C91

According to the records, East Asian sick men came from the 11th Olympic Games held in Berlin in 1936. China reported 30 events and sent more than 140 delegations. In all the contestants, except for the pole vaulting contestants who entered the semifinals, everyone else was eliminated in the preliminary heats, resulting in the complete annihilation of the entire army. As the Chinese delegation made its way back through Singapore, a foreign comic strip published in the local press satirized the Chinese: Under the Olympic flag, a group of long-haired, long-gowned, thin Chinese carried a large duck egg on a stretcher, entitled "East Asian Sick Man". Since then, "East Asian sick man" has become a contemptuous title for Chinese children, especially Japanese devils.

It surprised me and made me angry. The surprising thing was that even today, Japan still called China the 'sick husband of East Asia'. The Japanese were short and skinny, what qualifications did they have to insult the Chinese like that? The justice that angered me was that I did not have a good impression of the Japanese in the first place. This way, I would be even more determined to stand up straight against Song Xiachunyi!

From the very beginning, I continuously used the combined fist to attack Song Xiachunyi's head fiercely. In my mind, there was a trace of hatred towards the Japanese people mixed in, to be exact, I did not treat the competition with Song Xiachunyi as a competition, but a kind of blind rage. Maybe that thought was wrong, but under the situation at that time, I was unable to suppress my urge. My combined fist struck on Song Xiachunyi's head in an instant, and before he could attack, he didn't even have the ability to defend, he could only hold his head and endure. I heard a lot of words that were used in Chinese, such as "cripple Little Japan", but it was impossible for me to calm down at this moment. My blood was boiling, and I treated the audience's cheers as a type of super power, which caused me to continuously use my strength, and in an instant, beat Song Xiachunyi to a sorry state. I hugged my head and moaned.

Until the referee stopped, I could not bear to stop my fight with Song Xiachunyi.

To be precise, it was very enjoyable. Beating the Japanese made me feel more exhilarated than I had ever felt before. As for my own barbarity, I can only say that I am not a high monk, nor am I a cultivator. I also have feelings and hate. As a Chinese, especially a Chinese soldier, I cannot forget the crimes that the Japanese committed against China. Therefore, this Song Xiachunyi must bear all of my dissatisfaction and prejudices.

The arena was like a battlefield. The victor was the king, and the loser was the bandit. This was the law of the world from top to bottom.

Unless you're stronger than me, I'll cut you up and let you have a taste of being bullied …

At this moment, I felt that my idea was so simple, like a child who had just seen a movie about anti-Japanese.

Following that, Song Xiachunyi learnt his lesson and started to use his own qualities and techniques to avoid my violent serial fist, but due to the difference in strength, he was destined to be at a disadvantage.

In the second round, I even more so did not give Song Xiachunyi any chance to take back his disadvantage and continued to use the combined fist to attack his head. In just a few rounds, Song Xiachunyi had already been beaten senseless.

When I saw that his defeat had been decided, I was slightly relieved. Then I began to execute a series of three kicks, one on my knee, one on my belly, one on my chin.

Song Xiachunyi staggered and fell to the ground.

The judge ran over and gave him a few seconds. Three, two, just when he was going to count 'one', Song Xiachunyi supported himself with difficulty and gasped for breath as he stood up.

However, just as he was barely able to stand still, his legs suddenly felt sore and he staggered again.

He looked at me with a pitiful expression, as if he were begging for mercy, but also as if he were trying to gather his strength to fight me.

But how could he still have a chance?

He was now like a rooster that had caught a plague. He no longer had any arrogance, nor any scorn or arrogance.

He was like a blade of grass swaying in the wind.

Perhaps it was due to the spirit of the warrior, but Song Xiachunyi still had not given up, as if he wanted to continue the fight. He raised his fist and pointed it at me weakly, wanting to continue the fight.

To be precise, I was moved by his spirit. If it wasn't for his persistence in not admitting defeat, I think I would have continued to attack him ferociously. I wouldn't have even thought of crippling him.

