Eileen had never watched a movie starring Jackie Chan or Jet Li, nor Donnie Yen, but on set, she had interacted with many martial arts choreographers from China. She had seen similar fighting sequences in major Hollywood blockbusters—this set of movements was clean, decisive, and executed in one breath, as if the two were rehearsing together, identical to what appeared on screen. The difference, however, was that the scenes in the movies were fake, while everything before her now was terrifyingly real.

Bang! This punch immediately painted a messy dye-shop on Cole’s face. The sheer impact and compression caused his nasal tissues to instantly blanch for a second or two, then rapidly, bright scarlet blood erupted from the ruptured vessels, flowing so fast it streamed over his lips and dripped down his chin onto the grayish-blue deck plating.

Wang Zhuo's elbow strike and punch, while not overwhelmingly powerful, were certainly not weak either. Having been needled and provoked for a long time by Cole and his American cohort, alongside those opportunistic Indians who shifted allegiance so easily, Wang Zhuo had been nursing a deep-seated anger. After practicing temperance for so long, he finally broke tradition today, drawing first blood on his opponent’s face with his opening move.

Cole staggered backward instantly after taking the punch. His companions paused for a beat; one rushed to help him up, while the other two rolled up their sleeves and charged toward Wang Zhuo.

The Americans’ moniker of "World Police" was not earned for nothing—they bullied people wherever they went. Now, to be struck by a single punch from an arrogant young Chinese man that resulted in a nosebleed? How could they possibly tolerate that rage?

"They're fighting!" Major Heidegger paled, rushing forward desperately to pull them apart. Two other British officers nearby quickly formed a human barrier. Although this retired aircraft carrier, the HMS Royal Princess, was about to be decommissioned for civilian use, allowing two groups of foreign guests to brawl and draw blood on Ministry of Defence property was an enormous incident, no matter how you looked at it!

The distance between Wang Zhuo and Cole’s group was immediately enforced, keeping them far apart. As for the group of Indian brothers, they had shrewdly retreated several steps the moment Cole first shoved Wang Zhuo; those chaps were clever enough to join in the cheering but vanished the second real action began.

What happens when a fight breaks out, but neither side can reach the other? Once separated by the British officers and realizing physical confrontation was impossible, both sides immediately devolved into a shouting match!

The English words nfb and i were no longer sufficient to contain the fury of Cole’s friends directed at Wang Zhuo. Swear words like F** you* took center stage, interspersed with countless vulgar slang terms that, even for the British officers, were probably not entirely comprehensible, let alone Wang Zhuo.

Li Mingxu and the others finally snapped back to reality and immediately retorted in Chinese. All that talk about China being a "Land of Propriety" was utter nonsense; in a situation like this, only a verbal counter-attack could prevent a complete loss of morale!

When vicious phrases like “Co n m*” and “Nn m g* sn jo ni ha b*” were spat out by Li Mingxu, a university Chinese lecturer, the deck devolved into complete chaos. Order was only restored when Lieutenant Colonel Monning rushed over with six or seven enlisted men.

When Heidegger reported the situation, this superior officer rubbed his temples. It was merely a dispute arising from youthful pride. Moreover, this was military property; such an incident couldn't be taken to a civil court, yet a military tribunal wouldn't bother with such trivialities either. Besides, both parties were esteemed guests—how could the Navy possibly take up a lawsuit just because they exchanged some harsh words and threw a couple of punches on board?

The history of the British Empire was long, and similar incidents had certainly occurred, but nothing this absurd had happened in recent memory. Not only had Monning never encountered this, but neither had his superior officer, nor his superior officer!

Americans were notoriously litigious, and right now, one of Cole’s friends, named Stephen, was loudly demanding to sue Wang Zhuo. Monning knew perfectly well that if he didn't resolve the conflict on the ship, he would face a severe dressing-down from his superiors later.

“Mr. Wang Zhuo, how about this arrangement: I will immediately arrange for you and your friends to disembark. Later today, or perhaps tomorrow, I can arrange for you to return and tour the Royal Princess. What do you say?”

Monning tried his utmost to sound humble and calm when delivering this proposal, but Wang Zhuo showed no inclination to concede. He gave a slight, cool smile and replied, "Why should I leave? You should tell those Americans who initiated the provocation to get lost first."

"Uh..." Monning was momentarily speechless. I’m offering you an out; why won't you take it? Did he expect Monning to go tell the Americans that? They wouldn't listen to that for a second!

Just as he was about to persuade him further, Wang Zhuo casually rolled his eyes and said, half-smiling, "Lieutenant Colonel Monning, do you think I am easier to deal with than those Americans, or are you just choosing the path of least resistance, squeezing the soft persimmon?"

Damn it, rich people are truly spoiled brats! Monning cursed Wang Zhuo’s entire family silently but struggled to find the right words.

"Look, I'm actually a very reasonable person," Wang Zhuo stated calmly, pointing toward the other side, "but those Americans are simply too arrogant. Anyone would lose their temper. See that fellow over there? He wanted to duel me, saying he’d knock all my teeth out. Do you believe him?"

