Chapter Three: Mangy Wu

Leper Wu was a man whose name matched his appearance—his face was covered in unsightly sores, resembling the mottled skin of a toad. Not only did his visage inspire disgust, but it also instilled a deep-seated fear in those who saw him. His methods were equally repugnant; once you provoked Leper Wu, it was said you would be plagued for life, much like the relentless sores of a toad.

Of course, Ding Li barely paid attention to the trembling explanations of Gouzi behind him; the words went in one ear and out the other. Ding Li didn’t claim to have encountered many local thugs of this ilk, but as a former special forces soldier, he had witnessed ruthless separatists and even international terrorists wielding advanced weaponry.

It wasn’t that those men looked any more appalling than Leper Wu, but rather that Leper Wu simply wasn’t in the same league—at best, he was a local tyrant. For someone like Ding Li, who had faced hardened criminals without so much as blinking, dealing with Leper Wu felt almost relaxing.

“Hm?” Surrounded by his lackeys, Leper Wu’s gaze fell upon North Leg, who lay unconscious on the ground. His entire demeanor stiffened. When his eyes rose again to the only man left standing—Ding Li—his expression turned grave. An aura of oppressive dominance emanated from him, one that would have cowed most men, yet Ding Li was entirely unmoved.

“Where’s the Southern Fist?” Leper Wu stepped forward, his face darkening further as he clearly saw North Leg’s wrist twisted at an unnatural angle. He spoke in a low voice, then swept his gaze over the surrounding port workers and immediately understood.

As he slowly looked up at Ding Li, a struggle played out behind Leper Wu’s eyes. In the end, though he forced a smile, it looked more like a grimace of pain—especially with those ulcerous sores framing his blood-red lips and yellowed teeth. “Brother, wasn’t your hand a bit heavy?”

With that, Leper Wu jerked his head at his men, ordering them to carry North Leg away for treatment. He turned back to Ding Li, offering a faint bow and a strained smile as he pressed on, “I’ve only just arrived and don’t know what my men did to provoke you, Brother. Would you honor me by joining me for tea at a nearby teahouse so we can talk?”

“Honor I dare not claim! I still need to make a living here with my brothers, unlike you, Boss Leper, with your wealth and power. Whatever you have to say, say it here.” Seeing that Leper Wu had not resorted to violence straight away, Ding Li decided not to escalate things either. After all, his own brothers still needed to earn their bread on this dock.

Leper Wu showed no anger at these words, merely nodded with a thin smile. At that moment, he spotted Southern Fist staggering to his feet amid the splinters of a broken crate and breathed a quiet sigh of relief—the man could still move, at least. Still, Leper Wu shot him a venomous glare before turning again to Ding Li, his words heavy with implication. “May I ask your name, Brother? I, Leper Wu, have a certain standing on this dock. You’ve beaten men of the Xunzhou Gang in front of all these people; surely you owe us some explanation?”

“Ding Li.” His tone remained calm and even, showing not a trace of concern for the fact that he was facing the infamous boss of the Xunzhou Gang. Ding Li cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Xiao Li, who could barely stand without support, then added in a low voice, “It was your men who struck first, picking a fight with my brothers. I’d like to know how you plan to settle that score.”

“Oh?” Leper Wu was taken aback, sizing Ding Li up once more. He turned the name over in his mind, but found it unfamiliar. His face twisted into a scowl, and he laughed coldly, his eyes glinting with interest. “Ding Li, you say? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But let’s hear it—how do you think this should be settled?”

“Whether or not I’ve got guts isn’t for you to decide, nor do you need to worry about it,” Ding Li retorted, refusing to yield even an inch, not even verbally. He spat out his terms with a steely glint in his eye, “Bring out two hundred strings of copper coins, and then disappear.”

The terms were the same as before, but this time the surrounding crowd was even more stunned, especially Gouzi and the Wang brothers behind him. After all, Ding Li was now speaking to Leper Wu himself. Ding Li hadn’t said “get lost” outright, but the word “disappear” seemed even more threatening in its implication.

“You insolent dog!” Even Leper Wu’s legendary patience could not withstand such words from a no-name dock worker. Though he’d initially admired Ding Li’s strength, he could only sigh internally now, a touch of pity rising in him.

