"Hey, hold on a second!" Just as Xiang Ri was about to pass by the group of teenagers, a brash voice called out to him.
"Oh? What is it?" Xiang Ri asked impassively, his intuition telling him that this group might mean trouble.
"We just spent all our money on food, so we thought we'd borrow some from you," the brash voice continued.
"Uh... are you trying to rob me?" A peculiar expression flashed across Xiang Ri's face. Did these kids think he was an easy target just because his right hand was "useless"?
"That's right! Hand over the cash if you know what's good for you!" the voice demanded arrogantly.
Under the neon lights, Xiang Ri sized them up. They were all teenagers, no older than sixteen, with two boys at the front attempting to look more mature than their age. Yet their youthful faces betrayed them—they were far from seasoned troublemakers. They probably hadn't seen real bloodshed in their lives. An idea suddenly sparked in Xiang Ri's mind—why not play along and toy with them a little?
"And why should I hand it over?" he asked casually.
"Because I said so! This is a robbery—no explanation needed!" one of the boys at the front barked, trying to sound menacing.
"That's an interesting reason," Xiang Ri remarked lightly, then abruptly shifted his tone. "But what if I don't?"
"Then I'll beat you up!" the boy on the right declared, raising a fist.
"With just you?" Xiang Ri took a step forward, his expression one of deliberate disdain.
Startled by the movement, the boy instinctively stepped back. Realizing he had retreated in front of his peers, he quickly puffed out his chest, trying to save face. "Why not? I'm taller than you, and you're just a cripple! Besides, we've got numbers on our side."
Encouraged by his words, the rest of the group chimed in, emboldening him further.
"Not bad, not bad," Xiang Ri nodded slightly. "Using your strengths to exploit my weaknesses shows some thought. But have you considered what would happen if all of you still couldn't beat me?"
"Impossible!" the boy shouted, his voice rising in defiance. The others joined in with indignant jeers, clearly offended by Xiang Ri's condescending remark.
"Want to give it a try?" Xiang Ri asked, his earlier amusement waning as he glanced at the time. It was getting late—he decided it was time to teach them a lesson they wouldn't forget. Some people, injured or not, were simply not to be trifled with.
"Try me!" the boy on the right stammered, his voice trembling despite his bravado. What had started as a drunken whim to seek "excitement" now seemed to spiral out of control. Instead of handing over his money, their target appeared ready to fight. The boy felt a wave of unease but couldn't back down in front of everyone.
Xiang Ri chuckled softly, sensing the boy's fear. But he had no intention of truly harming them—just a little demonstration of power would suffice. With a measured movement, he kicked a nearby metal lamppost.
A sharp *clang* echoed through the air. The metal post dented inward by over an inch, leaving behind a distinct footprint.
The boy's face turned ashen in an instant. Was this even human? Behind him, the rest of the group fell silent, their earlier bravado evaporating.
Although the lamppost was hollow, they all knew it was still incredibly tough. Most people couldn't leave so much as a scratch on it, even with a hammer. Yet this man had kicked it with such force that it left a deep impression. If that kick landed on a person, the consequences would be unthinkable.
"Still want to try?" Xiang Ri asked, his smile calm yet terrifying in their eyes.
"N-no... we're sorry, sir," the boy stammered, his words stumbling over themselves as if he had suddenly developed a severe stutter. To the trembling group of teenagers, Xiang Ri's smiling face now seemed like the most fearsome visage in the world.
"Don't be so tense. I was just trying to scare you a little," Xiang Ri said with a gentle smile, his earlier display of dominance subsiding as he noticed their trembling bodies. He turned to leave, but before departing, his left hand "accidentally" brushed against the metal lamp post.
It was only after Xiang Ri had walked far away that the group of young boys and girls finally exhaled a collective sigh of relief. Almost in unison, they rushed toward the lamp post, eager to inspect the marks left by this mysterious martial arts master.
"It's solid... it's real!" exclaimed a boy who had remained silent until now, his tone laced with exaggerated astonishment.
"My god, how can someone be so freakishly strong?" another boy murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief.
"What do you know? That's not freakish—it's called being skilled!" snapped a girl with an evident crush on Xiang Ri. "Freakish? That term suits you boys more! Hmph, you're just jealous. And honestly, he's so handsome!"
"Handsome? What good is that if his hand's been crippled?" one boy retorted sourly, seizing the opportunity to belittle the absent martial artist.
"How do you know someone else did that to him? A master of his level couldn't possibly be harmed by others! I bet he injured his hand himself," the lovestruck girl countered.
"Oh, so you're saying he enjoys hurting himself? Does that mean he's a masochist?" the boy shot back, though his logic was quickly unraveling.
"So what if he is? At least that's better than being a sadist like you!" the girl retorted, distorting the argument even further.
"You..."
"I..."
"Stop arguing, all of you! Look at this!" A soft voice interrupted their bickering. It was a sweet-faced girl, her delicate finger pointing at a spot more than a meter high on the lamp post.
"That's..." A collective gasp rippled through the group, their mouths falling open in shock. If the earlier dent caused by a kick had been awe-inspiring, what they saw now was utterly terrifying.
At the spot where the sweet-faced girl pointed, a deep imprint of five fingers was embedded into the metal—covering nearly half the post. It was far deeper than the mark left by the kick.
Is he even human?
That was the singular thought echoing in all their minds.
Leaving such a deep mark with a foot was barely comprehensible, but the handprint—left so casually when he seemed to merely brush his fingers against the surface—plunged them into silent contemplation.
"It's getting late. I think we should head home, or our families might worry," the sweet-faced girl finally said, breaking the oppressive silence.
"Yeah, let's go home," the boy on the right quickly agreed, silently vowing never to propose such a "thrilling" robbery again.
"Then let's leave."
The group dispersed in moments, scattering into the night. Yet the sweet-faced girl, who had first suggested leaving, lingered. Her gaze remained fixed on the marks etched into the metal, her thoughts far away.
Could it really be him?
It had to be. There was no mistake. The plain black-framed glasses, the frail figure, the ridiculous bandages wrapped around his right hand—yes, it was definitely him.
But wasn't he just a slightly stingy home tutor with decent English skills? Since when had he become a martial arts master?
A home tutor? A martial arts master? No, he was a money-loving martial arts master!
Having affirmed her suspicions, the sweet-faced girl suddenly broke into a radiant smile.
Tomorrow. She couldn't wait for tomorrow to arrive!