Cao Bao lost in three minutes. Not two. He lasted longer than the boy had predicted — credit to his stubbornness. But Iron Gut Chen knocked him down four times and on the fourth, Cao Bao stayed.
Wen Dao watched every exchange. Iron Gut Chen was strong. Body Tempering Level Three meant his body was hardened through the inner stage — organs reinforced, blood flow accelerated. Hits that would wind a normal person barely made him flinch.
But Wen Dao had noticed things.
Iron Gut moved forward constantly. He didn't back up. Ever. It was a psychological habit as much as a physical one — he had won so many times by pressure alone that retreating felt wrong to him.
His right knee clicked when he pivoted. Not loud. But consistent.
And he telegraphed his big right-hand hit with a slight dip of the left shoulder first.
Wen Dao stepped into the ring.
Laughter from the small crowd. A child. A very thin child at that.
Iron Gut Chen stared at him. Then looked at the bet-taker. 'Is this a joke?'
'He paid his copper,' the bet-taker said.
Iron Gut shrugged and raised his fists.
Wen Dao raised nothing. He just stood loose, hands at his sides.
Chen charged immediately. He was not interested in warming up against a boy.
Wen Dao moved left. Just enough. Chen's big fist passed his right ear.
He hit Chen's right knee. Hard. With his right elbow — the forearms hardened by weeks of tempering. Not a finishing strike. Just a message to the knee.
Chen grunted. Turned fast. His eyes narrowed. This was not what he expected.
He swung again. Wen Dao ducked under it, moved inside, and hit Chen's ribs twice with both hands — short, fast, driving the impact in rather than against.
Chen stepped back. First time he had stepped back in twelve fights.
The crowd went quiet.
'You're strong for a kid,' Chen said. He was re-evaluating. Good. He was smart enough to re-evaluate.
He came again. More careful this time. He feinted with the left.
Wen Dao saw the left shoulder dip. He moved before the right hand came. Stepped outside, let it miss, drove his elbow into Chen's side as the arm extended.
Chen turned with it. Got his arms around Wen Dao's neck. Lifted.
Wen Dao's feet left the ground.
This was a problem.
He didn't panic. He grabbed Chen's right arm with both hands, twisted his own body hard, and used Chen's own grip as a lever — he couldn't break it, but he changed the angle enough that Chen's balance shifted.
Chen took one step back.
His right knee buckled — the old weakness responding to the pressure from Wen Dao's earlier strike.
Chen went to one knee.
He released Wen Dao immediately and surged back to his feet, but the count had started.
One. Two. Three.
Chen was up at four. But the ring was silent now. Completely silent.
Chen's eyes were hard. He would not hold back anymore.
He attacked full force. Three straight hits with full Body Tempering Level Three behind them.
Wen Dao blocked two on his forearms. The third caught him in the chest and sent him back three steps.
Pain exploded through his sternum. His vision blurred.
He did not fall.
Chen came for the finish. Wen Dao set his feet and hit back. Two hands, straight, all the force of Body Tempering Level One behind them. Against Chen's Level Three, his hits should not have mattered.
But the jade pendant at his chest flared warm. Just for an instant.
His fists landed. Chen blinked. Something in the impact was wrong — wrong for Chen, not Wen Dao. Like the force had carried something extra.
Chen stumbled. One step. Two.
He sat down hard on the ring floor.
Silence.
Then the count.
Ten.
The crowd erupted.
Wen Dao walked to the edge of the ring, accepted his silver coin, and went back to the inn.
His chest hurt badly. At least one rib was cracked.
But behind him, someone in the crowd was watching. Not celebrating. Not betting.
Just watching. With very calm, very interested eyes.