Chapter 94: Storms Gather, Masters Converge

They said three days, but after just one day.

Director Zhao replied to Song Mo:

"Mr. Song, I've already arranged everything for the Martial Arts Tournament."

"I'll have it settled by tomorrow at the latest."

"Mr. Song, you can convene the Martial Arts Tournament anytime."

Upon hearing this, Song Mo.

A faint smile appeared on his face.

He didn't care about Director Zhao's character, but the man's efficiency and speed truly pleased Song Mo immensely.

Song Mo encouraged him:

"Director Zhao, I owe you a favor for this."

"You've worked hard."

Others talk about drawing cakes, but Song Mo didn't even draw a cake—he merely offered a casual compliment, yet Director Zhao was so thrilled he nearly had an orgasm right there.

He felt deeply validated, convinced he had earned Song Mo's recognition.

He completely forgot that he was already a "senior" in his forties or fifties, while Song Mo was merely a twenty-year-old youth.

The inversion of status and position was almost magical.

After receiving Director Zhao's assurance, Song Mo immediately announced the start time of the Martial Arts Tournament on Twitter and Kuaishou.

It instantly sparked nationwide uproar.

"Martial Arts Tournament," "five million U. S. dollars prize," "kung fu."

When these three terms were combined,

they seemed to possess infinite allure.

Almost everyone who saw this news at first glance—or heard about it from others—became intensely interested in the Martial Arts Tournament.

Everyone wanted to know whether this so-called Martial Arts Tournament was mere spectacle or an authentic showdown of masters.

"I think it's probably fake; otherwise, why would a good Chinese person hold a Martial Arts Tournament abroad?"

"Oh, really? But it seems pretty serious to me."

"Bro, if you used another reason to bash it, I'd barely bother refuting you—but with this reason… uh, do you think it could even be held in Huaguo?"

"The guy upstairs is right; holding it abroad is more convenient and avoids too many restrictive regulations."

"By the way, weren't there lots of guys earlier saying they were going to fight? Why are they all silent now?"

"Haha, when they were just talking big, everyone claimed they were the greatest on earth—but now that someone's serious, they've all turned into turtles hiding their heads? The internet really is amusing."

"Had fun talking big? Now getting slapped in the face—how's that feel?"

The online debate was endless.

Song Mo watched it all, showing no surprise at the Martial Arts Tournament's explosive popularity.

Although he had invested money to promote it,

the main reason was simply that people were genuinely interested in such things.

Crowds gathering for spectacle isn't unique to Huaguo—it's a universal human trait.

Song Mo asked himself:

If he had seen this topic online, wouldn't he also have been tempted to click and learn more?

So its explosion in popularity was inevitable.

Song Mo also began preparing for the Martial Arts Tournament in three days.

What he relied on now was his Proficient-level Five Animal Exercises and his Proficient-level Combat.

He couldn't reach Master level in such a short time.

But that didn't matter.

The Internal Energy granted to Song Mo by the Five Animal Exercises alone was enough for him to defeat the vast majority of Martial Dao practitioners; even if he lost, he could always come back stronger and challenge them again later.

For now,

attention was what Song Mo wanted most.

Besides, Song Mo had recently taken three Da Huan Dan in a row; his body was completely saturated with overflowing "Qi," giving him a sense of boundless strength he could waste freely—it would be hard for him to lose.

…

The news spread.

Believers still formed the majority.

In a farmhouse at the foot of Changbai Mountain in the northeast,

a loud voice rang out.

"Wang Wu! Are you in?"

Wang Wu, who had been weeding in his backyard, stood up; his massive muscles strained the sweat-soaked fabric of his shirt.

His sun-darkened farmer's skin, combined with his towering, muscular frame, made him look like a black iron tower or a mighty black bear.

Wang Wu rose from the vegetable patch, wiped sweat from his forehead, and shouted back:

"Wang Jun! What do you want?"

His voice was deep and resonant, like a bronze bell struck, radiating immense power.

Wang Wu was a true countryman from his village and the surrounding ten-li and eight-villages.

But his ancestors had apparently run a security escort business.

Wang Wu's grandfather knew martial arts; as a child, Wang Wu trained with him for two years and had practiced ever since.

Villagers all said his grandfather had real kung fu, so the Wang Wu he trained was equally extraordinary.

Hearing such words, Wang Wu just smiled, not wanting to explain too much, and went on being his honest, dutiful farmer as always.

Today Wang Jun had rushed over to find him — he wondered what it could be about.

"Wang Wu, have you checked your phone?"

"Check my phone? I check the time and the weather forecast every day, sure."

"Not that! Kuaidou! Kuaidou Short Video — have you scrolled through it?"

Wang Wu frowned.

"Wang Jun, whatever it is you want to say, just spit it out."

Wang Jun's face was flushed with excitement.

"Wang Wu, you're going to make it big!"

"Go to the United States!"

"You're sure to rake in the cash!"

Wang Wu was completely baffled. The weather was too hot, and he didn't want to say much — he just gave Wang Jun a light shove aside.

"What nonsense. All day long with this flimflam stuff — might as well just get on with honest farming."

Wang Jun was his childhood buddy. From a young age he'd been a sly one — always scheming to slack off at school, and even after growing up he kept tinkering with get-rich-quick schemes.

"Farming?"

Wang Jun spat contemptuously on the ground!

"How much money can farming make you?"

"With your skills, you could be a bodyguard and never go hungry!"

"But if you just knuckle down and farm honestly, you'll have more hardship than you can stomach and more fields than you can ever finish!"

"There's a way to make a fortune right in front of you — do you want it or not?"

Wang Wu was used to this.

That Wang Jun was still the same as ever — had land at home but never farmed it properly, always tinkering with crooked schemes.

He waved a hand and was about to get on with his own business.

That had Wang Jun hopping mad and hollering.

"Wang Wu, you don't even want five million?"

"Your wife has no milk — you can't even afford formula for the kid, and he's been drinking my wife's milk!"

"You may not want money, but the people in your house sure need it!"

Wang Wu, who had been hanging his head, froze. He was silent for a long while.

A long moment passed.

A deep, resonant voice rang out.

"How much?"

"Five million! US dollars! That's thirty-five million in our money!"

Another long silence.

But Wang Jun could sense Wang Wu's heavy, ragged breathing.

Wang Wu said in a low voice:

"Is it real? Where?"

"Chinatown in the United States! The Martial Arts Tournament! As long as you prove your strength and earn a spot in the competition, your plane ticket to the United States will be reimbursed too!"

"Win, and the money is all yours!"

Delight spread across Wang Jun's face.

(End of this chapter)