Chapter 951: One-Punch KO of the Boxing Champion

The halftime whistle had just blown, and the young boxer Jimmy Carter exited the ring with a slight lead. There was a bruise on his forehead, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, and a cut on the corner of his eye; he looked quite disheveled.

On the other side, Butch Williams was panting heavily, his feet clearly feeling heavy, and his trainer quickly crowded around to loosen his muscles.

The cheers from the audience had not yet fully died down when the ring girls stepped to the rhythm and swarmed onto the boxing ring, their waists swaying, like a colorful whirlwind, bringing the atmosphere of the venue back up. However, this hot dance lasted only two minutes before they retreated in an orderly fashion, and the ring suddenly became quiet.

Immediately afterward, the host's deep, booming voice exploded throughout the arena—

"Ladies and gentlemen! Today, we have specially prepared a great show!"

He deliberately drew out the final syllable, his gaze sweeping across the stands.

"Let us welcome—former All-American professional boxing champion, Mr. Mike Wesley! He will challenge the Kung Fu master from Huaxia, Mr. He Jian! Mr. He Jian is a famous martial artist from Huaxia; this China-US Kung Fu showdown today is absolutely not to be missed! Now, let us invite both of them to the stage!"

He Yuzhu had already changed his clothes, and his boxing gloves were fastened neatly.

With a high somersault, he flipped onto the ring as lightly as a falling leaf.

This move was truly impressive, and the entire arena immediately erupted in thunderous applause.

He Yuzhu stood on the stage, his toned upper body immediately exposed—the muscle definition was not exaggerated, but every piece looked as if it had been carved by a knife; the curve of his shoulders and back, the angles of his waist and abdomen, were actually no less impressive than those of Mike, who was throwing fierce punches at the air opposite him.

When Mike saw He Yuzhu stealing the spotlight, he immediately lost his composure.

He bounced back and forth on the other side of the ring, spewing profanities, his posture suggesting he wanted to swallow He Yuzhu alive.

He Yuzhu knew perfectly well that this bastard was just trying to bolster his own courage, so he couldn't be bothered to pay him any mind.

He went about loosening up his body—shaking his neck, stretching his thighs—his movements unhurried, as if he were doing morning exercises in his own courtyard.

Mike squinted at him, sneered, and shouted toward this side: "Hey! Old man, you're really relaxed, are you doing radio calisthenics?"

Heh, despite Mike's rough appearance, he was actually quite knowledgeable about Huaxia, even knowing about radio calisthenics.

He Yuzhu replied indifferently: "It seems you are not entirely ignorant about our country. Then let me give you a piece of advice—arrogance brings disaster, just as a storm follows a sky gone wild."

Mike tilted his head, looking disdainful: "Bruce Lee also learned a lot of fighting techniques to become strong; he doesn't represent how great your martial arts are!"

After speaking, he leaned into He Yuzhu's ear and lowered his voice: "Mr. Jeffrey said to fake the fight, but I don't intend to fake it with you. Be careful that I don't smash your skull!"

He Yuzhu just smiled faintly, then continued to stretch his body, not responding at all.

Mike leaned in again, continuing to spout profanities: "Haha! Old thing, in a moment you'll know how vulnerable your flowery fists and embroidered legs really are!"

The referee stepped onto the ring, and the match entered the countdown.

Jeffrey had even assigned a trainer to He Yuzhu, a burly man weighing over two hundred pounds named Mark. This man looked fierce, but he spoke quite honestly.

He said to He Yuzhu in English: "Mr. He, I heard you practice Chinese Martial Arts, but Boxing has its own rules; let me explain them to you briefly... you cannot hit below the belt, and areas like the back of the head and the neck are also off-limits."

"I understand these. Since I agreed to the match, I will not break the rules." He Yuzhu nodded.

Mark lowered his voice and added: "Mr. He, since the higher-ups assigned me to be your temporary trainer, I must be responsible. That kid Mike fights very viciously; he loves to clinch the opponent and then throw rapid punches while you are unable to move. You must be extra careful; I see you are not young anymore, and his punching speed is faster than yours..."