However, right at this moment, a Japanese man wearing a karate robe suddenly pulled out a white towel and threw it towards the arena. Furthermore, he shouted in English that was not very fluent, "Stop, stop! We admit defeat! We admit defeat!"

This Japanese person looked a little older than Song Xiachunyi. He should be Panasonic's coach, or perhaps a colleague, or perhaps just a temporary supervisor for a young miss participating in the tournament.

The match ended because of this, but the media and audience began to question it.

After the exchange, a reporter interviewed the Japanese coach who threw a white towel and asked him why he threw the towel in the middle of the conversation. Was this not in line with the spirit of Japan's Seiji Taoist-? The Japanese coach lamented, "I can't lose a proud guard of His Majesty the Emperor because of a single match. That Chinese Security is too barbaric, he does not seem to be participating in a competition at all.

Naturally, I have an absolute advantage as I advance into the top eight.

The so-called American wrestling horn was not wrestling. The "angle" here included boxing, kicking, elbow, throwing, and almost all other unarmed fighting techniques. The stadium was allowed to extend to the stands or even to the lounge. Therefore, the wrestling angle should be a more primitive, random, explosive, stimulating free combat. The forms of wrestling and wrestling were also very different. For example, the most popular form of wrestling was the Hell's Iron Cage Competition, the Living Burial Competition, the Hard Core Competition, which could use lethal weapons, and the royal family's battle of 30 people. This was an impossible form of wrestling. The wrestling movement is known by many as the world's cruellest fighting competition. It was known for its cruelty and ruthlessness.

You Meng actually compared me to a wrestler, it can be seen that I was indeed a little cruel to Song Xiachunyi back then.

More accurately speaking, now that I have calmed down a bit, I am still shocked by my previous agitation.

I've never attacked a person like that before, let alone a fellow fighter.

I immediately waved my hand and smiled. "Don't! Don't worship me! I'm just a legend!" He used a popular fashion line and felt the awe-inspiring atmosphere in his heart.

You Meng pouted and scolded: "Little brat, look at how cocky you are."

I changed the topic and said, "After fighting so many rounds, my body feels a little sore. You Meng, after returning home, can you give me a massage?"

You Meng said angrily: "Zhao Long, you think of me as a massage lady, don't you?"

I replied, "Of course not." It's not your technique. Your little hands are very comfortable when they are placed on your body. "

You Meng laughed and asked shyly: "Really?"

I praised, "That's not true. "Your massage technique is both soft and gentle, and is much better than those professional masseurs."

You Meng laughed: "If you want to say it like that, I am willing to help. I'll help you flex your muscles when we get back. After fighting so many rounds, I must be tired. "

I smiled mischievously. "That's great." Hearing you say this, the tiredness in my body lessened a lot. "

After returning to the apartment, You Meng didn't go back on her words and followed me into the bedroom.

You Meng sat on the edge of the bed. Her delicate hands moved from her head to her feet, helping me relax my muscles and bones inch by inch.

I half closed my eyes and relaxed.

You Meng asked while she massaged me, "Are you comfortable?"

I happily replied, "Comfortable."

You Meng took my hand, and lightly pressed on it in the crook of her arm.

I enjoyed her soft, delicate hands, massaging my arms. Her technique was somewhat skilled, with moderate strength and proficient movements. After flapping her fingers a few times, the sound was clear and straightforward. As she was closer to me, the scent of her body pierced my nostrils. It was abnormally clear and pleasant. Opening her eyes, she saw a glossy and graceful figure. A gorgeous red dress with long sleeves and a 'fake qipao' collar tightly wrapped around her body. Her skin was lustrous and translucent, her chest bulged, and a plump and sleek beauty seemed like she was about to break out of her clothes. Beneath the short red skirt, a pair of snow-white beautiful legs gave people even more wild thoughts. With a pair of fashionable black leather shoes, it made You Meng's entire body filled with a fiery allure. My heart raced faster as I was struck by the beauty in front of me. The so-called immunity was long thrown out of the world by the stunning beauty of You Meng.