With Leper Wu’s curse, there was no need for further orders—his men understood at once. They raised their clubs and iron rods without hesitation and charged forward. They seemed to have forgotten the fate that had just befallen Southern Fist and North Leg.

If it were a one-on-one fight, Ding Li would have feared no man. Yet Leper Wu’s men alone numbered more than ten, and Southern Fist and North Leg had brought another five or six. It was now a pack of wolves against a tiger.

As soon as the melee began, Ding Li quickly realized these men were all bark and no bite. Their attacks were wild and uncoordinated, the force behind them far less than he’d expected. Their weapons looked intimidating, but their wild swings were more dazzling than dangerous to someone with Ding Li’s strength and resilience.

Only the occasional iron rod left a mark; wooden clubs snapped against his body. Ding Li’s counterattacks were swift and brutal—one punch or kick was enough to send a man writhing in agony on the ground, the air soon filled with cries of pain.

“Get the real weapons! Come with me—we’ll slaughter this dog!” Leper Wu’s heart pounded in alarm as he saw his men fall. At this rate, even adding himself to their number wouldn’t be enough. He steeled his resolve, issued a deadly order to the four trusted men at his side, and thought grimly that, at worst, he could spend more money to smooth things over. But if he lost face here, he truly would have to disappear.

With that thought, Leper Wu armed himself, grabbing a heavy, foot-long broadsword his subordinate handed him. The other four drew similar weapons; one, having given his sword to his boss, wielded a short dagger instead, lurking at the edge, waiting for an opening.

Leper Wu was a street thug at heart, so of course his tactics were underhanded. Taking advantage of Ding Li’s distraction fighting the other men, he launched a sneak attack from behind, showing no shame at his lack of honor.

“Watch out behind you, Brother Li!” Gouzi, eyes glued to the battle, shouted instinctively. But even without the warning, Ding Li easily sidestepped the blow. Leper Wu shot Gouzi a murderous glare, making him shrink back in terror.

Ding Li had expected such a move and was unfazed—what else could you expect from a street rat?

Suddenly, a broadsword slashed toward Ding Li’s chest. He was forced to retreat, but another thug pressed in, swinging his blade with deadly intent. Clearly, only the most ruthless men remained by Leper Wu’s side.

“Courting death!” Ding Li had expected dirty tricks, but not outright murder in broad daylight. As the cold edge of the blade approached, his eyes flashed. Before the assailant could withdraw, Ding Li lunged forward, his right arm whipping out like a snake and locking onto the man’s wrist with the grip of an iron vice. He twisted sharply.

A crisp crack sounded as the bones snapped. Without a glance at the writhing thug, Ding Li pivoted, snatching the fallen blade and wielding it defensively at his side.

Just then, Leper Wu tried another sneak attack, but Ding Li blocked him again, sending him flying backward with a powerful shove. Leper Wu crashed into the distance, his earlier attack having broken Ding Li’s broadsword in two, forcing him to discard the useless weapon.

Pivoting, Ding Li’s now free right hand caught the wrist of the thug holding the dagger. Glancing down, he saw a face twisted in shock and terror—the man had managed to press his dagger against Ding Li’s side, but his wrist was immobilized, and above him glared a pair of beast-like eyes.

“He pissed himself! The bastard actually pissed himself!” Gouzi cried out, pointing at the thug whose legs trembled uncontrollably. The others followed Gouzi’s finger and saw the wet stain spreading down the man’s pants. The sea breeze carried an unmistakable scent that made everyone wrinkle their noses in disgust.

Yet Ding Li remembered all too well the words spoken to him on his first day at the special training camp: show no mercy to your enemies.

“Take my fist!” As his mind reeled, a roar sounded in his ear. Ding Li spun around just in time to see a massive fist—big as a bowl—coming straight at him, the face behind it contorted with rage and wild confidence.

There was a sickening crack as the two fists collided head-on. Ding Li was stunned—his fist was half the size of the other’s, and he was no professional fighter. The sound of snapping bone echoed in his ears, and for a moment, his mind went blank. Had he broken his arm? If so, the men behind him—those jokers—wouldn’t last a round against Southern Fist, never mind the two men still brandishing their blades…