Chapter 27: Battle of Words and Deeds

The entire room fell silent, everyone holding their breath, faces frozen in shock. One punch to break a bone, one punch to send a man flying—how much strength did that take? Forget lifting cauldrons like in those old tales; reality had its strongmen, but they were always burly, muscular giants, weren't they?

And this man?

He was somewhat chubby, yes, but it was the soft kind of fat, his arms laden with flab rather than muscle. There wasn't a trace of definition to be found. The crowd shivered, feeling as though they'd seen a ghost.

"Damn it, he's here to cause trouble—get him!" someone cursed. Instantly, several men grabbed whatever was at hand and surrounded him, their vicious demeanor making everyone uncomfortable. Li Xin frowned, about to step in, when the seated boss suddenly spoke.

"Stop it, all of you!" he barked. The thugs halted at once, retreating in anger. The boss stood, his steps firm, his voice resonant as a bell: "Kid, didn't expect it—you've got some training."

"I've learned a little," Li Xin replied with a smile. He seemed amiable, but that smile carried a chilling, ruthless undertone that unsettled all who saw it. No need for further demonstration—the blow he'd just delivered said it all.

"Hmph! Whether you're trained or not, today's trouble started with Wang Yong. We beat him, you beat my man; let's call it even, what do you say?" The boss was shrewd.

"Agreed."

"Wang Yong hit someone—he's in the hospital now. Compensation's still due."

"Of course."

At this, the boss grinned coldly, suddenly radiating a powerful aura, like razor-thin blades slicing through the air, stinging Li Xin’s cheeks. As leader of this area, his authority was unquestioned, and now he exuded a fierce, dangerous edge. Matters of pride could not be tolerated.

"Since you’re so reasonable, I’ll give you a chance. Contest of words or contest of fists—you choose. Win, leave the medical fees and go. Lose, and don’t blame me; if thirty thousand is missing, I’ll take an arm off him."

"Ah—!" Wang Yong screamed, terror-stricken. Losing an arm would render him a cripple. He glanced at Er Gouzi, desperate for help, but was met with rejection.

"Zhang Gui, we won’t accept this bet. He’s just my friend, thirty thousand is no small sum; I won’t let him pay," Er Gouzi said sternly, signaling Li Xin to leave.

"Fine, then I’ll take both arms," the boss sneered, his face filled with malicious amusement.

"What are the rules for the contest of words and the contest of fists?" Li Xin suddenly asked.

The boss was taken aback. So were the thugs—they hadn’t expected this young man to accept. Thirty thousand, enough to buy a house in this small county.

"The floor below is an internet café—the trouble started with a game, so it should end with a game. You and I play a match; that’s the contest of words.

"And the contest of fists, well, that’s a fight—between you and me.

"Think it over," Zhang Gui said coldly, turning back to the sofa, hands wandering over the girl beside him, acting as if Li Xin were beneath notice. As for fighting, he was a lay disciple of Southern Shaolin, and had learned from a champion boxer in Jiangsu and Zhejiang; as for gaming, his cousin was a professional, and he himself had picked up much over the years—his skills were top-notch.

He doubted this young professional could match him in either area. Strength and speed meant nothing; combat was about skill and experience!

His underlings scoffed, their expressions varied, but their admiration for Zhang Gui was near fanatical.

Er Gouzi looked at Li Xin in distress, wanting to persuade him to leave, but Li Xin had made up his mind, determined to stand by his friend.

"I’ve decided—the contest of words," Li Xin said.

"The contest of words?" Zhang Gui burst into laughter, just as he’d hoped.

This was a crucial time as several big shots in the city fought for territory; he’d only just claimed this patch, and any loss of strength now risked being overtaken. He could not afford to falter.

"Bing Bing, go downstairs and set up two machines—I want a good match with this gentleman."

"Yes, Brother Gui," someone replied, quickly returning, "Brother Gui, everything’s ready."

