Chapter Three: Thugs Seek Trouble, Changfeng Displays His Edge

Dong Changfeng clenched the money pouch tightly, his gaze sweeping over the numerous stalls, each laden with a variety of goods.

His eyes finally rested on a stall selling spiritual herbs.

The vendor was a kindly-looking old man, smiling warmly as he greeted customers. His smile was like the winter sun, radiating a comforting warmth.

Just as Dong Changfeng was about to step forward to inquire about the prices, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of several furtive figures.

Alarm bells rang loudly in his mind, echoing like a great bell tolling within his head.

He spun around abruptly and saw a group of ragged, brutish men approaching him with ill intent.

These thugs, each one ugly and disheveled, wore faces smeared with dirt as if they hadn’t bathed for days, resembling potatoes freshly unearthed from the soil, now come to life.

The leader was especially fierce-looking, his thick, coarse beard reminiscent of the warrior Zhang Fei, nearly obscuring his nostrils. His beard was as stiff and sharp as steel needles.

On his arm was a tattoo of a snarling wolf baring its teeth. The ink had dulled under the sunlight, a clear sign he was no gentle soul.

The once bustling crowd around them scattered like mice at the sight of a cat, their footsteps and shouts mingling as they desperately avoided becoming entangled in the brewing trouble.

“Kid, you look new around here, huh?” The leader, Zhang Meng, growled in a deep, rumbling voice, his tone thick with provocation.

He sized Dong Changfeng up and down, his gaze slicing like a cold blade, sizing up a lamb destined for slaughter.

Dong Changfeng’s heart sank, a surge of fury rising within him like a blazing fire in his chest.

Suppressing his anger, he glared at Zhang Meng with icy eyes, silent but resolute.

“Heh, this kid’s got some nerve!” one of Zhang Meng’s lackeys sneered, his laughter sharp and mocking like the call of a night owl.

The others joined in, their laughter echoing through the air as if watching a spectacle.

“Kid, listen up. This territory is under my protection. If you want to buy anything here, you gotta pay protection fees!” Zhang Meng thumped his chest loudly, his arrogance filling the space with a thudding sound.

“Protection fees?” Dong Changfeng laughed bitterly, his anger turning to defiance. “I’d like to see how you plan to enforce that.”

“Oh? You got guts!” Zhang Meng sneered, suddenly waving his hand. “Brothers, teach this punk a lesson!”

The thugs lunged forward like starving wolves, their filthy hands—caked with mud and grime under their nails—reaching for Dong Changfeng’s money pouch.

Greed sparkled in their eyes, like ravenous wolves coveting a rare treasure hidden within the bag.

“Hand it over, kid, or you’ll pay with your skin!” one thug barked, spitting with a foul stench dangerously close to Dong Changfeng’s face.

But Dong Changfeng was no novice; raised among hunters, his agility was no boast.

He moved swiftly and deftly, evading their attacks like a slippery eel.

Darting left and right, leaping and dodging, he didn’t let a single one of those goons touch a hair on his head. Each time their hands neared, he felt the hot breath of their attacks brush past his skin.

The onlookers watched in stunned silence, fearful to intervene, sighing with a mixture of regret and apprehension.

In this world, it was better to avoid trouble than court it.

“Oops!” one thug slipped on a pile of rotten vegetable leaves, crashing heavily to the ground with a muffled thud.

“Crash!” another knocked over a fruit stand, sending apples, bananas, and pears tumbling across the dirt, provoking a sharp, piercing outburst of curses from the vendor.

Dong Changfeng’s eyes flickered with sudden inspiration.

He grabbed a round watermelon from a nearby stall, as if it were a rare weapon in his hands. He stared at the thugs’ ugly faces with disdain, thinking, “You think you can bully me?”

With a mighty shout, he hurled the watermelon like an ancient warrior casting a giant stone.

The watermelon exploded on impact, red juice spurting like molten lava, splattering across a thug’s face. The man staggered, dazed like a drunken clown.

“Whoa! This kid’s serious!” The thugs took a step back, their feet scrambling nervously.

Seizing the moment, Dong Changfeng snatched a handful of chili powder from the stall. His eyes gleamed mischievously as he flung the fine red dust into the air.

Caught unprepared, the thugs choked and coughed, their eyes streaming tears and mucus, some rolling on the ground in agony.

Their coughing fit reduced their fighting spirit by eighty percent.

The onlookers burst into laughter at the ridiculous scene, the sound spreading through the marketplace.

“Not bad, kid!” Zhang Meng’s face darkened as he stepped forward, each footstep heavy and intimidating. “Looks like it’s time to get serious.”

A terrifying grin spread across his uneven, beast-like teeth. “You’ve really pissed me off…”

With a furious roar, Zhang Meng charged like a raging bull.

His massive palm sliced through the air, whistling sharply as it aimed straight for Dong Changfeng’s face.

If it landed, Dong Changfeng might well be meeting the afterlife then and there.

The crowd shrank back, covering their eyes, unwilling to witness the impending bloodshed, their gasps filling the tense air.

Dong Changfeng dodged swiftly, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow.

The palm brushed past his ear, the wind it carried stinging his cheek like rough sandpaper.

His ear buzzed as if a hundred bees were swarming inside.

Zhang Meng, missing his strike, quickly shifted tactics, sweeping a leg low toward Dong Changfeng’s knees.

Caught off guard, Dong Changfeng was struck and fell hard to the ground with a heavy thud.

Pain shot through his backside like countless needles piercing his flesh.

“Kid, how long do you think you can keep dodging?” Zhang Meng sneered, closing in step by step, each one a countdown to death.

He raised his fist high, ready to deliver the final blow.

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