Chapter Three: Punishing the Bully (1)

Liu Yitiao’s survival came as a great surprise to Wang Shuai. Truly, an unexpected turn—the blow he had dealt that day should have left Liu Yitiao either dead or gravely wounded, with no chance of recovery in such a short time.

Yet today, Liu Yitiao appeared once more at the market. He was still selling his little cabbages, wearing that same infuriating look.

For reasons Wang Shuai could not explain, he found Liu Yitiao extremely irritating; at the mere sight of him, a surge of annoyance welled up inside, making it hard to resist the urge to strike.

Wang Shuai swaggered over, his large frame swaying as he made his way toward Liu Yitiao’s stall. He noticed that Liu Yitiao’s expression did not change in the slightest—no trace of anger or fear, which was most unusual. At times like this, Liu Yitiao would usually glare at him or clench his fists.

But today, Liu Yitiao seemed not to notice his approach at all, continuing to smile as he cheerfully sold his cabbages to the customers around him.

“Madam! Look at these cabbages of mine—no wilted leaves, no dirt, fresh and clean, honest weight for honest coin, fair to all. Three pounds for a single wen, cheap, fresh, and plentiful. How much would you like? I’ll weigh it for you—always a little extra, never short-changing you,” Liu Yitiao prattled on, his quick tongue persuading the matron before him, who was so dazzled she reached for her coins without even haggling.

Liu Yitiao collected the money with a grin, weighed the vegetables, and was all smiles and amiability. Using modern sales tactics in this ancient marketplace was proving to be an unbeatable advantage. Since morning, he had already sold over a hundred jin of cabbage; at this rate, he would soon be able to pack up and go home.

Suddenly, the crowd around Liu Yitiao’s stall began to disperse, retreating as though fleeing a plague. A tall figure was striding toward Liu Yitiao from a distance.

“Liu Yitiao, business is booming, I see!” Wang Shuai crossed his arms over his chest, glancing down at Liu Yitiao with a sideways sneer.

“Wang Shuai?” Liu Yitiao narrowed his eyes. One of his purposes in coming today was for this very man.

If he wanted to live peacefully here, he would have to deal with this fat bully once and for all.

“Same old rules—one hundred wen! Hand it over!” Wang Shuai thrust out his hand, looking at Liu Yitiao with a provocative glare. Usually, Liu Yitiao would have resisted at this point. The tax Wang Shuai demanded was ten times what anyone else paid, an impossible sum for Liu Yitiao. Wang Shuai relished the angry look and the defiant fight-back—beating him was all the more satisfying that way.

“One hundred wen, is it? Here you go!” Liu Yitiao handed over a pouch of coins he had prepared in advance.

“Huh?!” Wang Shuai looked at the purse in his hand, startled. Could it be that Liu Yitiao was scared stiff after last time?

Wang Shuai’s mood soured from delight to disappointment. He had already flexed his fists in anticipation, but Liu Yitiao had simply handed him a cloth bag, leaving him at a loss for how to proceed. Should he hit him or not? He hesitated, his eyes shifting, then settled his gaze on the cabbages in Liu Yitiao’s basket.

“Three pounds for a wen—how much do you want? I’ll weigh it for you.” Liu Yitiao, having pocketed Wang Shuai’s receipt, sneered inwardly. Wang Shuai picking over the cabbages was exactly what he had anticipated, and he could already imagine what would follow.

But first, he kept up his role as a dutiful commoner.

“Pale and yellow, more white than green—rubbish!” Wang Shuai tossed a cabbage behind him.

“Too small! Rubbish!” Another flew through the air.

“Too big! Rubbish!”

“Too soft! Rubbish!”

“Too hard! Rubbish!”

Within moments, the dozen or so cabbages remaining in the basket had all been thrown onto the open ground behind Wang Shuai. Throughout, Liu Yitiao showed no sign of agitation; he simply stood there, smiling, watching as Wang Shuai flung his cabbages one by one.

“Finished picking? That’ll be thirteen wen. Since you’re taking so many, I’ll round it down—ten wen! Thank you!” Liu Yitiao extended his hand to Wang Shuai, mimicking exactly the gesture Wang Shuai had used when demanding his tax.

“Money?!” Wang Shuai slapped Liu Yitiao’s hand aside, his eyes blazing. “You expect money for these things that could kill someone? Consider yourself lucky I don’t have you locked up!”

With that, he raised his hand for a slap—just as he always used to do.

But this time, things were different. Wang Shuai’s hand stopped, frozen ten centimeters from Liu Yitiao’s face—not of his own volition, but because another hand had seized his wrist in an iron grip.

Shock flashed through Wang Shuai’s mind. When had Liu Yitiao grown so strong?

Liu Yitiao regarded Wang Shuai coldly, a look of pure pity in his eyes. Leaning close, he whispered, “I've been waiting for this moment.”

A heavy punch landed squarely on Wang Shuai’s chest, sending him flying backward.

It was the one-inch punch of Jeet Kune Do.

This was the only martial art Liu Yitiao had studied in his previous life. Although his skill was but a fraction of a fraction compared to its creator, even so, it was more than enough for someone like Wang Shuai, who had no training at all. In his past life, Liu Yitiao had once killed a bull with a single blow.

He struck with measured force—a blow to the lungs. Wang Shuai landed face down and spat up a mouthful of black blood, his face turning deathly pale. He would not die, but neither would he ever live comfortably again. Injuries to the lungs were nearly impossible to cure; Wang Shuai’s life was effectively ruined. A cold smile flickered on Liu Yitiao’s lips.

He picked up his basket and, one by one, gathered the cabbages Wang Shuai had thrown to the ground. Then he stood quietly by Wang Shuai’s side, waiting for the constables to arrive.

“You fool! What were you thinking?” A familiar-looking middle-aged man pushed through the crowd—it was Uncle Yang, Yang Bofang, who had saved Liu Yitiao once before. He glanced at Wang Shuai lying on the ground, then shot Liu Yitiao a look, signaling him to run.

Liu Yitiao understood, grinned at Yang Bofang, and replied, “Uncle Yang, don’t worry. It’s nothing. He won’t die.”

“Oh?” Yang Bofang eyed Liu Yitiao curiously. Why was the boy so calm? Did he not understand the consequences, or did he have something else up his sleeve?

Seeing the clarity in Liu Yitiao’s eyes and the steadiness of his bearing, Yang Bofang’s heart settled. The Liu family’s boy had changed. He was no longer the reckless youth he once was.