Chapter Fifty-Nine: Young Master, Please Make Your Choice

In the previous life, there was a record: the greatest force a human fist has ever produced was 1,600 pounds, achieved by Tyson the boxing champion, which translates to about 720 kilograms. Yet the kick Night Rakshasa had just delivered surpassed even twice that amount.

There is a common misconception here: the force generated in a strike is explosive power, not bearing capacity. Just because Tyson could deliver a hook with over 700 kilograms of force doesn’t mean he could deadlift a barbell of the same weight.

By now, the muscle-bound man had adjusted his stance, while Night Rakshasa was in no hurry to attack. Her opponent’s main goal was to wear her down, whereas she seized every moment to recover her strength. If her burly adversary chose to stand off with her, it would be just what she hoped for.

After all, energy is conserved: to unleash power beyond human limits, one needs a different method of replenishing it. Such methods typically involve altering the rhythm of one’s breath—a practice known as cultivation techniques. More simply, it could be likened to the blue energy bar above a video game character.

Right now, Night Rakshasa was racing against time to restore her energy bar in the brief respite. But clearly, the muscleman had no intention of letting her have her way. As soon as he caught his breath, he charged at her once more, arms raised in a defensive posture, ready to counterattack. Night Rakshasa intended a decisive, lethal blow.

With a sudden lunge, she lashed out with a straight leg, the move crisp and ruthless, revealing traces of military combat technique in her form. Confronted with such a powerful kick, the muscleman was startled and urgently twisted his hips, letting his body swerve aside just in time to dodge.

In Feng Jingzhe’s eyes, their speed was still within the bounds of normalcy—whether Night Rakshasa was deliberately hiding her true strength, or whether this stage, the Stone-Splitting Realm, only amplified power, he could not tell.

The top of her foot grazed his skin, leaving a flaming red mark. But the strike was dodged, and the muscleman felt a surge of excitement—the chance to counterattack was right before him.

He swung a right hook, aiming for Night Rakshasa’s temple. This was the first time in six matches that anyone had dodged her attack and managed to fight back.

Even Mr. Fox on the sidelines could barely stay seated; this might be a perfect opportunity to probe her true abilities.

He raised his arm to block—but before the muscleman could feel any joy, a slender, pale hand gently intercepted his arm, halting his enormous strength as if it had struck an iron wall.

With a downward pressing palm—her previous lunge had been a feint. The moment he dodged, Night Rakshasa shifted her weight and changed tactics, stabilizing herself. Her other pale hand pressed heavily against the muscleman’s chest.

A dull thud echoed from the stage. The massive man, weighing at least 190 pounds, was lifted off his feet and sent crashing into the iron cage. The force was so great that several thick iron bars bent under the impact.

“Sixth match—Night Rakshasa—wins…”

At this sight, Mr. Fox’s expression grew grave beneath his mask. Such terrifying explosive power—he knew he could never hope to match it. So, despite both being in the Stone-Splitting Realm, her strength far exceeded his own.

The muscleman now lay on the stage like a pile of broken flesh, dragged out by several people. Blood oozed from his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose as he was moved. The horrifying scene of blood flowing from all seven orifices left the next two contestants pale with fear.

Money is a good thing at any time, but only if you live to spend it!

This was the first death since the betting began. Until now, the fighters had all believed their opponent wouldn’t go for the kill, which was why they dared risk their lives for the prize. Now, as the iron cage gate loomed before him, the seventh contestant fled in terror. No one could stop him, and the eighth had also vanished during the chaos on stage.

A woman with a red veil covering her face sat in a corner of the stands, covering her mouth as she laughed coquettishly. Beside her was a man wearing a plum blossom mask. His eyes narrowed as his knuckles drummed rhythmically on the armrest.

Tap… tap… tap… tap…

Each beat seemed to mark his inner deliberation.

“Fourth Young Master, my master has no wish for needless slaughter. Let’s say, for a price of one hundred thousand taels, we’ll call off the rest of the betting tonight…”

“Your master is never satisfied—always wanting to claim everything for himself. Now it only takes a few words and you’re demanding a hundred thousand taels! Ha… If I refuse, will he simply take it by force?”

She giggled again. “What are you saying, Fourth Young Master? My master is the very soul of propriety—‘force’ would never enter into it.”

She wrapped her arms around the man at her side, her lips brushing his ear. “Don’t make things hard for me, Fourth Young Master. Why don’t I share a secret with you—one that will make you agree at once…”

Her breath was sweet as orchids, deliberately tickling his ear.

“Speak plainly. My young master has little tolerance for heavy perfumes.”

A shrill voice sounded behind them. A withered, wrinkled hand settled on the woman’s shoulder, applying a bit of pressure. She shuddered and quickly let go of the man’s arm. Though cold sweat broke out on her brow, she dared not reveal the slightest sign of pain.

“Since the Fourth Young Master dislikes such scents, I’ll keep my distance. But tell me—is it truly so hard to guess the identity of a young woman, a Stone-Splitting Realm expert, appearing here in Chang’an? If you can’t guess, and that person harms Mr. Fox later, don’t blame me for not warning you…”

“Stone-Splitting Realm? A young woman? Are you saying Night Rakshasa is—”

The sharp-voiced old man realized he’d said too much and quickly covered his mouth.

“Ha… ha ha… hahaha… What a masterful ploy! This is just the sort of thing your master would do…”

The man’s laughter grew colder and colder, as if the very air around him had plummeted in temperature, as though a monstrous demon, imprisoned within his body, might burst forth at any moment.

“Don’t misunderstand, Fourth Young Master. My master is kind-hearted, always eager to help. Someone here needed to accomplish something big, yet couldn’t even scrape together the funds for it. Out of pity, my master pointed out a clear path. After all, you are the wealthiest man in all Chang’an…”

Crack—

The rosewood armrest beneath his hand shattered instantly, evidence of the Fourth Young Master’s mounting fury.

“Well? Dear Fourth Young Master, do you still think one hundred thousand taels is too much to ask?”

The woman had regained her composure, convinced the man beside her would make the wisest choice…