Chapter 71: A Moment of Madness

In truth, it was nothing more than a song request—except instead of a tune, the broadcast played an audio recording made by Xiao Cheng himself.

All the way, he tugged at his hair, kicked and punched, and when he finally knocked Qiu Hui to the ground, Qiu Hui saw clearly that his assailant was none other than Wen Xiao Cheng, who was supposed to be speaking in the broadcasting room.

"Boss Qiu, do you admit defeat?"

Qiu Hui squinted with one eye, refusing to answer. He lunged at Xiao Cheng, who sidestepped slightly and stuck out a foot. Qiu Hui, just struggling to his feet, toppled again.

From the classroom building to the back hill, dozens of people witnessed the scene—more still listened to the school-wide broadcast that announced a duel at the back hill. Some had already run ahead to inform Qiu Hui’s followers, while students, some who had just finished lunch and others who hadn’t even eaten, gathered to watch. They saw the once invincible Qiu Hui being beaten like a dog by Wen Xiao Cheng.

Chen Guo, upon hearing the news, was utterly confused:

What? Wen Xiao Cheng is at the back hill? Then who’s speaking in the room?

What? Hui is at the back hill—when did he leave?

Some clueless followers asked Chen Guo, "Guo, do you think Hui just wants to settle this himself? Maybe he wants a fair fight with Wen Xiao Cheng? After all, Hui values his reputation more than his life!"

The informant hesitated, "It doesn’t look like a fair fight; he’s just getting beaten up..."

"Fights go back and forth. Sometimes you’re on top, sometimes not. No need to worry—Hui won’t go down so easily!"

"Of course he won’t go down easily—he’s being beaten while tied to a pillar..."

"Damn!"

...

The sky, which had been clear just moments ago, was suddenly shrouded by a drifting cloud. Or rather, the cloud pressed down, casting the world into shadow. The oppressive heat hadn’t yet dissipated when a damp, chilly wind swept through. Chen Guo looked up at the sky; it felt suffocating.

The so-called back hill wasn’t a hill at all. It had started as a mound of leftover earth outside the school’s rear wall, accumulating over time until it towered higher than the five-story classroom building. Several years ago, a torrential rain washed the earth past the wall, as if the little hill had stepped one foot into the campus. One spring and autumn later, the hill was covered in wildflowers and grass; mischievous children had trodden a path, a few saplings had sprouted, and it became a favored playground. Eventually, it no longer felt like an outside hill stretching into the campus, but rather a campus hill reaching outward. Someone built a modest pavilion atop it—whose idea, no one knew—making the hill feel even more bound to Second High.

Strictly speaking, though, the back hill wasn’t part of the school grounds anymore. Once you stepped outside, the security guards didn’t bother. The absurdity was that fighting inside the school was strictly forbidden, but outside, it was no longer the school’s responsibility, and restrictions loosened. Thus, this modest, wild hill became the perfect place to settle disputes. At the base was the campus; atop the hill, it was a world of martial heroes.

To see those on the summit, you had to look up.

Raising their eyes, they saw the dark clouds, the solitary hilltop, a crude pavilion with a half-peeled red-painted pillar. Beside it stood a lone figure—if you had good eyesight, you’d recognize Qiu Hui. Wen Xiao Cheng sat on a stone bench in the pavilion, one leg propped up, gazing down coldly.

As the crowd ascended, the onlookers parted to form a path. Now they could see: Hui was wrapped in clear tape like a mummy, bound to the pillar, the tape crossing his mouth and distorting his face, unable to cry or laugh, his eyes rolling wildly.

"From today, I’m the boss of Second High. Anyone who disagrees, come up!"

The wind picked up, blowing grass and dust down people’s necks. Wen Xiao Cheng rose in the pavilion, his hair whipped about, a branch over a foot long in his hand resting on the stone bench, standing like a lone warrior.

