Chapter 97: Song Mojun, I Was Born to Be Conquered by You

In just over an hour, he had already cleared fifty challengers.

Almost all of them were taken down with a single kick.

Song Mo was very dissatisfied:

"After such strict selection, this is all you recruited?"

Bruce stood below the stage with a wry smile.

It wasn't that these people were too weak; it was that Song Mo was simply too strong.

Compared to before, Song Mo's strength had grown even greater.

His speed was faster, his moves fiercer.

Besides, Bruce had wanted to use these people as stepping stones to fully showcase Song Mo's power, but Song Mo simply couldn't be bothered with this lot.

He gritted his teeth secretly, and could only screen them more strictly, striving to send the strongest batch up onto the stage.

The martial arts tournament was being livestreamed in its entirety.

Every time, Song Mo sent people flying down with a single kick — it looked absolutely unbelievable!

It was like a pre-written script, and that script was so over-the-top, so absurd, it was practically insulting the audience's intelligence.

The original viewership of several hundred thousand quickly dropped by tens of thousands.

The comment section erupted into fierce arguments.

"LOL, all that fuss, making such a big scene, I really thought there was some incredible martial arts Master here~"

"Turns out it's another Master Baoguo, heh heh, is his kung fu called Taiji Hunyuan Xingyi Eight-Palms Strike too? Does he do Lightning Five-Whip too?"

"I think so too, it really looks too fake. Is the director an idiot? Can't they arrange even a single normal exchange? Every single one gets one-shot by the Iron-Faced Man."

"To be fair, the actor's acting is pretty good — that look of shock and fear, it's incredibly lifelike. If the plot weren't so exaggerated, I'd really have thought it was real!"

The comment section was drowned in doubt.

But there were supporters too.

"Are you guys idiots? You didn't understand a thing and you're already calling it a script? Let me ask you — where would you find so many burly guys willing to act along, and all of them award-winning actors? Their expressions look just like the real thing?"

"Heh heh, every one of you is a know-it-all. This is a livestream! Let me ask you — did you see the speed of the Iron-Faced Man's kicks? Could you see them clearly? You'd rather play blind than stop being haters, huh!"

"How could this possibly be staged! I recorded the livestream and slowed it down — you can see that every angle of the Iron-Faced Man's kicks is different! And some of the angles are extremely tricky! Could that be staged?"

"You don't know the comment section by now? Some people are the 'I could do it too' type, blowing themselves up to the sky, acting all badass, but in reality they're just smelly losers."

"Truth…"

Song Mo stood on the stage, not watching the livestream.

He had no idea the comment section was already in an uproar.

Even if he knew, he wouldn't pay it much attention.

In the face of doubt, when the outcome is still undecided, there's no need to get tangled in meaningless arguments — the final result will be the most powerful declaration.

Let the answer replace the argument!

……

But among those standing in the corners, in the shadows, silently observing Song Mo, there were very different reactions.

Some people watched in silence, a flicker of surprise flashing through their eyes, gave a slight bitter smile, and then gave up the idea of stepping onto the stage.

Some people's eyes grew increasingly cruel, like a predator that had encountered a challenging prey, the bloodthirsty genes in their bodies activated, in a state of excitement.

Some people stared at Song Mo without blinking, watching his every move, every exertion of strength, even recording it on their phones, preparing to study Song Mo's weaknesses intently.

The true experts were always watching.

The seven-day Martial Arts Tournament gave them a chance to dissect Song Mo's weaknesses, and gave them ample time to prepare.

Song Mo seemed to have anticipated this situation long ago.

But he didn't care.

Just like those hiding in the shadows to observe.

Those people treated themselves as trump cards.

And Song Mo, too, held a royal flush in his hand!

Silent as a stone,

Then stunning with a single cry!

The same went for the doubts online — the louder the doubts grew, the moment the answer surfaced!

The quieter, the more shocking, the more dead silent it would become!

……

The first day's tournament ended.

Song Mo had dealt with opponents who were strong for ordinary people, but weak for him — not a single one among them had even reached the Proficient realm of Combat.

Song Mo had taken down eighty ordinary challengers.

Then he stepped off the stage.

Today's tournament ended here.

Song Mo was still wearing a plain white training uniform, clean and fresh, not even a thin layer of sweat on him.

Faintly, a light cherry blossom fragrance could be smelled, mingled with a strange scent — like the kind female animals in the animal kingdom release to attract males.

A rare natural body fragrance.

Song Mo, who had reached the Beginner level of traditional Chinese medicine, drew a precise conclusion.

"Mr. Long (Song Mo's code name is 'Long'), pardon the intrusion. I am Dushima Yingxue, a devoted fan of yours."

Song Mo raised his eyes.

Before him stood a woman as exquisite as a doll — that cherry blossom scent and body fragrance were coming from her.

Yingxiang should be the incense pouch she wears on her person.

The natural scent comes from…

咳, anyway, different parts of the body have varying intensities—some strong, some faint.

Dushima Yingxue—what a fitting name.

Cherry blossoms are a soft pink, snow is pure white—both are elegant, natural colors, just like this woman's complexion, her refined aura, naturally exuding nobility.

But Song Mo instinctively disliked her.

It wasn't because he targeted Dushima Yingxue, but because he felt an uncomfortable sensation, as if he were being coveted.

Dushima Yingxue bowed deeply to Song Mo.

"Mr. Long, I've come all the way from Japan to watch your match—please do your best!"

"Many online people slander you, but they're all petty fools—I hope Mr. Long doesn't mind. I believe you'll defeat them all!"

"Mr. Long! Please give it your all!"

Dushima Yingxue was extremely polite, her voice soft and pleasant, her laughter and speech giving one the feeling of basking in spring breeze.

Song Mo unconsciously felt a flicker of fondness for her.

"Thank you, I'll do my best."

Seeing Dushima Yingxue extend her hand.

Song Mo lightly gripped it, then let go.

Dushima Yingxue truly seemed to be his fan—she merely came over, showed her face, shook his hand, left him with a slightly deeper impression, then turned away without a trace of hesitation, her steps graceful.

Song Mo found it odd, but didn't think much of it.

…

Unbeknownst to him, back at the hotel.

Dushima Yingxue immediately shed her disguise, inhaling deeply the scent of her own hand—still carrying Song Mo's sweat.

Song Mo appeared not to have sweated, but he had, slightly.

And this faint scent,

to Dushima Yingxue, seemed the most exquisite fragrance in the world.

Ordinary people would detect nothing—neither fragrant nor foul—but for Dushima Yingxue, with her unique physiology, it revealed a powerful male hormone scent.

An advanced, powerful scent.

She inhaled deeply, her face flushed, suddenly forgetting her father's strict discipline and her mother's demands on her poise.

Dushima Yingxue let out a twisted laugh.

"Hehe…"

"Yes, Mr. Song Mo, you are the one destined for me—I was born to be conquered by you, I am your little pony…"

If Song Mo saw this scene now,

even with his immense strength, he couldn't help but feel his hairs stand on end.

Not from fear, but from revulsion.

This woman was truly a little deranged.

And how did she know Song Mo's true identity?

(End of Chapter)