Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

To fight or not to fight?

Yang Weihong stared intently at Zhang Dabiao. His chest heaved violently, and his mind raced.

He was caught in a dilemma, unable to retreat or advance. If a real fight broke out, he, as the deputy head of the security department, would definitely be kicked out; if he didn't fight, the reputation of the children of the compound would be completely ruined in his hands.

But if we really fight, what if we injure or cripple Zhang Dabiao? Wouldn't that be going too far? Wouldn't that be petty and ungrateful?

Now that Zhang Dabiao has made such a fuss, on the surface it seems that Zhang Dabiao called the police out of fear of trouble, but in reality, it has given Yang Weihong a huge way out!

In a one-on-one fight, the outcome is a personal matter. With the sports commission and the police present, no one can find fault with it. The pride of the children of high-ranking officials is preserved, and a bloody conflict is avoided.

Looking at Zhang Dabiao's smug expression, Yang Weihong's anger miraculously dissipated by more than half. In its place came a deep sense of powerlessness and admiration.

How does this kid's brain work? He's so meticulous in everything he does, he's got everyone in his grasp.

A full five seconds passed.

[Let him fight. At most, let him win a little; a draw should be achievable.]

Yang Weihong slowly raised her right hand and gave Zhang Dabiao a thumbs up.

He forced out a sentence through gritted teeth: "You little bastard...you've got guts. That was a nice move, I'm impressed."

Yang Yibai, standing behind Yang Weihong, was furious. She was already filled with resentment because of her jealousy of Mu Wanqing, and had brought so many people here today to see Zhang Dabiao get beaten up and Mu Wanqing humiliated. Now, instead of a fight, it's turned into some kind of sporting event?

"Brother! You're just going to admit it like that?" Yang Yibai stamped her feet anxiously, her shrill voice piercing the quiet room. "He's clearly scared! There are so many of us, why should we listen to his orders?!"

Yang Weihong turned around abruptly and glared fiercely at Yang Yibai.

"Shut up!" Yang Weihong snapped. "Haven't you caused enough trouble already? If you dare utter another word, I'll tie you up and take you home right now!"

Yang Yibai was startled by her brother's fierce appearance. Her eyes reddened, and she bit her lip in grievance, not daring to utter another sound.

Yang Weihong turned around and faced Zhang Dabiao again. He took off his security guard uniform jacket and casually tossed it to his colleague next to him, revealing a sturdy white tank top underneath.

He moved his wrists and neck, and his joints made a crisp cracking sound.

"Since it's a competition, there have to be rules." Yang Weihong assumed a standard military boxing starting stance, her eyes sharpening. "Tell me, how do we fight?"

Zhang Dabiao laughed.

He kicked away the horn at his feet and slowly unbuttoned his white shirt.

"Simple." Zhang Dabiao held up three fingers. "No protective gear, no weapons, unrestricted combat. Except for not being allowed to gouge eyes, kick groin, strike the back of the head, temples, or other vital areas, biting, pulling hair, or targeting an opponent who is already on the ground. There are no round limits, it continues until one side concedes or becomes unable to stand and loses consciousness."

"If one side falls to the ground and the two sides are locked in a struggle, and one side faints or is in mortal danger, the referee can intervene to separate them."

He was referring to the "simple" rules that most modern fighting games follow, not underground boxing matches or signing death waivers. Safety issues must be clearly explained and addressed beforehand.

Yang Weihong was stunned for a long time—you've talked so much, why are you holding up three fingers?

He thought about it for a long time, and Director Tang of the Sports Commission and two martial arts masters also studied it and felt it was very feasible—it was fair, in line with the spirit of martial arts, and safe because it did not pursue the opponent relentlessly.

The 1964 martial arts competition was mainly a routine demonstration rather than a sparring match. The older generation of martial arts practitioners thought it was just a dance performance, while the sports commission felt that they couldn't just ruin half of the athletes for a competition. So there was always controversy.

The most important reason why Zhang Dabiao was able to persuade his master Qin Dingsong to invite them was this experimental competition rule. If it works, the State Sports Commission's National Wushu Team could consider adopting it.

Seeing that the officials had agreed, what could Yang Hongwei say? He simply nodded in agreement.

He trained in bayonet fighting, grappling, and Chinese wrestling in the army.

It's more than enough to deal with a recent art graduate.

The sports committee referees used white lime and spoons to roughly mark out a playing field, about ten meters in diameter. Due to limited on-site conditions, that was it.

Everyone left, the police maintained order around the perimeter, and the others watched from outside.

The fight has turned into a standard martial arts competition, which is quite interesting.

Moreover, they vaguely felt that this might be the scene of the establishment of a new rule and order for such fights in Beijing, and they were the first witnesses, which made them proud.

There were only Zhang Dabiao, Yang Weihong, and a bald referee with a whistle on the field.

Yang Weihong took off his clothes, revealing a white tank top and his tanned, muscular physique. He then performed a fist and palm salute, assuming a starting stance: "Yang Weihong, grappling and Chinese wrestling, please instruct me."

Zhang Dabiao also took off his long-sleeved shirt.

This is what everyone has been wondering about. In the sweltering summer, everyone wants to go shirtless, but Zhang Dabiao wears long sleeves and pants most of the time, unless he has just taken a shower and is cooling off. Isn't he afraid of getting heat rash?

Zhang Dabiao – [Don't worry, I have baby powder and Liushen floral water!]

He was also wearing a white tank top, and his muscles were white, with a body fat percentage even more exaggerated than Yang Weihong's. In some places, you could even see the muscles stretching when he exerted himself!

These muscles really startled everyone. Is this even human?

Then, the protective gear on his hands was revealed.

Zhang Dabiao immediately took off his protective gear: "Excuse me, let me take this off first."

He removed his hand protective gear and threw it off the court.

Yang Weiguo thought they were just sandbags or something and didn't pay much attention to them. They were sometimes used in military training, and judging from the size of the "sandbags," each one only weighed a few kilograms, so he didn't care much.

But when the "sandbags" landed, they collided with each other with a loud thud, kicking up a cloud of dust, which stunned everyone.

I initially thought Zhang Dabiao was just showing off, but now it seems...

Yang Weihong pointed to the two "sandbags" and asked, "Are they...made of metal?"

Zhang Dabiao was rubbing his wrists and nodded: "Hmm, iron filings."

Yang Weihong continued, "How many kilograms?"

Zhang Dabiao shook his hand: "Each one weighs about 20 jin (10 catties)."

Yang Weihong swallowed hard—two, 40 jin?

Does he carry this with him every day?

Zhang Dabiao then pulled up his trouser leg: "Wait a minute, there are two more."

So he took down two more and threw them out as usual, which kicked up another cloud of dust.

Yang Weihong's eyes practically turned green with envy!

Four tieshadai carrying 80 pounds of weight?!

But just now, looking at his movements, I didn't see any obstruction whatsoever!

He acted as if nothing had happened.

Zhang Dabiao jumped up and down, his toes about 70 centimeters off the ground, as light as a swallow!

Yang Weihong asked another question—

"How long have you been wearing these things?"

Zhang Dabiao tilted his head and looked at the sky: "About three years, I guess."

Yang Weihong swallowed hard.

The omen of death is flashing!