"Damn! Brothers, charge!" Chen Guo’s command sent a dozen thugs rushing up the hill. The slope wasn’t steep, but attacking uphill was exhausting. Xiao Cheng waited at the summit, conserving his strength. As they neared, he kicked up a cloud of dust—standing above, with the wind at his back, the dozen attackers got a mouthful. In the blink of an eye, two or three who led the charge were already down, rolling back and knocking into those behind, like bowling pins. A few managed to stand again, but Xiao Cheng hadn’t moved, his posture unchanged.

"Who else?"

Chen Guo and the others scrambled up once more, wiser this time: many grabbed stones and branches as weapons. Stones whizzed past Xiao Cheng like rain, and the dozen seniors from third year rushed up, wild-eyed. Xiao Cheng used the same tactic: a kick of dust, those in front instinctively closed their eyes, and then, struck on their shins and knees, couldn’t stand and kept tumbling down. This time, a few managed to reach him, swinging their makeshift weapons and fists, but none so much as touched a hair on Xiao Cheng. Within three to five seconds, he kicked them down again from above.

After two rounds, the thugs were disheveled; a ten-to-one advantage wasted by a minor advantage in terrain—they simply couldn’t break through! Xiao Cheng’s strikes were precise, targeting nerves and fragile joints; the branch wasn’t thick enough to break bones, but hitting bone was agonizing. Several couldn’t stand.

Looking up at Wen Xiao Cheng’s grim visage, the hill, the pavilion, the lone figure—against a backdrop of dark clouds, the wind gathering before the storm—a flash of lightning made everyone shudder.

A loser bullied for two years, who never fought back, suddenly seemed changed. First, he struck Zhang Pei Yue before the teacher’s eyes, then called in outsiders, leaving Qiu Hui humiliated. And now, he dared to provoke Hui, the third-year boss, openly declaring war in the broadcast; today, he’d bound Qiu Hui to a pillar with tape—was he mad?

Everyone had heard that five years ago, his father, Wen Xin Wu, had gone mad once. The result: one dead, three injured.

Now, this boy with a murderer’s blood stood there, unreadable. Whether Xiao Cheng was mad or not, no one cared; but no one wanted to be the one to test him.

Xiao Cheng cast a contemptuous glance at the crowd, swung his branch and struck Qiu Hui’s stomach, "Why aren’t you coming up? Scared?"

No one moved. Only two rounds in, most of the dozen attackers were clutching arms or legs, groaning. The fight seemed like a movie, but their side, though numerous, was full of extras. A sense of helplessness crept into everyone’s heart.

"You lot, more than half of you are third-year seniors, right? Your boss is tied up here, and I’m alone—none of you dare come up?"

Still, no one dared. They knew: to go up was to be beaten.

"You guys, didn’t you all bully me with Qiu Hui? Zhang Pei Yue—did he come? I’m still Wen Xiao Cheng, the one anyone can step on—so what’s wrong with you? If you’re so cowardly, why not just study hard and aim for progress every day? Why play at being gangsters? Do you know how dark the real world is?"

He swung again, striking Qiu Hui’s leg. "I came to fight. If you won’t, I’ll just keep beating him!"

The branch whistled through the air, swung round and struck Qiu Hui. The onlookers trembled: Xiao Cheng was truly mad—he might beat Qiu Hui to death.

In fact, Qiu Hui wasn’t hurt much.

As the branch came down, Xiao Cheng subtly shifted his angle, letting the tip hit the pillar first, absorbing most of the force. It looked fierce, but even if injuries were assessed, it wouldn’t count as minor harm.

"A boss, tied to a pillar and beaten, while his followers just watch—tell me, what kind of boss are you?"

——————

It all looked thrilling, but it must be stressed: this novel does not advocate violence. Even Xiao Cheng’s seemingly brutal actions hide clever tricks—raised high, brought down lightly—frightening in appearance, but causing no real harm. Readers, please don’t imitate. In reality, you can’t fight ten people alone; when faced with bullying, the best course is to tell your parents and seek help.