Chapter 11: The 1:10 Odds

The betting odds were posted, and the soldiers on site grew excited once again.

There’s always a fool eager to die; everyone loves that.

Everyone believed Song Heping couldn’t withstand a single punch from Andrei, so they all bet on Song losing.

Old Yao quietly asked Song Heping, “Are you really going to fight? Look at his fists—I doubt you can survive one punch! Don’t throw your life away here!”

Song Heping flexed his joints and retorted, “Do you still have that six hundred dollars on you?”

Old Yao blinked in surprise. “Of course I do; I wouldn’t leave money in the store.”

His eyes widened. “You’re not seriously going to fight, are you?”

Song Heping said, “You ask your cousin to lend you another four hundred, make it a thousand, then bet on me to win.”

Old Yao swore under his breath, “Damn it, you’re serious? What’s your confidence level?”

He knew Song Heping had trained, but no matter how much, there was no way he could beat a big guy like Andrei.

Their weights were in completely different classes—how could he possibly fight?

Song Heping said, “Fifty-fifty.”

Old Yao nearly cursed again. “Fifty-fifty? You’d stake your whole fortune on fifty-fifty? You really are crazy!”

Song Heping began calculating. “The payout is ten to one, a thousand dollars puts ten thousand in winnings. We split it fifty-fifty; you don’t have to borrow money for the ticket, and I can temporarily cover my brother and sister-in-law’s living expenses.”

Sighing, Old Yao knew he couldn’t stop him.

Song Heping could disregard everything else, but his siblings mattered most.

Old Yao sighed again. “Alright, I’ll go crazy with you. At this point, if things go south, I can just ask my family to wire money for a ticket home.”

After saying that, he actually went to ask cousin Donald for a loan.

Song Heping took off his jacket, ready to step onto the ring, but Thomas stopped him. “Song, I’m just offering you a job; you don’t need to risk your life.”

Song Heping smiled. “It’s okay. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll escape on my own—I’m not going to die here.”

Then he added, “And I told you, my name is SONG, not SANG!”

Thomas seriously processed this for a moment, then called out once more, “Sang!”

“Fuck!” Song Heping was utterly speechless and walked straight onto the ring.

Andrei had been waiting on stage for a long time.

He really couldn’t understand what gave Song Heping the courage to fight him.

He’d been here three months and had never lost on this ring.

He didn’t fight for money; Andrei just enjoyed beating up American soldiers. He held a natural grudge against them.

As a Russian, even though he earned dollars now, it didn’t stop his resentment.

“Kid, I don’t want to kill you—at least don’t annoy me.”

“Then I should thank you?”

Song Heping smiled faintly, his gaze flicking over Andrei.

Before attacking, one must carefully observe, like a scout planning a surprise raid who first conducts reconnaissance to find the enemy’s weak points.

Tactics apply to individuals as well.

“I have a question,” Song Heping asked Donald in the crowd, “What are the rules here?”

Donald shrugged. “No rules. This isn’t the Olympics. What, are you scared?”

Song Heping asked, “So you mean I just have to knock him down?”

Donald and others laughed, nodding continually. “Yeah, if you’ve got the skill.”

Hearing there were no rules, Song Heping felt relieved.

If it were boxing rules, he wouldn’t be confident to win. No limits, no rules—then he had a chance.

He had already sized Andrei up.

Unfortunately, the guy had very few weaknesses.

Generally, power types have well-developed muscles. Their advantage is strong resistance to blows and high strength, but their weak points are usually their lower body or lack of agility.

Looking at Andrei’s legs, Song Heping was disappointed.

His lower body didn’t appear weak; there was no clear vulnerability to exploit.

So he had to find other weaknesses.

Song Heping had professional training. Military combat techniques worldwide had long studied every weakness of the human body.

Every human, even Tyson, had these weaknesses—unless he wasn’t human.

Andrei’s muscles were so developed it was like he wore armor made of muscle. Such muscle men usually lack flexibility; otherwise, they’re nearly invincible. Even if Song wanted to drag him into a ground fight, he probably couldn’t lock him down.

If Donald’s earlier claim wasn’t exaggerated—pushing someone who weighs 300 kg with a single chest shove—that guy definitely wasn’t someone you could subdue with joint locks...

So, how to knock him out?

Song Heping’s gaze settled on his opponent’s head.

The head.

Exactly.

No matter how tough, the head and neck are relatively fragile.

At that moment, a U.S. soldier stepped forward to serve as the referee.

Song Heping and Andrei both wore thin gloves. The referee led them to the center of the ring, asked Song Heping’s name, then inquired if both were ready.

Both nodded affirmatively.

The referee said, “The rules here are no rules, but try not to cause a death. Of course, you’re not part of our military. If someone dies, it’s not our responsibility, understand?”

Song Heping felt this was more a disclaimer than a rule.

They quickly nodded, signaling they understood.

Except for Old Yao, everyone in the crowd believed Andrei was sure to win.

Old Yao really had borrowed four hundred dollars from Donald, added his own six hundred, making a full thousand to bet on Song Heping.

While betting, Rice looked at him and smiled, thinking Old Yao had “fool” stamped on his forehead.

The whistle blew, the referee stepped back, and the match began.

Andrei grinned, spread his hands, puffed out his chest, and made a provocative gesture, but didn’t attack.

He didn’t want an easy victory; that would be boring.

Like a cat and mouse—no matter how much the mouse resists under the cat’s dominance, the cat still toys with it before finishing the job.

He thought Song Heping was just a mouse willingly offered up.

The crowd was relaxed.

Everyone laughed and pointed, drinking beer, convinced Song Heping would be thoroughly defeated, discussing only how many punches he could endure.

Before Andrei could fully enjoy himself, his vision suddenly blurred—the figure of Song Heping became indistinct.

Then, a fierce pain struck his jaw. A tremendous impact blacked out his vision, and he lost consciousness, knowing nothing more.

“Oh! My God!”

The audience, eagerly expecting a cat-and-mouse game, gasped in unison, stunned into silence.