Chapter Thirty-Six: A Hard-Fought Victory (Part One)

Sanders was still moving his limbs, stretching and flexing. In contrast, Zhao Li was much quieter on the other side, his eyes fixed on Sanders, carefully observing his movements. To be honest, when it came to unarmed combat, Zhao Li was already one of the best among the recruits in his group, but facing an instructor from the special forces, he was nothing.

Normally, Zhao Li would never have agreed to spar with Sanders. To put it bluntly, this was no friendly match—these men were exceedingly dangerous, and who knew if one of them might suddenly decide to kill? When it came to the techniques of killing with bare hands, Zhao Li and Sanders were worlds apart.

Agreeing to such terms was practically courting death, but Zhao Li had steeled his heart. There was still a fire burning in his chest, unwilling to be quenched—perhaps this was a good opportunity to let it rage freely.

For some reason, life and death seemed suddenly less important to Zhao Li. Rather than being a nobody, as the old warden had described, it was better to fight for a place here, to strive for his own standing. From Jiang Hao, he could tell that life inside wasn’t easy; he didn’t know how Jiang Hao had managed in the past, but Zhao Li was determined not to end up like him. These criminals were certainly dangerous, but Zhao Li was not afraid.

"Kid, I'm starting to like you," Sanders said. "But since you're so eager to die, I suppose I'll have to grant your wish." As a seasoned special forces instructor, his ability to adjust his state of mind was terrifying—none of the earlier frustration or embarrassment in front of his peers seemed to affect him. And by speaking this way, he made it clear he had no intention of holding back, issuing a silent threat: if Zhao Li was fearful, the psychological edge would already be lost.

"Enough talk. Let’s go!" Zhao Li was the first to leap forward, clenching his fists. This time, he had no baton to rely on, which made things much harder.

"Come on!" Sanders taunted, swinging his fists and slapping the thickest part of his cheek as a challenge. "Right here!" He dropped his guard entirely, swaggering up to Zhao Li, clearly provoking him.

Zhao Li didn’t hesitate. He tightened his fist and drove it into the exact spot Sanders had just been taunting him with. There was a loud thud, flesh meeting flesh, but Sanders seemed unfazed. His head tilted slightly, then slowly returned to normal. He smiled faintly at Zhao Li and shook his head.

That punch was nothing—Sanders’ nonchalance said it all. Zhao Li knew he was no match for Sanders’ brute strength, not even if there were two of him. But he refused to admit defeat. After the first punch, he immediately aimed another straight for Sanders’ stomach.

Again, a dull thud—but Sanders still showed no reaction, grinning mockingly, "Without your weapon, this is all you've got? Again!" He looked fierce, none of the earlier humiliation visible.

Unwilling to retreat before such arrogance, Zhao Li struck out with two more punches, left and right, to Sanders’ ribs. After four consecutive blows, Sanders hadn't moved his feet an inch. He stared coldly at Zhao Li. "Done? Now taste mine!"

Zhao Li tried to dodge, but Sanders’ fist was too fast—just as Zhao Li shifted, a punch landed right by his ear. He managed to protect his vital points, but Sanders’ blow still connected squarely with his face.

Like a tattered sack, Zhao Li spun through the air before crashing to the ground several steps away. His vision swam, and the ringing in his ears was worse than when he’d butted heads with Sanders earlier. Shaking his head a few times, he managed to clear the dizziness.

"Good!" Zhao Li shouted, strangely exhilarated by the blow—it gave him a reckless sense of release.

He yelled out and lunged at Sanders again, this time kicking as well as punching. Sanders was too strong for his fists to do much—maybe his legs could make a difference.

Two more heavy thuds—Sanders absorbed a solid kick to his stomach, then landed another punch on Zhao Li, sending him stumbling back a few more steps.

This time, the punch landed on his chest, even harder than the last. If not for the internal energy he’d honed through his basic martial arts training, which absorbed most of the force, Zhao Li might have passed out right then.

Breathing out twice to shake off the pain, Zhao Li charged again. Sanders seemed to have abandoned technique altogether—attack against attack, the two trading heavy blows. Zhao Li staggered back a couple of steps after two more thunderous impacts.

This was better—he wasn’t sent flying, just forced to retreat. Compared to before, that was an improvement.

"Exhilarating!" Zhao Li spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and shouted, rushing forward yet again with fists and feet.

Sanders was determined to win this contest outright, refusing to dodge or defend unless Zhao Li aimed for a vital spot, in which case he’d block. Otherwise, he met Zhao Li’s attacks head-on. Zhao Li, too, seemed to forget his techniques, slugging it out with Sanders like two enraged bulls.

Zhao Li was lighter and less powerful; after a dozen exchanges, he was sent flying again by Sanders’ ferocious punch. But like an indomitable fighter, Zhao Li would catch his breath and charge back every time.

No one knew how long this went on—by the end, there wasn’t an unbruised patch on Zhao Li’s face. His uniform hid the rest, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the state of his body.

Sanders didn’t look much better; the only reason he appeared more composed was that, being black, the bruises on his face weren’t as visible.

With another heavy crash, Zhao Li’s body hit the ground hard not far away. This time, he seemed unable to get up—he propped himself up for a moment, then collapsed again.

All around, whether hardened criminals or the guards watching from the shadows, everyone thought Zhao Li had reached his limit—he was unlikely to stand again. Sanders was infamous, after all; the fact that he hadn’t killed Zhao Li outright was already a testament to how much he’d come to respect Zhao Li for continually meeting his challenges.

On the ground, Zhao Li’s back heaved violently a few times, but then he planted his hands firmly on the floor and slowly pushed himself upright once more. He wiped the blood from his nose, took a few rapid breaths, and shouted, "Again!" Charging forward yet again.

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