Chapter 952: Are You Brainless?

Director Li leaned over and said in a low voice, "Show some restraint, don't just knock them down with one punch the moment you start; if you do that, our upcoming negotiations won't be easy to conduct."

He Yuzhu grinned and said, "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

Before the words had even faded, Tyson lunged over, shaking his mortar-sized fist at He Yuzhu, his voice sounding like thunder: "I want to challenge you too!"

He Yuzhu glanced at him sideways, the corners of his mouth curling up even higher: "What are you all in such a rush for? If you two are in a hurry, come at me together; I'll take you both on."

Tyson exploded on the spot, a string of profanities popping out of his mouth: "Son of a bitch, you're too arrogant! Just wait, I'm going to beat you to death later!"

He Yuzhu wasn't annoyed, replying cheerfully: "Just don't bite my ear, everything else is fine."

These words were like a knife, stabbing straight into Tyson's lungs.

The veins on his neck bulged, and he wished he could jump onto the stage right then and there to fight He Yuzhu to the death.

Seeing that the tension was about to blow the roof off, Holyfield finally stepped onto the stage.

He stared at He Yuzhu with a sinister gaze and spoke without any courtesy: "You idiot, don't think you can reach the heavens just because you beat Mike. Let me tell you, he was the champion that year, sure, but I was injured at the time and didn't even participate! Today I'm going to make you lie on the ground unable to get up, I'll KO you directly, and make sure you never think about standing up again in this life!"

After listening, He Yuzhu was not annoyed at all; instead, he sneered and retorted slowly: "Why are you always acting like a sissy, hugging and holding onto people every time you compete? It makes me sick just watching."

One sentence, and it hit Holyfield's fatal weakness.

His face turned purple-red, and he swung his fists wildly, roaring: "I'm going to KO you! I'll make sure you never pee standing up again in this life!"

"I'm waiting for you!" He Yuzhu said bluntly.

As soon as the gong sounded, Holyfield indeed brought out his signature move—closing the distance, opening his arms to try and pull He Yuzhu into an embrace, and then unleashing his sticky Combination Punch.

But He Yuzhu didn't give him the slightest chance.

While he had said he would show restraint, his fists were not soft at all.

Every time Holyfield managed to get close, He Yuzhu's heavy punches would land precisely on his stomach.

An average boxer's punch has at most three hundred kilograms of force, but He Yuzhu's fists had a full six hundred kilograms of force, slamming into his shoulders and abdomen, shaking Holyfield's internal organs until they were churning.

Not to mention trying to clinch—He Yuzhu's speed was more than twice his, and with a light, fluid step, his figure would flash away.

Not only did Holyfield miss every time, but he also took a beating one after another.

The audience below the stage looked as if their eyeballs were about to pop out.

A veteran boxing champion who had been through a hundred battles couldn't gain any advantage against this Huaxia Kung Fu, but instead was led around in circles, not even touching the opponent with a single punch.

Even Tyson couldn't help but clench his fists, secretly rooting for Holyfield from below the stage.

As the first round was about to end, Holyfield's trade representative Jeffrey frowned deeper and deeper.

He could see that things were looking grim for Holyfield this time too.

After taking several punches in a row, Holyfield's body was clearly unable to take it anymore.

However, being an old hand, he gritted his teeth against the churning in his internal organs, preparing for one last effort.

He slowly approached He Yuzhu and suddenly unleashed a fierce Right Uppercut, aiming straight for He Yuzhu's jaw.

He Yuzhu tilted his body slightly, easily dodging it, and took the opportunity to land a heavy punch on his opponent's abdomen.

Holyfield staggered back several meters, and after steadying himself, his whole body felt weak, yet he still charged back with red eyes.

He led with a Left Jab, wanting to distract He Yuzhu's vision, followed immediately by a Right Uppercut and a Flat Hook.

He Yuzhu continued to dodge, not in a hurry to strike back.

He wasn't afraid; he was just biding his time to finish the round.

Holyfield threw two more heavy punches, but He Yuzhu's footwork was agile, dodging with ease.

Just as the bell rang, He Yuzhu suddenly lunged forward, a sharp Straight Punch landing squarely on Holyfield's nose bridge.

The opponent flew back two or three meters, hit the ropes, bounced back, and fell heavily to the ground.

At that moment, the bell rang, and the first round ended.

During the break, the coach rushed into the ring, half-dragging and half-supporting the dizzy Holyfield back to the corner, slapping his face with his palms and asking urgently: "Can you still fight? Can you hold on?"