Monning glanced ruefully toward the other side, where an American named Cooch was indeed shouting. While Wang Zhuo seemed clearly outmatched in terms of sheer bulk, Monning wasn't entirely certain what the outcome of a real confrontation would be. He distinctly remembered hearing a chorus of "ngfu" exclamations when Cole was struck—meaning "Chinese Kung Fu"—suggesting Wang Zhuo possessed genuine skill.

"Are there still duels in Britain?" Wang Zhuo suddenly asked with curiosity.

Monning was surprised. "You aren't thinking of dueling him, are you?"

Wang Zhuo nodded with utmost seriousness. "He is currently insulting my grandmother, and I hold my grandmother in high regard."

"...I respect my grandmother too," Monning muttered nonsensically for a moment before immediately waving his hand. "I absolutely will not permit you to duel here."

"What about a gentleman's sport?" Wang Zhuo pondered for a moment, then smiled elegantly. "We could engage in a round of ordinary wrestling, or perhaps an arm-wrestling match. If you agree, I imagine the loser will promptly leave the ship, saving you further trouble."

Monning blinked, suddenly intrigued. This was genuinely an excellent suggestion. Especially coming from Wang Zhuo, the Americans would have no reasonable grounds to refuse. This would not only resolve the current mess but also provide a satisfactory answer to his superiors!

"Aye."

At that moment, Eileen Top approached, shaking her head with amusement, and greeted Wang Zhuo. "Are you going to duel that American?"

Wang Zhuo pouted slightly and smiled. "Yes, a pity there's no beautiful maiden’s heart to win upon victory."

Seeing him mimic her little gesture again, Eileen pouted back with a smile and turned to Monning. "I think this gentleman's proposal is excellent. What do you think, Colonel?"

Monning blinked, looking toward MacTavish standing next to Eileen.

"When I was young, it was right here on this deck that I won my Lieutenant rank through wrestling," the old man said with a leisurely expression.

Monning shrugged. This counted as accepting Wang Zhuo’s proposal. In China, such a matter would be a complete joke, something that could never happen, but in Britain—a nation where nobles and knights frequently resorted to duels—it was an easy agreement to reach.

He walked over and conveyed the terms to Cooch, causing an uproar among the onlookers. This development thrilled Liu Jieming, who had been watching nervously from the sidelines. If Wang Zhuo lost to the American, he would have to board the plane and leave London immediately, never to see him again for the rest of his life!

"Wrestling, Judo, Sanda, Boxing! You pick! Whoever touches their backside to the deck loses!"

Approaching Wang Zhuo, Cooch slapped his thick chest, his chin jutting almost toward the sky, even more arrogant than an E-League champion. Despite Wang Zhuo having just beaten Cole, Cooch was convinced that was merely a sneak attack combined with clever technique. If it came down to a real fight, he believed he could take on three Wang Zhuos by himself!

"Since you are so confident, let's add a wager," Wang Zhuo stated lightly, pointing toward the far end of the flight deck runway. "Free fighting. The loser has to jump off here themselves. Do you dare?"

Monning was about to step in and stop such a dangerous bet, but MacTavish chuckled and gave an appreciative thumbs-up, swallowing Monning’s protest.

"Deal!" Cooch agreed without hesitation. "Let everyone witness this. Anyone who backs out is a gutless coward!"

Wang Zhuo made a gesture and started walking toward the fighter jet runway on the deck.

The two men soon took their positions, adopting ready stances. This sort of spectacle was once extremely common among the British aristocracy, occurring nearly every two or three large gatherings. Such contests were also not uncommon in the military; the Chinese favored refined competitions like chess, whereas European and American nations preferred physical confrontation.

Cooch looked at his own fists and arms, thick as cooking pots, and then at Wang Zhuo’s 'slender' frame, smiling arrogantly as if victory was already secured.

Bare-knuckle boxing is entirely different from fighting with gloves. The defender is extremely passive. Firstly, the area covered by the fists is insufficient to block all vital points on the head, and secondly, when taking a blow, the solid impact of the hard fist lands directly, without the cushioning layer provided by a boxing glove.

Cooch understood these mechanics very well. In his view, while Wang Zhuo’s physique might be considered relatively strong among Chinese men, it was like a chick compared to his own one hundred kilograms. A single solid hit would utterly knock him down!

Wang Zhuo separated his feet into a staggered stance, casually beckoning Cooch forward, displaying the nonchalant bearing of a true martial arts master.

"Does he really think he's some kind of martial arts master?" The lady beside Liu Jieming let out a small laugh. "Listen, Little Liu, this is clearly just some kid who hasn't even grown hair yet, and he's showing off so much. Why are you afraid of him?"

Liu Jieming looked embarrassed and replied with a wry smile, "Auntie, please don't treat him like a child. When he gets angry, he doesn't care about anyone’s status."

"Oh, look at the way you talk," the woman glanced at Liu Jieming and huffed, "Now I get it. You think I, and Brother Jing who helped arrange this for you, aren't qualified enough to mediate, is that it?"

Liu Jieming thought to himself that they might indeed not be qualified, but of course, he couldn't say that out loud. He immediately plastered on a smile and replied, "Auntie, you misunderstood. You don't know his terrible temper. I've heard a lot about it, which is why I'm truly afraid of him."

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