Chapter 18: You Should Be Grateful for the Rule of Law

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Hua Shier held back Da Kang, then nodded toward the approaching group, saying, “Brothers, if you’ve got business, say it—this is a society governed by law, so no knives or guns!”

The four men stepping briskly toward them were clearly street toughs. Leading them was a bald, tattooed man who swung a metal baseball bat in his hand, sneering, “Kid, you make your living on these streets, yet you dare to mess with Lei Zi, who’s under Seventh Master’s protection? Seventh Master said if you don’t follow the code of the streets, today you lose a leg. If you resist, we’ll break all your limbs. Your choice!”

Seeing the hostile approach, both Lai Zi and Da Kang’s legs trembled; the latter no longer had the courage to charge with a knife.

Hua Shier strode up to the bald tattooed man, smiling. “Let’s talk this out. Maybe there’s some misunderstanding. Like I said, this is a society governed by law. If you commit assault with weapons, you’ll go to jail!”

As they closed the distance, the bald man swung his bat toward Hua Shier’s head with a fierce roar, “Misunderstanding my ass! I’ll show you what misunderstanding really is!”

“Brother Bei!”

Though frightened, Da Kang and Lai Zi shouted in alarm, trying to rush in to help—but in the next moment, they froze.

Hua Shier, facing the incoming bat blow, kept his smile, then with his left hand casually grabbed the bat as if the bald man had willingly handed it over. The ease of the movement was unbelievable.

Grasping the bat with both hands, Hua Shier swung it with a single hand.

Two loud thuds echoed as the bald man and another lay sprawled on the ground.

Originally just an ordinary youth with little fighting experience, Hua Shier now merged with Liu Beishan’s memories—years of street fighting that now felt as natural as eating and drinking. Instead of fear, a faint excitement stirred within him.

Two men were down. The two others behind the bald man, wielding cleavers, swung their blades furiously. Hua Shier struck the blades with his bat—clang, clang—and sent the cleavers flying.

At the collision, the men felt as if they’d struck an armored vehicle charging toward them; their grips slipped, and the palms of their hands cracked open.

Before they could cry out, one took a heavy blow and collapsed, screaming in pain.

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Hua Shier possessed the peak strength of the legendary “Oupang.” What strength could these street thugs possibly have compared to that? They were like children before a giant.

None of those struck could get back up; all groaned in agony on the ground.

Hua Shier swung the bat and turned toward the few remaining men surrounding them, still smiling faintly. Yet to the others, that smile was mocking.

The remaining men exchanged glances and snarled before rushing at him with their weapons.

At this moment, Hua Shier stepped beyond Da Kang and Lai Zi, placing them behind him, and swung his metal bat again.

Though he wielded Oupang’s peak strength, his fighting experience was average. The quick defeat of the first four was a surprise attack.

Now, facing multiple assailants at once, he found it somewhat challenging but focused on the knife-wielders first.

Those carrying steel pipes or iron rods posed less danger unless they struck his head.

After gaining Oupang’s strength, Hua Shier had tested himself. This “strength” was more than raw power—it included jumping ability and defense.

For example, O’Neal’s legs could support his nearly 300-pound frame to jump 91 centimeters. With Hua Shier weighing only 72 kilograms, his jumping ability was almost like light-footed agility.

He couldn’t soar across lily pads, but leaping two meters high was effortless. Those NBA players famed for their jumping—Potato, Little Potato—were mere amateurs before him now.

Aside from jumping, Hua Shier’s defense was astonishing.

Imagine a giant like O’Neal facing attacks from ordinary men—so long as the strikes missed vital areas, it was like a game. Punches and kicks were mere tickles.

Even with bats or rods, injuries were far lighter than for normal people. Hua Shier was no different.

Moreover, standing 1.8 meters tall with an ordinary build, to fully bear the peak shark’s strength, his bone and muscle density had increased, enhancing his defense further. He might even be tougher than Oupang himself.

Thus, in this chaotic brawl, Hua Shier’s bat targeted the cleaver wielders, either knocking them down or disarming them completely.

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As for those swinging steel rods or bats, he blocked when possible and dodged vital hits otherwise.

The fight lasted only a minute before all the attackers lay on the ground, groaning in pain, while Hua Shier suffered only a few blows to his shoulders and back—not a single cut from the cleavers.

Stretching, he felt only a mild burning sensation where he’d been struck—nothing serious.

Da Kang and Lai Zi stared in awe. They knew Brother Bei could fight, but never had they seen him so swift and decisive. One swing of the bat, and no one could stand—strike or fall. This wasn’t Liu Beishan; this was Sun Wukong.

As they gaped, Hua Shier crouched down before the bald tattooed man, smiling gently:

“Now, what do you have to say?”

The bald man, wounded with a broken arm and two cracked ribs, lay on the ground, cold sweat streaming, gritting his teeth and trembling:

“What... what do you want?”

Hua Shier wiped the bat clean on the bald man’s clothes, erasing his fingerprints, then tossed the bat aside with a clatter.

Smiling, he said, “The rule of law saved you; be grateful for the law!”

With that, he stood and beckoned to the stunned Da Kang and Lai Zi to leave.

Just as the three were about to exit the alley, the bald man shouted after them, “Seventh Master won’t let you off!”

Without turning, Hua Shier raised his right hand, flicked up his middle finger, and shook it.

After today, forget about Master Ma Seven—whether it’s Ma Eight, Nine, or even the dreaded Gouquan Kai Jian, none of them would stand a chance.