Chapter 29: The Mighty Eagle Claw

After Chen Erpao and Wang Xing chose their seats and sat down, they immediately began to watch the intense match unfolding in the ring. Both boxers looked to be in their twenties, their bodies covered in tattoos—one wore red shorts, the other black. At that moment, the fighter in red seemed to be running out of stamina and could only defend himself under the relentless and ferocious attacks of the one in black.

“Who do you think will win?” Chen Erpao asked with a smile.

Without hesitation, Wang Xing replied, “The one in red will definitely win.”

Chen Erpao nodded, grinning. “That's right. Now, the one in red looks exhausted, but actually, he's conserving his strength. His footwork remains precise and powerful, while the one in black, though aggressive and forcing his opponent into a corner, is starting to show disarray in his movements and weakening punches. Give it a little more time, and he’ll be spent. When the red fighter retaliates, the black one won’t be able to defend himself.”

Sure enough, just as Chen Erpao finished speaking, the attacks from the black fighter ceased. The man in red launched a furious counterattack. The black fighter, utterly drained, lost all form in his punches and steps, taking hit after hit. Less than a minute later, he was knocked to the ground by a heavy punch from the red fighter and couldn't get up despite struggling for some time.

“The red corner wins.” The referee climbed onto the stage, raising the red fighter’s hand high, while several burly men carried the defeated black fighter away.

“That kid is the son of Camel, the boss of the Hongxing gang in Tuen Mun. He’s notorious for his violent nature and is a skilled Muay Thai fighter. He’s already won several matches in this underground ring. Luckily, this time he only knocked the guy down—last time, I heard several opponents were crippled and are still in the hospital,” whispered a few men sitting next to Chen Erpao.

Only then did Chen Erpao realize that the red fighter was the son of the powerful gang boss of Tuen Mun—a man of no small status, a genuine second-generation gangster.

“Brother Erpao, look! Underage girls are going up!” Wang Xing suddenly shouted excitedly.

Chen Erpao looked over and saw six girls at most fifteen or sixteen, the youngest perhaps only thirteen or fourteen, being led onto the ring. Their skin was generally darker, a wheatish shade, their bodies somewhat thin, but their faces were attractive enough, though each wore an expression tinged with fear.

“These are our newly arrived girls from Malaysia. According to our usual practice, anyone who wins a match on stage tonight can take one of these underage girls for the night. Now, let’s invite our victorious red corner contestant, Young Master Tianyi, to make his choice.”

So the red fighter’s name was Tianyi. Savoring the cheers of the crowd, he looked the six underage girls over, finally settling his gaze on the youngest, barely thirteen or fourteen.

“You, come here! Haha!” Tianyi laughed loudly, grabbing the girl. She was terrified but dared not resist.

Watching this, Chen Erpao felt not a trace of pity. There were far darker places in this world than this, with atrocities too numerous to count. He recalled the sweeping raids on drug lords’ strongholds, where he’d witnessed scenes far more heartbreaking—dozens of young girls, barely in their teens, locked naked in a dark cage, their only purpose to satisfy the depraved desires of the traffickers. Their frail bodies, tormented and scarred, sometimes left dead from the abuse.

It was said that in parts of Europe, trafficking and grooming children for such exploitation was all too common. Some were denied all human rights from birth, destined only to be used and trained as slaves.

There was a pause before the next match. Instead, four voluptuous, attractive young women walked naked onto the stage and began a provocative, seductive dance.

The hundreds of spectators below erupted in shouts, some even yelling out lewd comments.

Chen Erpao watched the display with interest. Though the four women were pretty and well-shaped, their breasts had begun to sag, and some regions were already darkened—a clear sign of excessive, decadent indulgence.

After the dance, a man strode onto the stage, microphone in hand, striking the pose of an official host—though the tattoos covering his body betrayed him.

“The next match isn’t affiliated with any gang or organization. It’s a contest between two independent fighters. One is Henry, who has won three consecutive matches in our ring, and the other is Liu Huagang, making his debut on our stage tonight. Let’s welcome them both!”

“Henry? That’s a foreign name. Is there a foreigner fighting illegal matches here?” Chen Erpao mused, just as a heavily built white man, nearly 1.8 meters tall, bearded and muscular, stepped into the ring.

“Damn, he really is a foreigner. Our countryman had better show some pride,” Wang Xing interjected.

After that, Henry’s opponent, Liu Huagang, a man in his thirties, walked onto the stage. He stood only about 1.7 meters, at least half a head shorter than Henry, but his presence was no less imposing.

“This Liu Huagang is no ordinary man. I sense a bestial aura from him—very powerful,” Wang Xing said solemnly.

“Indeed, he’s a match for you,” Chen Erpao replied with a smile.

Wang Xing quickly waved his hands. “I’m no match for him. My skills aren’t even enough to qualify for this stage. We’re better off just watching from here.”

“Begin!” At the referee’s command, Henry launched the first attack. His massive fists rained down like a storm, each blow carrying the force of a gale, all the while guarding his head expertly—he clearly had solid boxing skills.

Liu Huagang’s expression remained as cold and impassive as when he entered, unmoved by the ferocity of Henry’s assault.

After Henry’s onslaught, in a brief opening, Liu Huagang pounced like a tiger descending the mountain. His hands, bent and poised, moved with the ferocity of an eagle or a dragon. In an instant, his sharp, claw-like movements slashed through the air around them.

A brief exchange later, Henry was left with several bloody claw marks on his body, thin streams of blood seeping out.

“What kind of technique is this?” Henry asked, grimacing in pain as he looked at his wounds, his face now tinged with fear rather than contempt.

“The Mighty Eagle Claw,” Liu Huagang replied coldly, his expression unchanging, as if nothing in the world could disturb his composure.