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"Which floor is Young Master Wen on?" Mu Fan continued to ask calmly.
"Th-Third floor, the high-class guest room." The person on the ground stammered.
"Which number?" Mu Fan slightly raised his head, squinting in the direction of the third floor.
"Number one, but he's not there right now, you'll have to ask the boss." The person on the ground had lost all temper, knowing too well that there are people even tougher than those who like to act tough.
"Thank you." Mu Fan withdrew his gaze, lowered his head, and politely replied, making the shaking person pause for a moment.
Then, turning his body, he walked at an unhurried pace toward the entrance of the floating stairs.
Next door, the regular student area was already stunned; to think the Martial Arts Hall had such a fierce individual. Though they didn't know exactly what was going on, it was clear that this kid was somehow connected to that trainer who was said to be beaten badly. It seemed he was ready to settle the score, and there was going to be a good show!
"So cool!" The female trainees who came to work out watched as Mu Fan turned and walked away decisively, their eyes wide with admiration, eagerly asking about this assertive trainer.
For enmity, seek revenge!
For kindness, repay!
Though having known each other for only two days, their friendship could last a lifetime.
Beneath this starry sky, Mu Fan respected neither authority nor wealth! Walking his own chosen path, doing what he wanted to do, this was the belief that had kept Mu Fan alive until now!
Visions of the meeting from two days ago flashed in Mu Fan's mind.
That large man in black smiled at him and said, "My name's Mankun, good luck to you"...
..."Come over after lunch, don't be late."
Language had a strange power. Sometimes emotions were hidden within and could only be detected upon closer inspection. Unfortunately, Mu Fan was unlucky—the harsh reality of the Martial Arts Hall now starkly laid before him—people were fickle.
I'll first seek answers. Rest assured, if there's truly a problem, I'll seek justice for you.
What others dare not manage, I'll manage!
Whom others dare not provoke, I'll provoke!
What venue you lost, I'll recover!
The dignity he took, I'll make him give it all back!!
An indescribable aura emanated from Mu Fan as he stepped into the floating stairs, closed the doors...
The blue light representing the fourth floor lit up.
...
Chanison's short figure sunk into a broad leather chair, tearing open a box of recently smuggled cigars—not as good as those relished by the city's elite, yet unseen by a hundred common folk.
Sniffing it deeply, he revealed a satisfied expression, picked up an exquisite cigar cutter, engraved with a half-naked lady, from the table before him, slipped his thumb and middle finger into it, and elegantly snipped it.
He lit it, took a long drag, and sat there in intoxicating pleasure.
"Tsk tsk, the leftovers from Young Master Wen are enough for me to indulge, truly good stuff. I wonder what good fortune occurred, for Young Master Wen to choose this place to relax recently. Could the military academy's recruitment be starting?" Blowing out a smoke ring, Chanison leaned back against his chair, grinning.
"Poor Mankun, you're an old hand at the Martial Arts Hall, but nonetheless, if Young Master Wen thinks you can fight, then you must be able to fight. Once you connect with Young Master Wen, nobody's indispensable."
"Sigh, yet I must figure out who to recruit next, picking two from those sly members will have to suffice for now."
Mankun scratched his chin with his pinky, pondered a bit, then continued talking to himself, "As for Mankun, just send him home, but who will step up next? Young Master Wen should leave me some people, otherwise I can't report back to the boss."
While Chanison was muttering to himself, a distinct knock echoed from the wooden door.
"Come in." Chanison didn't even move his head.
With a creak, the door opened and Mu Fan entered.
"Oh, it's the kid from two days ago. What's your... what's your name again? I remember Mankun brought you here, what's up?"
"My name is Mu Fan. I've come to ask about Mankun."
Chanison's expression turned cold, "What do you want to ask?"
"I want to go see him," Mu Fan said calmly.
Chanison's expression softened slightly, "Well, since he brought you here, it's only right to check on him. He's in the clinic at East District, number 117; you can go see him. Anything else? If not, you can leave."
Mu Fan nodded, "Yes, and I'd like to apply to be Young Master Wen's sparring partner."
Chanison's face immediately darkened, his head left the back of the chair, eyes fixed on Mu Fan, his tone full of warning, "Kid, this is the Martial Arts Hall, you're sparring partners; be prepared if you're doing this."
Mu Fan replied calmly, "I won't fight back; I'll just be a sparring partner."
The short-statured supervisor was still staring at Mu Fan, slowly speaking, "Young Master Wen is a VIP. You, I, neither of us can afford to provoke him. If you don't want this job, you can leave."
Mu Fan looked at him for a while, unafraid, and nodded: "Understood, I'll go see Mankun." Then, without waiting for Chanison to speak, he turned to leave.
Chanison's eyes were cold as he watched Mu Fan's back. As the door opened, Mu Fan slightly tilted his head, his voice calling back, "Mr. Chanison, if Young Master Wen still needs a sparring partner and there's no one suitable at the Martial Arts Hall, call me."
The wooden door closed softly.
Inside, Chanison's face, indecisive and looming in the smoke, found the cigar scent now somewhat irksome.
...
...
