group headed toward a nearby street. Zhang Wenhao followed at a distance and saw them enter a small restaurant. He waited outside, biding his time. There were six people with Feilong, two of whom were girls. After more than an hour, the two girls left together in a cab. Half an hour later, Feilong and his three friends finally emerged from the restaurant.

“Brother Feilong,” one of them said, “the girls are heading home tonight. Looks like you won’t be getting lucky. How about we hit an internet café and game all night?”

Feilong nodded. “We’ve still got plenty of cash from the last job. Let’s play all night and get a room to sleep in tomorrow. My girl’s free in the afternoon, so I’ll have my fun then.”

The group exchanged lewd grins. Feilong waved his hand. “Let’s go—tonight, we’ll get a deluxe private room at Infinity.”

Zhang Wenhao tailed them as they took a shortcut into a dark, unlit alley. Now was the perfect moment for the hunt. He pedaled his bike after them.

The alley was dim and cold, deserted except for Feilong and his friends, who were laughing and smoking as they walked. Zhang Wenhao cycled past them. In the darkness, they barely registered his face. Once he was nearly two hundred meters ahead, he stopped, leaned his bike against the wall, and limbered up, waiting for Feilong and his crew.

As they drew closer, none of them noticed Zhang Wenhao pressed against the wall. Holding his breath, Zhang Wenhao waited until they were right in front of him—and then struck.

None of the four saw the figure leap from the shadows. Before they could react, Zhang Wenhao lunged at Feilong.

In real combat, there are no fancy moves—each strike is direct and decisive. Zhang Wenhao closed in before Feilong could react and landed a heavy punch in his abdomen.

This move, considered a killing blow in real fighting, concentrated all his power in a short, explosive punch. Aimed at the heart, it could cause severe or even fatal damage. But Zhang Wenhao, still just a high school student, had no intention of causing death—so he targeted Feilong’s belly.

Even so, the punch instantly incapacitated Feilong. His stomach, still full of food and beer, felt as if it had exploded. The pain was so intense he couldn’t even scream; he collapsed to his knees, hands barely supporting himself as he vomited violently.

The other three were dumbfounded. They hadn’t seen where the attacker came from. Zhang Wenhao wasted no time—after taking Feilong down, he turned to deal with the remaining lackeys. All three had helped ambush him days before, so he showed no mercy, aiming to knock them out as quickly as possible.

With his first strike, Zhang Wenhao landed an uppercut to one man’s ribs. There was a crack—the victim cried out as the pain and numbness spread, rendering half his body useless.

Seeing the other two charging at him, Zhang Wenhao grabbed the staggering man and hurled him into their path. These thugs relied on numbers, not skill. The first one lunged with a punch, the other leaped to kick, but Zhang Wenhao shoved their friend in the way. The puncher caught his comrade mid-fall, but the kicker couldn’t stop his momentum; his foot slammed into his friend’s side.

With a thud, the unfortunate youth crashed to the ground. Zhang Wenhao immediately closed in on the remaining two.

“Damn it!” the one who had just kicked his friend spat, raising his leg to kick Zhang Wenhao away—only to find his leg seized in a vise grip, unable to pull free.

At that moment, Zhang Wenhao twisted the attacker’s ankle above his head. Already off balance, standing on one foot, the thug was helpless. With a sudden wrench, Zhang Wenhao unleashed his full strength. The man felt his leg yanked upward, the pain shooting from his ankle to his groin, as if his leg were being torn off. Zhang Wenhao gave no respite—he twisted until the attacker’s leg was nearly braided, and with one last turn, the man’s standing leg gave way and he crashed to the ground.

The last one, now terrified, threw a desperate punch at Zhang Wenhao. But as Zhang Wenhao finished with the previous thug, he sidestepped and lashed out with his right leg in a swift, elegant arc.

With a sharp crack, his heel smashed into the side of the man’s face. The blow was powerful, and the sudden force sent the man spinning to the ground, his jaw dislocated. His face hit the pavement, his head ringing with stars; he didn’t even have the strength to cry out.

In mere moments, Zhang Wenhao had dispatched all four. Three lay motionless on the ground. Only Feilong remained, still kneeling, having retched up a pool at his feet. Yet even that didn’t ease his stomach’s convulsions; bile and stomach acid poured out, but the pain persisted.

Suddenly, Zhang Wenhao kicked Feilong in the back. Feilong’s arms, already feeble, buckled at once, and his face landed directly in his own vomit. The sight was so revolting that even Zhang Wenhao nearly gagged.

Feilong scrambled to sit up, frantically wiping the sour, stinking mess from his face, terror-stricken. He pleaded, “Brother, we’ve got no beef with each other. We’re both just street guys. You didn’t have to go this hard, did you?”

“No beef?” Zhang Wenhao sneered. “Take a good look, Feilong. Has it only been a few days and you don’t recognize me? I told you that night I’d come for you. Tonight, I kept my word.”