Chapter 12: Welcome Aboard
Bang—
Andrei’s massive body fell backward, crashing heavily onto the ring floor with a loud, dull thud.
Then...
There was nothing more.
Andrei lay quietly on the ring floor, sleeping as peacefully as a baby.
No one in the arena clearly saw what had happened.
It seemed the Chinese man had delivered a kick, and then Andrei simply collapsed.
“Kung fu?”
The word, belonging to the East, flashed through the minds of the American soldiers.
In fact, Song Heping had simply delivered the fastest and most powerful jaw-smashing kick, striking Andrei’s lower jaw precisely.
It was a fatal move.
The human jaw is fragile; a fierce kick to the jaw causes the head to snap back violently, resulting in loss of balance and a powerful impact to the spine, which in turn causes the brain to experience severe concussion leading to unconsciousness.
This kick, powered by the hip flexor muscles and quadriceps, can reach speeds of over forty miles per hour when it strikes the opponent’s jaw and throat.
The key to the jaw-smashing kick lies in speed and force—speed to catch the opponent off guard and force to ensure they hit the ground instantly.
Andrei was muscular all over. Song Heping had assessed that striking any other part of his body to cause immediate shock or unconsciousness was nearly impossible.
Only the head and neck were vulnerable.
The once noisy bar instantly turned into a hospital morgue; even the music stopped, and the room was so silent one could hear every breath clearly.
Yevgeny was stunned, dropping his contemplative hand and rubbing his eyes twice.
Donald, who was about to pop a chip into his mouth, froze with it at his lips, unable to eat.
After a long pause, Donald threw down the chip, snapped back to reality, and asked Thomas, “Is it over?”
Thomas nodded, saying, “It seems so...”
At last, as if still in a dream, Thomas asked Donald, “That guy? Just one kick? One kick took down Andrei?”
Donald nodded instinctively, “It seems that way...”
On the ring, the American soldier acting as referee came over to check Andrei and found him still alive.
He wanted to start a countdown but quickly realized it was unnecessary because Andrei had already fainted.
“Song wins!”
He stood up and raised Song Heping’s hand high.
Song Heping stood at the center of the ring like a god.
Below stood a group of dumbfounded American soldiers.
“Were you trained in special forces?”
When Song Heping stepped down from the ring, bald Yevgeny couldn’t help but ask.
Because that kick just now was not something an ordinary person could deliver.
Song Heping nodded honestly, “Yes.”
“Familiar with firearms?” Yevgeny asked.
Song Heping said, “Should be no problem.”
Yevgeny didn’t beat around the bush and continued, “What firearms are you good at? What’s your specialty?”
Song Heping thought for a moment and said, “All-around.”
Yevgeny was stunned, surprise flashing in his eyes, but he still extended his large hand: “Welcome to my team. Report to B-12 in District 11 by noon tomorrow. Is that okay?”
Yevgeny’s tone had softened considerably.
“Okay.”
“All right, see you tomorrow!”
After Song Heping left, a short-haired blonde girl approached Yevgeny and, watching Song’s departing figure, said, “Boss, I don’t like that guy.”
Yevgeny asked, “Just because he knocked out Andrei?”
The blonde said, “I think he’s bragging. An all-around warrior? Too reckless. People like that are overconfident and will get us killed on missions.”
Yevgeny said, “Yulia, are you doubting my judgment?”
Yulia hurriedly apologized, “No, boss.”
Song Heping and Lao Yao finally returned to their shop.
They hadn’t borrowed money from Donald, but they had earned some.
The first thing Lao Yao did was take out the ten thousand dollars they had won and hand it to Song Heping.
“Take it.”
Song Heping didn’t hesitate and took the money, counting out five thousand dollars and handing the rest back to Lao Yao.
“This is your share.”
Lao Yao was stunned. To him, this money was earned by Song Heping and had nothing to do with him.
Seeing Lao Yao not reach for the money, Song Heping pushed the stack forward again and said, “Bro, let’s keep it fair. Half of the capital was yours; you deserve this.”
Lao Yao swallowed hard.
He needed money too.
This business venture had failed, and he was in a mess.
But his family wasn’t as poor as Song Heping’s, nor was he as desperate.
Though they hadn’t known each other long, after months of acquaintance, Lao Yao saw Song’s greatest virtue—reliability.
He was a man of few words but absolutely dependable.
“Well...”
In the end, Lao Yao took the cash, a faint smile breaking at the corner of his mouth.
Five thousand dollars—a small windfall—of course brought happiness.
Just one kick—it seemed too easy, almost unreal.
“I...”
He hesitated.
Lao Yao felt a twinge of guilt.
He was the one who had actively invited Song Heping to partner up to make money in Illigo.
Now the money hadn’t come, Song Heping had put in all his savings, paid off debts, and was now buried in loans; their investments had vanished.
Though the attack was an accident, Lao Yao’s leaving felt somewhat like desertion.
Song Heping noticed Lao Yao’s thoughts and comforted him, “Man proposes, God disposes. You don’t owe me. Don’t wear that long face. You should leave tomorrow. This place isn’t safe. You’re not like me; no need to risk your life here.”
Song Heping didn’t resent Lao Yao.
Lao Yao was timid but a good businessman; he handled the shop’s supplies, transportation, and accounts single-handedly without any shady dealings.
In these times, Lao Yao was considered honest.
After that, there was little more to say.
Life was like that—whether family or friends, no one stays with you forever. Sometimes people just drift apart; there’s no feast that never ends.
While Lao Yao packed his bags, Song Heping also gathered his belongings.
His luggage was simple: a few cheap pairs of jeans and casual clothes, a pair of sneakers, and a pair of LOWA tactical boots.
The tactical boots were bought in Kuwait and were expensive; if not for doing business in a war zone like Illigo, he wouldn’t have splurged.
Having packed up, he checked the time.
It was already past ten at night.
Accounting for the time difference, it should be around three in the morning back home.
Song Heping decided to call his sister the next morning. The new school term had just started. He had sent some living expenses to his sister and brother before, but the earliest repayment of 5,000 yuan owed to relatives would be due next month. This five thousand dollars could be partly used to send two thousand dollars back home—some for debt repayment, some for living expenses.
Life in debt was so precarious.
Like a coat full of holes, patch one place and another bursts open—everywhere leaking, everywhere anxiety.
Song Heping wished for his siblings to live well.
What was a good life?
Not having to worry about food or clothing, feeling like everything on the streets was cheap.
Their parents had died young; whether his younger siblings could live well now depended entirely on him, their elder brother who served as both father and brother.
Thinking of home, Song Heping lay down on the spring bed in the shop and drifted into a deep sleep.