By noon, after leaving Chanison's office, Mu Fan went directly to the first floor.
It was mealtime; Mu Fan quietly walked to the cafeteria. Due to the scene at the training ground earlier, some spectators instinctively avoided him—this kid was practically a human fierce beast.
"Ten boxes." Seeing no one else stepping up for meals, Mu Fan went straight to the counter.
"Hold on tight." A tall stack of meal boxes was handed to Mu Fan's arms.
Sitting there, Mu Fan quickly emptied a box in just four bites, and soon the meal boxes lay flat in front of him.
Then, a strong arm braced on the table, appearing before Mu Fan.
Mu Fan looked up—Jeff.
Holding five boxes of nutritious meals, Jeff grinned at him.
"Kid, I heard about what happened earlier. It seems you went to see Mr. Chanison, but Chanison just notified me that I'm up this afternoon. So, you won't have the chance this afternoon."
Jeff's words weren't flattering, but Mu Fan could detect the meaning in Jeff's tone.
This water ran too deep for him to tread just yet.
A man with a tough exterior but a warm heart, Mu Fan noted in his mind.
"Hmm." Mu Fan didn't say much.
Jeff patted his shoulder, went to the back, and joined a group eating and chatting boisterously.
Mu Fan quickly finished his meal, wiped his mouth, and then left.
The bustling dining hall behind him was still full of lively voices, noise unceasing...
Without changing clothes, just with his back exposed, Mu Fan walked out of the Martial Arts Hall.
"East District, number 117," Mu Fan silently repeated the address in his mind, quickly found his way to the clinic.
"Hello, is there anything I can help you with?" A young girl in medical attire asked at the front desk.
"I'm here to see Mr. Mankun; he came here."
"Oh, please wait a moment, I'll check for you. Ah, found it—room 11. Turn right and it's the fifth ward down the hall."
Following the directions, Mu Fan went over, pushed open the door, and saw Mankun leaning against the bed.
"Mu Fan, the kid?" Seeing Mu Fan pushing the door open, Mankun was a bit surprised and then bitterly smiled, "So, even you've heard... sigh."
Mu Fan looked at the once jovial strong man now bearing a desolate face, a thick plaster cast on his left leg, lying on the bed with only a wry smile.
"I heard what they said, so I came to check on you." Mu Fan's bright eyes flickered with concern.
A warm feeling surged through Mankun's heart. Working at the Martial Arts Hall for three years, from the bottom up to an official employee, he had seen all sorts of people and never expected the one still coming to see him was this kid he had only known for two days.
"My leg's broken; I've already undergone initial treatment, just need to rest for a while and it'll be fine," Mankun said proactively before Mu Fan could ask further, forcing a smile and continuing, "The Martial Arts Hall will give me some compensation for my disability; being an old hand, it shouldn't be too little, hahahaha..."
Mu Fan directly interrupted him, "I've applied with Chanison to become Young Master Wen's sparring partner."
"Haha... what!! You go be a sparring partner, no way!!" Mankun's voice, laughing halfway, abruptly stopped, becoming agitated, his fingers involuntarily grabbing hold of Mu Fan's arm.
"Absolutely not! That's Young Master Wen—the compensation from the Martial Arts Hall is enough to last me a while, you shouldn't go, you can't provoke him!" Mankun couldn't believe this kid dared to say such a thing. The big man now had teary eyes—some people knew each other for ten years, yet couldn't match the connection with a passing acquaintance. No matter what, he couldn't harm him.
"Chanison refused, but I'm still going." Mu Fan spoke as though discussing something unrelated to himself.
"Young Master Wen is preparing for the military academy selection—he's the second councilman's only son on Loga Star!! Someone we can't afford to provoke!" Seeing Mu Fan's determined attitude, Mankun was even more agitated.
"I won't provoke him; I'm just going as a sparring partner. Jeff is up this afternoon, but I feel... Chanison will soon call on me," Mu Fan had a hunch earlier from Chanison's expression, he would be up sooner than later.
"You!... Young Master Wen has at least a level fifteen physique!! How will you fight!! Even Jeff will be in danger!" Mankun was anxious.
"It's alright, I'll protect myself," Mu Fan said reassuringly.
In desperation, Mankun quickly let out the words in one breath: "If Young Master Wen is satisfied, the Martial Arts Hall will be satisfied; if he's not, then both you and I will suffer! Trust me, don't go, he strikes too hard!" Mankun glanced at his broken leg, pain flickering in his eyes.
Mu Fan smiled, patted his shoulder, "Mr. Mankun, take care of your body. I believe Young Master Wen will be satisfied." His resolute eyes stared into Mankun's, "Please trust me as well. I'm leaving now—I still have sparring this afternoon."
Mu Fan pressed down on the rising Mankun with both hands, an unmistakable force emanating from his relatively lean body, pinning Mankun firmly to the bed. Without waiting for Mankun to speak, he waved and left the ward.
Mankun, this burly man, watched Mu Fan's departing figure, tears welling up in his eyes.
Once the door closed, Mu Fan's smile vanished.
Who was born more noble, who was naturally destined to suffer?
Unable to tackle even this, how could one venture forth...
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