pertwk Chapter 97 Arrival at the East China Sea, Registration Turmoil
Chapter 97 Arrival at the East China Sea, Registration Turmoil
The high-speed train sped along, and a few hours later, it arrived at the international metropolis of Donghai City.
Stepping out of the station and looking at the towering buildings, the endless stream of vehicles and people, Ma Cong once again felt that sense of disconnect from modern civilization.
This time, however, he was able to control his mind well and was no longer disturbed by too much external information.
He flagged down a taxi.
"Master, go to the 'East China Sea Summit' Sports Center," Ma Cong gave an address.
That's where Titans will hold their "final battle" three days from now.
"Hey, young man, are you going to watch that Titans match too?" The driver, a friendly local, glanced at Ma Cong in the rearview mirror and asked with a smile.
"I'm not going to watch, I'm going to participate," Ma Cong said calmly.
"What?" The driver's hand trembled, and he almost lost his grip on the steering wheel. "Young man, you...you're not kidding, are you? With your small frame, going to participate? Isn't that just asking for a beating?"
The driver's tone wasn't mocking, but rather filled with worry and disbelief.
In his opinion, although Ma Cong looked quite energetic, compared to the muscular Titan on TV, he was like a chick compared to an eagle.
"I'm not joking," Ma Cong said calmly.
"Oh dear, young man, please don't do anything rash!" The driver was anxious and began to earnestly persuade him.
"I know you young people are hot-blooded and can't stand that foreigner's arrogance. But that guy is really good at fighting! He's beaten over a dozen masters off the stage. If you go up there, aren't you just offering yourself up as a free kill? Take my advice, let's just be spectators, curse him a few times from the audience to vent our anger, and that's enough. There's no need to get yourself killed!"
Ma Cong felt a little helpless but also a little warm as he listened to the driver's advice.
He could tell that the other person was genuinely worried about him.
"Uncle, don't worry, I know what I'm doing." Ma Cong smiled and didn't explain further.
He knew that no matter what he said now, the other party wouldn't believe him.
Seeing that Ma Cong wouldn't listen to reason, the driver could only sigh repeatedly, muttering, "Young people these days really don't know their place," and said no more.
Soon, the car arrived at the "Donghai Summit" Sports Center.
This is a huge venue with a very modern design, large enough to accommodate tens of thousands of spectators.
At this moment, a large number of people have already gathered outside the venue.
There were media reporters carrying long lenses and microphones, fans holding various signs, and many others who came to watch the spectacle.
On the huge electronic screen, highlights of Titan's previous knockouts of those "masters" were playing on a loop, along with his arrogant and conceited face.
"Titan! Titan! Invincible!"
A group of young people who looked like college students were gathered together, excitedly shouting slogans.
Ma Cong got out of the car and frowned slightly as he looked at the lively, even somewhat frenzied, scene before him.
He never expected that a foreigner, a guy who tries to gain attention by humiliating traditional Chinese martial arts, could have so many followers here.
This is a kind of sadness.
Ignoring the enthusiastic fans, Ma Cong walked straight to a registration point on the side of the sports center.
There, two staff members were sitting behind a table, yawning boredly.
Very few people signed up.
Indeed, after Titan's previous rounds of "massacre," those who still dare to sign up now are either out of their minds or trying to create hype.
"Hello, I'd like to register," Ma Cong said as he walked to the table.
The two staff members raised their eyelids and gave him a lazy glance.
One of the blond-haired youths smirked and said with a hint of mockery, "Another one coming to die? Dude, are you desperate for fame?"
The other person, who wore glasses, handed over a form in a formulaic manner.
"Fill out the form. Name, age, school of martial arts, and proof of your traditional martial arts identity, copies are acceptable."
Ma Cong picked up a pen and quickly filled out the form.
Name: Ma Cong.
Age: 19.
Lineage of teachers: Bajiquan and Xingyiquan.
As he filled in this part, the blond-haired youth sneered.
"Oh, Bajiquan, Xingyiquan, quite a few schools of martial arts. What, do you think mentioning a few more names will give you an extra second of resistance?"
Ma Cong ignored his sarcasm and handed over the completed form.
"Where's your identification?" the man with glasses asked.
"My master is called Old Man Chen, and he is my proof," Ma Cong said.
"Old Chen?" The blond-haired man and the bespectacled man exchanged a glance, both seeing confusion in each other's eyes.
"Never heard of it. Which martial arts association? What titles do they have? Like intangible cultural heritage inheritor, president of the XX boxing research association, or something like that?" the bespectacled man asked impatiently.
"No." Ma Cong shook his head. "My master is just a grumpy old man."
"Ha!" The blond-haired guy burst out laughing as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. "Dude, are you kidding me? You think you can just throw out a random name and expect to play in a match? You think this is child's play?"
"Our rules are clearly written," the bespectacled man pointed to a sign next to him. "You must provide valid identification. Either a membership card from an official martial arts association, or a certificate as a provincial-level or higher intangible cultural heritage inheritor. You have neither, so we cannot register you."
Their faces were filled with disdain and contempt.
In their view, Ma Cong is the most typical example of a minor internet celebrity who wants to use the popularity of Titan to promote himself.
They've seen plenty of people like this.
Ma Cong's face darkened.
He never expected that registering would lead to such an obstacle.
The other party's rule was indeed a threshold, keeping out all the folk martial artists who did not have "official certification".
"So, you mean we can't register?" Ma Cong's voice turned cold.
"I can't sign up." The bespectacled man pushed up his glasses, his tone carrying an air of superiority. "This is a legitimate commercial competition; not just anyone can participate. If you don't have the qualifications, don't bother. Just leave."
"What if I absolutely have to report it?"
Ma Cong looked at them, his eyes narrowing slightly.
An invisible pressure emanated from him.