Holyfield's head was spinning, his eyes fixed, and it took a long time for him to come to his senses.

Seeing this, the coach grabbed a bottle of mineral water and poured the whole thing over his head.

The icy water gave him a sudden jolt, and Holyfield finally opened his eyes, his voice as thin as a mosquito's hum: "Coach, I can't fight the next round... my internal organs feel like they've been shattered."

The coach's brow furrowed into a knot: "Is that man really that strong?"

Holyfield nodded with difficulty and whispered a warning: "He was holding back his strength the whole time. But do me a favor, Tyson is definitely going to get in the ring, don't tell him the truth, just say that although this He Gen's footwork is fast, his strength is average."

The coach rolled his eyes inwardly, cursing to himself that even though he was injured like this, he was still harboring evil intentions, trying to trick Tyson into getting beaten up. Outwardly, however, he agreed: "Fine, this time I'll help you get revenge for the ear-biting. So, are we forfeiting directly? Will Tyson get suspicious?"

Holyfield nodded forcefully: "That guy is suspicious by nature, I have to pretend I'm not seriously injured so he thinks he has a chance, otherwise he definitely won't dare to get on the stage. Just tell him I still have to fight that European Grand Prix..."

The coach nodded reluctantly. Tyson was indeed pacing nearby, pricking up his ears to catch any news.

After a short rest, the coach proposed a withdrawal to the referee on the spot, stating that there was an important European tournament next month and they didn't dare aggravate the injury, otherwise they would have to pay a huge penalty for breach of contract.

Two staff members supported Holyfield as he slowly left the stage.

Tyson stepped forward quickly, grabbed the coach Tom who was following behind, and asked in a low voice: "Why did he suddenly admit defeat? Is that guy really that powerful?"

Tom used the pre-arranged story to stall: "The European Grand Prix is imminent next month, and missing it due to a serious injury would mean paying a high penalty; we really can't afford that."

Tyson's gaze darkened: "That Huaxia man's speed on stage is indeed astonishing, but how is the power of his punches?"

Tom feigned a shake of his head: "His strength is actually average, it's just that his moves are tricky. Have you heard of the Huaxia 'acupoint striking'? Every one of his punches lands on Holyfield's acupoints; the force isn't great, but it hurts like hell. You going up now is perfect, after all, he's already fought two matches, his stamina should be about exhausted."

Tyson, a man who had no brains to begin with, was completely taken in by Tom's sweet-talking. He immediately patted his chest and shouted: "I'm going to win back the face I lost today! I'm going to beat this Huaxia man to the ground!"

This time, the little trap set by Holyfield had ensnared Tyson once again.

When it came to playing mind games, Tyson was truly like a three-year-old child in front of Holyfield.

On stage, the host held the microphone to interview He Yuzhu, his voice raised high, wishing the whole arena could hear: "Mr. He Gen, you have defeated two of our boxing champions in a row, how are you feeling right now?"

He Yuzhu smiled faintly and said very modestly: "It's not that I'm so powerful, it's just that your fighters haven't figured out my style yet. And I have been studying your fighting techniques."

The host nodded repeatedly, full of praise: "Mr. He is truly the number one martial artist of Huaxia, this breadth of mind is beyond words! You are right, compared to your Kung Fu, our boxing is indeed far behind in speed, especially your punching, it's just too fast."

He paused, turned his head, and shouted at the audience below: "Is there anyone else who wants to come on stage and spar with Mr. He? There are only ten minutes left on the countdown, who has the guts to come up and try?"

Before the words had even landed, Tyson's sturdy body crawled directly under the guardrail and into the ring, his fists flailing in the air as he howled, "Let me at him! I'm going to KO this Huaxia man!"

He Yuzhu glanced at him, the corners of his mouth curling up, his tone light and airy: "Mr. Tyson, as long as you don't bite my ear, I really don't mind if you land a couple of punches on me."

As soon as these words were out, Tyson's face flushed red to the roots of his neck, like a boiled shrimp, and he bellowed, "Son of a bitch! I'm going to KO you today for sure!"

Seeing that Tyson's eyes were practically spitting fire, He Yuzhu didn't hold back; instead, he poured more oil on the flames: "You're just a fool, getting sold out and still helping them count the money. I heard you go to Holyfield's coach to fish for information just now. That guy told you I don't have much strength, right? Let me tell you, those people are all setting you up. One punch from me, and I could smash your head into a rotten watermelon."

Tyson's fists cracked as he clenched them, his spit practically spraying onto He Yuzhu's face: "Bullshit! I'm not going to believe your ghost stories!"