Lin Fan strolled into the clearing, hands in pockets. Wang Chong and his thugs leaned against rusted bleachers, wooden bats tapping impatiently.
"Brave of you to show up alone, loser." Wang Chong smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Tonight, you learn your place."
Unseen behind an oak, Xu Ling bit her lip. Why is he smiling?
Lin Fan's grin widened. "You think trash like you deserves Xu Ling? She'd rather date a landfill."
Wang Chong's face purpled. "Beat him till he crawls!"
The thugs charged. Time slowed—their swings became molasses. Lin Fan sidestepped, his foot snapping upward with surgical precision.
Crunch.
"MY BALLS!" The first attacker collapsed, voice ascending to soprano.
Lin Fan danced through the mob, each kick a homage to Chinese soccer's most infamous legacy. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. A symphony of groans erupted as crotches met destiny.
Wang Chong gaped at his writhing crew. "H-How…?"
"Your turn."
Lin Fan's foot blurred. Wang Chong folded like origami, hands cupping his future lineage.
"Y-You… My father's Wang Gang! He'll—"
Slap.
"Tell your dad," Lin Fan crouched, patting the whimpering bully's cheek, "even Li Gang couldn't save your family jewels now."
Xu Ling pressed a hand to her mouth, torn between horror and… Was that a giggle?
Aftermath
From the treeline, Ji Yemei applauded silently. Crude but effective. Perhaps this thrall has promise.