Chapter Seventy-Nine: You Give Me Three Punches Too

Chapter Seventy-Nine: You Give Me Three Punches Too

Seeing Boss Jin come to a halt, the group stopped pursuing as well. The leader slung his club over his shoulder and swaggered, “Fat Jin, let’s see if you can still walk home on your own tonight!”

With a wave of his hand, his followers surged toward Boss Jin.

“Hold it!”

Suddenly, Shi Bai stepped forward.

Everyone paused, looking at Shi Bai in surprise. The leader sized him up and asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”

Shi Bai replied, “My name doesn’t matter. What matters is that this man and I have a wager to settle. He must fulfill it. Once he does, I’ll hand him over to you.”

“What kind of wager?” the leader asked.

Shi Bai’s eyelids lifted. “He has to punch me three times.”

Everyone present was stunned, murmurs erupting.

“He has to punch him three times? Is this guy mad?”

“Who wouldn’t think so?”

The leader scrutinized Shi Bai, and Shi Bai could feel a wave of energy pressing upon him. The leader’s gaze grew more curious; after a moment’s thought, he laughed. “Fine, I’ll let you finish your wager.”

“Good,” Shi Bai turned to Boss Jin, “Come on, give me three punches.”

Boss Jin braced his hands on his knees, his round, sweaty face drenched.

“Are you insane? You want me to punch you three times at a time like this!”

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “How about this, you help me drive them off, and I’ll give you half the stones.”

Shi Bai’s lips curled up. “The stones are already mine—what do you mean by ‘give’? Enough nonsense. Hurry up and give me three punches, or don’t force me to make a move.”

The arriving gang was dumbfounded. Forcing someone to hit you? And threatening them with violence if they didn’t?

Boss Jin felt his head spinning. He couldn’t outrun these people, couldn’t beat them, and now this boy Shi Bai just wouldn’t let up, insisting he hit him. Wasn’t this madness?

“Fine! You asked for this!” Boss Jin snapped, swinging his arm as he strode toward Shi Bai.

“Don’t blame me if I’m too strong—don’t shout if you get hurt!” He smashed a fist into Shi Bai’s chest.

A crisp crack sounded—Boss Jin’s wrist broke, his arm bent like a three-section staff.

“Hells!”

A deathly silence fell over the crowd as Boss Jin rolled on the ground, squealing like a pig being slaughtered. The two rough stones tumbled from his hands.

Shi Bai calmly picked up the stones. “That’s only one punch.”

Now everyone understood—Shi Bai had forced Boss Jin to hit him because he could withstand it. But one punch cost a broken hand—who would dare throw a second?

Boss Jin could only wail, oblivious to Shi Bai’s words. Shi Bai thought for a moment, then crouched next to him.

“Hurts too much to use your hand?” he asked.

Boss Jin nodded vigorously, desperate to avoid more.

Shi Bai’s smile became devilish. “No problem, I’ll help you.”

“Wha—help me?”

Shi Bai chuckled. “That’s right.” He suddenly seized Boss Jin’s other hand and lightly swung it against himself.

Everyone watched, baffled. “What’s he doing?”

Boss Jin was confused too—what was the point of such a gentle tap?

But another crack sounded; his other arm broke as well.

“This can’t be real?!”

The crowd gasped. “Even that broke?”

Boss Jin was now so pale with pain he could barely move, whimpering weakly.

Shi Bai considered forcing the third punch—after all, Boss Jin was no saint—but seeing both his arms ruined and his pitiful cries, he let it go.

He took the stones, ground them between his palms, and the rocks crumbled to powder, leaving seven or eight pigeon-egg-sized rubies in his hands.

The eyes of the pursuing gang lit up, especially their leader—he knew the value of rubies, and the ones in Shi Bai’s hands could fetch hundreds of millions.

Just as Shi Bai was about to leave, the leader barked, “Wait!”

Shi Bai halted, frowning—clearly, these men now harbored the same greed as Boss Jin.

“What do you want?”

The leader cocked his stick and smirked, “Those rubies in your hand—they’re probably not yours, are they?”

Shi Bai raised an eyebrow, not bothering to turn around. “Oh? And whose are they—yours?”

The leader chuckled and shifted his stance. “Not exactly, but Fat Jin owes us. His things are naturally ours, to settle his debts.”

“So you’re saying these gems belong to Fat Jin?” Shi Bai asked.

“Of course!” the leader replied. “Everyone saw them drop from him.”

“But did you bother asking who owned the gems before that?”

“That’s not my concern!” the leader’s voice grew rough. “I just know they fell from Fat Jin, so they’re his. And if they’re his, they’re ours.”

“That’s right!” echoed the men behind him, raising their clubs.

The leader said, “Hand them over, kid.”

Shi Bai laughed coldly. “And if I refuse?”

The leader tipped his head back and sneered, “Then don’t blame us for being rough. The Treasure Street Gang isn’t to be trifled with. Don’t think your little tricks will protect you—we’re not impressed by your so-called martial skills.”

Shi Bai suddenly burst out laughing. “How interesting! The Treasure Street Gang? Very interesting.”

He grinned and said, “All right then. You come over and give me three punches too.”

The gang members exchanged glances, then roared with laughter. “Does this brat think he’s invincible?”

“Yeah, he thinks crushing a stone means he’s tough?”

“Ridiculous!”

The leader curled his lip and shot Shi Bai a sideways glare. “Kid, let me be frank—just hand over the rubies now and spare yourself a beating. You should know, we’re nothing like Fat Jin.”

Shi Bai smiled faintly, hands in his pockets. “Sorry. To me, you’re all the same. In fact, you all share a resounding name: trash.”

The leader’s face darkened. “So you’re refusing?”

Shi Bai’s smile was cool. “What are you waiting for? Hit me.”

The leader’s expression turned icy. “I’m the young master of the Treasure Street Gang, and I’ve ruled these streets for years. No one’s ever dared talk to me like that—you’re the first!”

Shi Bai laughed again. “What, don’t you want to hear a second or third?”

The leader’s jaw clenched, his face twitching. “Get him!”

His followers surged toward Shi Bai.

“Hold it!”

Just then, another group approached. They wore green uniforms with gold trim, square-topped caps, and sturdy leather shoes—the Street Security Patrol.

Their captain was a tall, vigorous man in his forties or fifties, a black pistol at his waist and a stern, commanding presence.

“What are you people doing here? Looking for trouble?”

The leader, recognizing him, suddenly smiled. “Officer, this kid stole my property.”