My autobiography is definitely not a tragedy!
Chapter 397 - 268 Brother Save Me_3

Chapter 397: Chapter 268 Brother Save Me_3

The sharp fighting skills let Meng Lang realize that the "circle" Fan Shigang talked about was indeed essentially different from the so-called masters on Douyin.

"Too slow, your movements give away your weakness at a glance; is this how your master taught you?"

"You’re training your legs, yet your lower stance is still so weak!"

"All head and no backside; do you only know how to protect your head?"

"Bang! Bang bang! Bang bang bang!"

The powerful and heavy whip kicks continued to pelt like a storm against the arm, leg, and chest guards, occasionally accompanied by Yan Weiwei’s verbal taunts.

With his hands cradling his head, Fan Shigang, who had been turned into a human punching bag, was inwardly crying out in misery.

He had just been carelessly kicked in the unprotected arm, and he guessed it was probably bruised.

There were also several kicks aimed at his head; if he hadn’t been wearing a head guard, he reckoned he would’ve been concussed by now...

Brother Meng, wasn’t this supposed to be about giving you some respect?

Why do I feel like Master Yan is just beating me to death?!

Little did he know, he thought he had got himself a protective amulet, but what came was an aggravation...

But Fan Shigang was indeed a man, even if he was beaten to the point of not being able to lift his head, he still clenched his teeth without a whimper, occasionally struggling to strike back, dutifully playing the role of a punching...sparring partner.

After enduring nearly fifteen minutes, Fan Shigang finally couldn’t hold on any longer. He took a kick to the chest and fell backwards onto the platform with cries of pain, unable to get up for a long time.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Meng Lang quickly intervened to call a halt.

Hadn’t he seen Fan Shigang was already KO’d, yet Yan Weiwei, unrelenting, was about to dart forward to "whip the corpse"!

If he didn’t intervene now, Fan Shigang would probably really have to spend a few days in the hospital.

"Stop? Stop what!"

Yan Weiwei panted lightly, but her piercing gaze still glared over.

"Cough! Half-time break! Half-time break! Master Yan, if we continue we’ll have to call an ambulance! Let the man recover his health bar, okay?"

"Fine, Fan Shigang, go recover your health bar. When it’s full, come replace him."

"Uh..."

Under Yan Weiwei’s sharp gaze and Fan Shigang’s eager watch, Meng Lang could only force a dry laugh.

"I’m just an ordinary person, how could I withstand your kick, Master Yan."

"Hmph!" Yan Weiwei snorted, perhaps seeing that Fan Shigang was indeed beaten severely, or perhaps because she had already vented much of her anger.

"Rest for half an hour, and then we’ll continue!"

Leaving those words behind, she turned and headed towards the boxing gym’s main entrance.

Meng Lang gave Fan Shigang, who was sending him a grateful look, a gesture that said leave it to me, and quickly followed her.

Although he couldn’t take Fan Shigang’s place as a punching bag, delaying a bit more was still manageable.

Seeing Yan Weiwei exit, he thought she just wanted to step outside for some air. However, to his surprise, she soon turned into the archway of a nearby temple.

He looked up, puzzled... Baoen Temple?

"Err... What are you doing at the temple?"

To cleanse oneself of negative energy?

Yan Weiwei turned to look at him. "I’m going to get a divination stick!"

...

"Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!" "Clack!"

A bamboo stick fell from the container.

[The Sixty-First Divination Stick]

Yan Weiwei followed the Interpretation Diagram on the wall to find the explanation for the stick’s inscription.

[The bridge has broken, the path is blocked, boarding the boat and grasping the oar, only to encounter a storm.]

[An inauspicious divination stick]

Emm...

Meng Lang suddenly felt the air pressure drop sharply beside him, growing even more oppressive...

"Err... Not all temple divinations are accurate."

"This is the temple with the most accurate divinations around..."

Meng Lang: "..."

So you’ve looked into this as well?

So today you weren’t just seeking Buddha at the last minute, you were truly seeking guidance?

Exiting the main hall, Yan Weiwei, with an inexplicable aura of darkness surrounding her, sat down on the stone steps, silent and seemingly deep in thought.

Meng Lang sighed, sat down beside her, but didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

"I know, I’m aware that it’s very likely I won’t reach the peak."

"Hmm?"

Yan Weiwei hugged her knees, her eyes somewhat vacant as she looked at the scenery within the temple compound.

This Baoen Temple, located in Huqiu District of Su City, may not be as famous as the one in Jinling City, but it too was quite renowned.

However, the locals preferred its historical name, Beita Temple, hailed as "the premier ancient temple of the Wu region."

Bathed in the shade of green pines and cypresses, the place exuded an aura of deep historical significance...

"If I could easily reach the peak, why would that old man have agreed so readily?

There’s always someone better, there’s always a taller mountain, of course I’m aware of that..."

So you knew, huh?

Knowing it and you still insist on trying?

Rather than conceding, you choose to come back in a wheelchair...

"But I’m not content, truly I’m not! Even if the possibility is minuscule, I still want to try one last time..."

All of a sudden, Yan Weiwei turned to look at Meng Lang, staring at him. "Do you understand how I feel?"

"I do..."

"You understand nothing!"

Meng Lang: "..."

"How could someone as free-spirited and unrestricted as you possibly understand my feelings!"

Meng Lang replied with a touch of helplessness.

"What does it mean to be free-spirited? In this world, who is truly free?

Even these monks who eat vegetarian and chant for Buddha, searching for Nirvana, now they also have strict rules and regulations, don’t they?

And look at those people hustling about for daily necessities, how many are left with nothing but a numb shell, having lost the passion of their youth, and still being carried along slowly aging by society...

Is that what you call freedom?

Most people die at 25, they just don’t get buried until they’re 75.

Your situation, it’s merely among this majority."