Chapter 68: Airstrip?**
Wu Yifan had dealt with plenty of these hotheaded, rebellious young men and women before. He knew their type—overconfident, spoiled by a little family wealth, convinced they could trample everyone underfoot. It wasn't until they ran into someone truly capable that they realized how childish and absurd their arrogance was.
He felt nothing but disdain for them, though he supposed everyone had their own way of living. He couldn't force them to see life his way. So he just frowned slightly, saying nothing.
But the young girl—Bao'er—suddenly seemed to snap, as if hyped up on some stimulant. Her body twitched faintly as she spun around, darting back to her BMW. She emerged seconds later brandishing a wooden stick, easily two meters long, her face twisted with malice as she stalked toward Wu Yifan.
Her friends fanned out around Wu Yifan, cutting off any escape.
Watching these reckless, conscience-free kids, Wu Yifan silently mourned their wasted potential for a few seconds. Then he closed his eyes briefly—and when he opened them, they blazed with resolve. In one swift motion, he lashed out with a kick, aiming straight for the stick in Bao'er's hand.
Bao'er never saw it coming. She'd grown used to people cowering before her, stammering apologies at the slightest hint of her anger. Now, a searing pain shot through her right hand. "Ah!" she shrieked as the stick clattered to the ground, her face draining of color instantly.
It hurt—*badly*.
She'd never been hit in her life. Her parents had doted on her, her older brother had shielded her from every scrap. She was a hothouse flower, never weathered by wind or rain. How could she withstand a kick from someone like Wu Yifan? It felt like her wrist might snap clean off.
Her friends, enraged, began shouting: "This old bastard *dared* to fight back! Beat him to a pulp!"
They charged at Wu Yifan, fists flailing, looking like a pack of rabid dogs.
Wu Yifan had only one enhancement point left, and he wasn't about to waste it on these spoiled brats. He took a deep breath, his gaze turning sharp and predatory. His right hand moved like a snake, coiling around one boy's arm, then yanking hard. The kid lost his balance, stumbling forward to crash into another guy. Both yelped, clutching their noses, teetering on the edge of collapse.
Even a smooth-talker like Wu Yifan had his moments of raw strength. He wasn't just all words.
Now he moved like a hungry wolf among sheep, every gesture fierce and unyielding. His hands swung like sharp scythes—striking, grabbing, pushing. These rich kids, raised on luxury and laziness, stood no chance. In less than five minutes, they were all on the ground, groaning and howling in pain, clutching their injuries as if they'd been gutted like pigs.
Bao'er, who'd been so cocky moments ago, now stared at Wu Yifan, her face ashen, a mix of shock and terror in her eyes. Her wrist throbbed, but that pain was nothing compared to the dread coiling in her stomach.
*Who is this man?* she wondered. They'd thought themselves untouchable—"top-tier players" who no one dared cross. But to him, they were nothing but easy prey.
Wu Yifan crossed his arms, looking down at her with unmasked contempt. "Is that all you've got? I was expecting a real fight."
"You… you'll regret this!" Bao'er snarled, though her voice trembled. "I'll get you back for this!"
"Get me back? With what?" Wu Yifan scoffed, eyeing her up and down. "Don't try that seduction act—it won't work. I'm not into… *airstrips*." He paused, letting the insult land. "If you want revenge, bring more people. At least get some tough guys. This 'using your looks' routine is too low-rent."
The term "airstrip" hit Bao'er like a slap. It was a crude jab at her flat chest—an insult no teenage girl could stomach. Her face flushed scarlet, and she挥舞 her fists, screaming, "You take that back! *You're* the airstrip, you old pervert!"
"Why? It's true, isn't it?" Wu Yifan shrugged. "Arguing about it only makes you look more pathetic."
For a girl like her, raised to believe she was perfect, this was unforgivable. But deep down, she knew she couldn't outshout him. The more she lashed out, the more he'd mock her.
Wu Yifan, growing bored, turned to leave. "You kids should stop playing these stupid games. Go play Tetris or Bubble Bobble—they're way more your speed. Even MapleStory would be an upgrade from this nonsense."
His words hit like a truck. To these kids, street racing and wild parties were their version of "cool"—a way to prove they were above the "ordinary." Being compared to childish games felt like a slap in the face. Their expressions darkened, resentment boiling in their eyes.
Kids from wealthy families, much like Song Mingjie, admired strength above all. They'd grovel to someone who outmatched them, even calling them "boss." But to those they saw as beneath them, they were cruel, relishing the chance to humiliate. Right now, Wu Yifan's ease in defeating them made their blood boil—but they also knew they couldn't take him on alone. So they just stood there, glowering.
Ye Xiwen, watching from the car, hadn't expected Wu Yifan to resolve things so quickly. His methods were rough, but there was a strange sense of security in his competence.
*A real man*, she thought, *knows when to be tough*. A man who cowered from trouble, too afraid to act, could never be truly reliable.
She wanted to say something, to calm the tension, but before she could, Bao'er planted herself in front of the car, her voice fierce with determination: "I challenge you to a duel!"
Ye Xiwen nearly hit the gas, panic flashing across her face. She slammed on the brakes.
Wu Yifan pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and stared up at the clouds drifting across the sky, looking as casual as if he were discussing the weather. After a few minutes, he waved a lazy hand. "A duel? I'm too old for your childish games."
"You…!" The group erupted in fury.
To them, street racing was a lifestyle—a trend, a statement, something sacred. It gave them thrills, admiration from onlookers, a sense of invincibility. To have it dismissed as "childish" felt like a personal attack.
But Bao'er, teeth gritted, managed to rein in her anger. She had a new idea. "Fine. Then streetball. Three on three. If we lose, we'll avoid you like the plague. But if *you* lose… you kneel and beg for our forgiveness!" She spat the words, each one dripping with venom.
Ye Xiwen's face paled. "No, that's not—"
Wu Yifan nodded slowly. "I get it. You're worried we'll hurt your feelings. But when I played ball, you kids were still in diapers. Picking on someone younger? That's not my style."
Bao'er saw her opening. "Scared, old man? I thought you were tough. Turns out you're just a coward!" Her voice dripped with scorn. "Only cowards make excuses."
Wu Yifan sighed, smoke curling from his lips. "Fine. Tomorrow afternoon. We'll settle this once and for all."
"Good," Bao'er snapped. "And don't even think about running. I记住了 (jìzhùle, remember) your license plate."
Wu Yifan climbed into the car, leaving the fuming group behind. Ye Xiwen started the engine, casting him a sideways glance. "You really want to do this? They'll cheat. You know that, right?"
"Let 'em," Wu Yifan said, grinning. "It'll be fun to watch them cry when they lose anyway."
Ye Xiwen shook her head, but there was a faint smile on her face. For all his bluster, there was something reassuring about Wu Yifan's confidence.
Somewhere behind them, Bao'er and her friends were still shouting threats. But Wu Yifan just leaned back, humming a tune, already mentally planning how to outplay a bunch of overconfident teens.
Tomorrow would be entertaining, that much was certain.