Mark rambled on endlessly, and He Yuzhu smiled at him: "Mr. Mark, you are a good man. When I win, I will give you ten thousand US dollars."

When Mark heard this, he didn't take it to heart at all. To be honest, he didn't think He Yuzhu could win; as long as he didn't get KO'd, it would already be a blessing.

He Yuzhu saw through his thoughts and comforted him: "Coach Mark, don't worry, I will definitely win!"

"Good luck," Mark replied, his tone clearly lacking confidence.

The moment the words fell—

"Ding—"

The bell rang crisply, piercing the air, and the match officially began.

Like a tiger breaking free from an iron cage, Mike kicked off the ground, and his whole body lunged toward He Yuzhu like a cannonball—his right fist whistling through the air, a fierce hook aimed straight at the temple; the force and the angle made it clear he intended a one-hit KO.

If it were anyone else, they probably wouldn't even have had time to react.

But He Yuzhu was not flustered at all; he just lowered his head slightly and nimbly stepped back half a pace.

Mike's heavy punch slid past the tips of He Yuzhu's hair.

Before Mike could retract his fist to strike again, He Yuzhu moved—his right hand, fast as lightning, hammered out with a tremendous sound of breaking air.

Mike wanted to dodge, but He Yuzhu was too fast; there was simply no time.

With a muffled "Bang!", Mike fell straight onto the stage.

This was only the result of He Yuzhu holding back; he hadn't even used thirty percent of his strength.

If he had used his full power, half of Mike's face would have been blown off.

But even with this thirty percent, Mike couldn't take it.

He crashed heavily onto the ring floor, his eyes rolling back, and he fainted on the spot.

The referee crouched down, waved his palm in front of Mike's eyes, and then began the count:

"One! Two! Three! Four..."

The numbers popped out one after another, but Mike lay there motionless.

The referee frowned, took another careful look, finally stood up, grabbed He Yuzhu's right arm, and announced loudly:

"Mr. He Jian, winner!"

The entire arena exploded—exclamations, whistles, and the sound of chairs overturning blended together.

Down below, Jeffrey's face turned livid; he slammed his fist onto the armrest of the seat next to him, cursing: "Mike, you piece of trash! Shit!"

He spewed profanities like a machine gun, his face turning the color of a pig's liver.

The boxing champion Holyfield, who was watching the excitement nearby, couldn't sit still.

After all, he was a good friend of Mike's, and seeing Mike knocked down with a single punch, he felt that this was the Huaxia person using Kung Fu to humiliate their professional boxer.

He walked up to Jeffrey: "Sir, Mike hasn't fought a formal match in years; he's already ruined and lazy. I want to personally volunteer to spar with this Mr. He."

Jeffrey was already fuming and said irritably: "That is your business. I announce that anyone who wants to challenge Mr. He may do so."

The host understood Jeffrey's intent and immediately took over: "Huaxia martial arts are indeed profound; Mr. He is truly worthy of being the number one Kung Fu master of Huaxia! Anyone here who wishes to challenge him may come up to the stage to spar. However, we are only twenty minutes away from the main event, so if you miss this, you won't have another chance."

With this smoothing over, the awkward atmosphere of Mike being knocked out in seconds dissipated quite a bit. After all, He Yuzhu had already been touted as the "Number One of Huaxia."

At this moment, Holyfield had already changed into his competition gear and began his pre-match preparations.

Strictly speaking, for a professional boxer to rashly throw a punch without any preparation is indeed against the rules, and it would involve a whole heap of troublesome matters like insurance and scheduling.

But this current match already involved the issue of face for two nations, so he could not worry about all that anymore.

He Yuzhu had not expected this group of people to use a wheel-warfare strategy.

However, he was not afraid at all—with his strength and speed, wanting to beat him? Not a chance.

But in order to make the match look better, he pondered leaving Holyfield some face, at least letting him last through one round before knocking him down.