The Beautiful Boss's Personal Bodyguard-Chapter 25 - You Are Special
25: Chapter 25 You Are Special
25 -25 You Are Special
“Crack!” A spine-chilling sound echoed distinctly in the quiet hall.
Following the source of the noise…
Zhang Zhen saw it, so did Huang Xing, and many others—they all witnessed Huang Xing’s wrist, which held half a bottle, brutally broken, the bone tipped with dripping blood, as the person who snapped the wrist twisted the hand left and right as if it were a toy.
“Ah!!!!” Wailing and howling like ghosts and wolves.
Two figures, ghostly as specters, materialized in front of Ye Tian, a flash of lethal white light streaked past, and Ye Tian withdrew his hand.
It was a Triangular bayonet.
“Hit him… hit…
kill him… him…” The words grew weaker and weaker until it seemed as though Huang Xing had no breath left, lying on top of Zhang Zhen, one hand supporting the arm with the broken wrist, gradually going limp.
Zhang Zhen quickly instructed two of his underlings to take him to the hospital.
“Isn’t this too much?” On either side of him, two massive figures solidly blocked Ye Tian’s path.
Black suits, black leather shoes, wearing black sunglasses; their strong, well-built frames and resolute, chiseled features exerted an immense pressure.
Military men, these were the two Special Forces soldiers.
“Wearing sunglasses at night, aren’t you afraid of bumping into a tree!” Ye Tian, not too short himself, standing nearly 1.8 meters, still had to look up slightly to speak to the two men.
“Walk with eyes on the road, speak with eyes on the person; young man, remember to show mercy next time you strike.” They lectured, quite clearly not taking this young show-off seriously.
“Get lost!
Don’t disgrace the uniform here!”
Both men were taken aback, their faces then darkened.
One of them turned sideways, his waist arched, unleashing a palm strike from below upwards, gathering all his strength into the hit.
It was a classic Shaolin combat technique.
Special Forces, being a combat branch, rarely engaged in hand-to-hand combat; with guns in hand, who would resort to fists.
Thus, in the military, especially among Special Forces, close-quarter combat techniques didn’t involve much fanfare but rather direct, enemy-subduing moves, many of which were refined from Shaolin’s Sanda techniques.
Ye Tian saw that the palm was heading straight for his neck—if it landed, his throat would be shattered, at the very least suffocation and death would be inevitable.
Ye Tian’s left hand moved like lightning to block mid-air, their forearms clashed.
How is this guy so strong?
The man in black was shocked, feeling a surge of numbness in his arm.
He was well aware of his own power; 300 morning push-ups and 150 pull-ups were just the appetizer for everyday Special Forces training.
It was because of this regiment that his arm muscles had developed so abnormally, allowing him to break thick wooden poles with his bare hands – a regular person would suffer comminuted fractures from his palm strike.
Yet this man seemed unaffected.
Not good!
As Ye Tian’s wrist turned, he firmly clamped down on the black-clad man’s wrist.
The man inwardly cried out, trying to withdraw in futility—it was already too late.
Ye Tian’s right hand transformed into a palm, drawing a crescent in mid-air, and as the palm knife descended, it aimed squarely at the elbow of the man in black.
“Crack!” The sound of a bone breaking.
Another bone-breaking sound!
There was no passionate shouting like earlier; the bar was extremely quiet, with everyone staring blankly at the arm that had been bent at a ninety-degree angle.
Apart from some tendons still barely attached, the entire elbow joint had been smashed to a pulp.
Ye Tian looked at the Special Forces soldier who bit down and didn’t cry out, a cold smile on his face.
“You really are ex-military, trying to play tough with me, eh?”
A chill breeze swept in, hitting him square in the face—it was the wind from a fist, thrown by another person.
This time, without using his hands, in a flash of lightning, Ye Tian dodged the man’s arm, twisted his waist, and with a fluid kick from his right leg, he met the iron fist with the sole of his foot—”Thud!” a muffled sound followed by “scuffling” Ye Tian retreated three steps, suddenly stomped his foot down, and with a Thousand Jin Fall, he stabilized his body.
The man in black didn’t retreat a step, but a trace of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth, and then he knelt on one knee, silently looking at the floor.
“Retreating a few steps isn’t shameful; why make it hard on yourself?”
Two Special Forces veterans who once single-handedly faced off against fourteen thugs in City East District were defeated by a mere security manager within ten minutes.
The canines were smashed.
“Come on, looking for trouble here, you got a death wish?”
Like grass on the top of a wall that falls at the slightest blow.
Suddenly, Wang Qiang took the lead, over twenty security guards armed with wooden sticks, chairs, and other implements charged forward.
In an instant, screams, the sound of shattering glass, shouts of fighting, and cheers from the second floor all mixed together into a lively chaos.
The DJ at the bar, as if afraid the tumult wasn’t wild enough, turned up the speakers with the most violent music, activating the most restless nerve cells deep within.
Under the ceaselessly flashing lights, it was the very image of Human World Hell.
Ye Tian stood at the back, taking a piece of tissue from a student girl in a white T-shirt and wiping his face.
The girl blinked her large eyes curiously at him, and Ye Tian suddenly felt she looked familiar but couldn’t quite place her.
He just said a simple “thanks,” wiped the red wine off his sleeve, lamenting that the suit, which had been purchased with money deducted from his own salary, would have its damage docked from his pay without refund.
The leaders had been knocked down, and the remaining small fry were naturally no challenge.
Only at the end, Zhang Zhen was nowhere to be seen.
Business must go on; brawls are the best spice to liven up the atmosphere.
Cleaning up the battlefield wasn’t Ye Tian’s job.
Looking at the mess around him, he rubbed his temples and walked out the door, knowing that he had settled this fight, but more troublesome matters were still to come.
Just as he walked out of the bar, a cool breeze blew in his face, Ye Tian sighed with relief, walked to the side of the street, and squatted down on the curb.
He fished a cigarette from his pocket, one he had picked up during his time at Waterfront; it had a gold band wrapped around the filter.
He put it in his mouth and searched his pockets for a lighter, but no matter how he searched, he couldn’t find it, probably lost during the fight.
Just as he was about to put the cigarette back in the box, there was a crisp sound, and a purple flame appeared before him.
It was that girl in the white T-shirt.
“Thanks,” said Ye Tian, leaning forward to light his cigarette, “What’s a student doing in a place like this?”
After lighting his cigarette, Ye Tian didn’t look at her again, just stared at his feet, occasionally flicking chunks of dirt from the ground into the sewer.
“You’re very special,” the pretty girl with big blinking eyes said after a while.