The group went downstairs. The internet café was quiet—all players forced off their computers, forming a circle to watch Brother Gui crush his opponent. Zhang Gui was not only the area’s boss but its top gamer; every time he competed publicly, crowds gathered to watch and learn.

The game client was already open: CrossFire.

"Li Xin, are you up for this?" Er Gouzi asked quietly, "If you’re not confident, I’ll play—this isn’t your problem to solve."

"Heh, how will we know if I don’t try?" Li Xin replied with a smile.

"This is CrossFire, not King of Fighters. King of Fighters uses controllers—you’re older, it makes sense you’d be good at that. But CrossFire is different—it’s about awareness, reaction, and shooting accuracy; you’d better—"

"Heh, I think I can manage…"

"Uh…" Er Gouzi was speechless. This man always seemed calm, never betraying his emotions, making it impossible to gauge his confidence or skill.

How could a small business owner be so composed?

Er Gouzi speculated, positioning himself behind Li Xin. If things turned violent, he would defend him no matter what.

Meanwhile, the café buzzed with gossip.

"This outsider’s got guts, challenging Brother Gui—he’ll lose badly."

"Look at that porky frame—I doubt he even knows how to play."

"Can’t wait to see Brother Gui mow down the competition—so exciting!"

Some mocked, others flattered; perhaps a few genuinely admired Zhang Gui’s skill, but most were eager to curry favor. If Brother Gui was pleased, life here would be smoother; maybe, one day, a chance to join his inner circle.

Zhang Gui basked in their praise, settling into his seat at his underling’s invitation, puffing a thick ring of smoke.

"Watch closely, everyone. I’ll use the signature moves of the nine-time champion ‘Dawn’—the shuttle step and long-range instant sniper."

Shuttle step, long-range instant sniper!

The crowd erupted. Those were classic moves of the legendary gun king, first showcased at the world championships, sparking a nationwide craze for marksmanship. Though Li Xin had retired and many critics had risen to disparage him, his honors and classic plays remained unforgettable, worthy of endless discussion.

"Brother Gui, you’re amazing—even mastering the shuttle step! Combined with instant sniping, you’re a true demon reaper."

"Brother Gui, looks like there’s no rival for the gun king of Su’nan County!"

"Isn’t that obvious? Brother Gui’s been our gun king for ages—he’s undefeated in every local café tournament!"

Zhang Gui was all smiles; their flattery was loud but pleasing.

"Li Xin…"

Er Gouzi leaned in again, worried. "Zhang Gui’s too strong—I think you should reconsider."

"It’s fine, just stand by me," Li Xin replied, unfazed by the disdain around him, smiling at Zhang Gui, "Best two out of three?"

"Oh, didn’t expect you to know the lingo," Zhang Gui laughed. "Let’s play on the transport ship map."

"Agreed." Li Xin nodded and logged into his account.

‘Best two out of three’ was CrossFire slang: AK headshots, sniper duel, knife fight! Each played in sequence; the first to win two rounds claimed victory. This phrase originated from a fierce battle between Li Xin and another pro, establishing the format for competitive gambling in the game.

With their accounts logged in, they entered the same room and prepared in the game warehouse. The spectators jeered again—Li Xin’s low rank and shabby gear couldn’t compare to Zhang Gui’s, whose account was worth tens of thousands, while Li Xin was a mere junior sergeant with a score just over two thousand.

He hadn’t logged in for a week. He’d always felt uneasy and reluctant to face the game, but now, with a chance to help his friend, he was excited and eager.

He’d noticed earlier, while upstairs, that nearly everyone at this Qiyuan Internet Café was playing CrossFire—clearly a gathering spot for its fans, likely because the manager was a die-hard player. As expected, everything fell into place.

Shouts and whispers filled the café as the two entered the game. None realized that the chubby man they dismissed was the very champion they spoke of with reverence: the nine-time gun king, Dawn.