Zhu Xue was a history major at a university in Nanjing. Day to day, the thing he loved most was simple—jump on the forums and trade insults till the thread caught fire.

But this day, he wasn’t fighting online anymore.

This day, it was face to face. Right at the front gate. Real steel.

He had a giant backpack slung over one shoulder. Inside were four or five steel pipes. By the school entrance, four like-minded brothers were already waiting for him.

Why throw hands?

Simple. The online flame war had gone too far. If nobody fought, there was no clean ending to it.

A few months earlier, a hit drama about the Ming Dynasty had exploded out of nowhere and stirred up a huge wave of attention.

And just like that, the old internet brawls shifted. The new battlefield was the Great Ming.

Zhu Xue, born in the new age, raised under the red banner, walking in the spring wind of a new century—young, hot-blooded, full of spirit—naturally planted himself on the side defending Ming.

The new forum topic was blunt:

Between the Ming and the Qing, which was stronger, and whose golden age lasted longer?

That thread piled up over thirty thousand replies. Hundreds of thousands followed it. All kinds of history buffs ran in to watch the chaos.

At first, the mood online had been decent enough. Something close to an “academic discussion.”

But life moved too fast now. People were wound tight, pressure jammed in their bones. So the arguing went from restrained jabs, to family greetings, to a full-on runaway curse war that nobody could pull back.

The “battle of abuse” lasted a full two months.

And Student Zhu? He was one of the fiercest in the whole thread.

He blasted Qing supporters and defended Ming day and night. In the middle of that endless war of words, he ended up digging deeper and deeper into the history of the Great Ming.

He had to.

If he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t out-argue the other side.

But in the end, that fight didn’t stay online.

They set up a real fight.

The first one to bring it up was a guy with the ID “Holy Ancestor.”

Quit yapping online, he wrote. If you’ve got guts, meet in real life. I’ve got money. Who’s taking this job as a hired fighter?

Right below that, a pack of Qing fans started piling on.

Zhu Xue was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, solid as a post. He came from a town famous for martial arts. He’d learned some moves as a kid. So when it came to a fight invitation, he wasn’t scared at all.

If anything, he was itching for it.

They added each other on WeChat, waved flags, talked big, beat the drum till the blood got hot, and fixed the place near Ming Xiaoling.

Each side could bring only five people. No more.

Otherwise the mess would get too ugly and attract the wrong kind of attention from the authorities.

Once they met up, they got on a bus and headed straight for Ming Xiaoling without stopping.

When they reached the agreed place, they realized they’d been played.

They had said five against five.

The other side brought over twenty men.

Zhu Xue didn’t flinch, but the others with him were already going soft in the gut. One of them tugged at his sleeve and whispered, “How about... we call the authorities?”

Zhu Xue’s face darkened on the spot.

A man from a martial arts town, answering a fight challenge and then calling the authorities?

That was pure shame.

He shot the idea down at once.

Tall, thick-built, with a face fierce enough to scare people before he even spoke, Zhu Xue gripped a steel pipe and strode forward to call them out. The other four had no choice but to follow. Like ducks being shoved onto a rack.

But in their hearts, every one of them was praying.

Law-bound society, they thought.

Surely the other side wouldn’t dare go too far.

Zhu Xue pointed his pipe and barked, “You Qing bootlickers, didn’t we agree on it? Five on each side. What, now you’re playing dirty?”

A man from the other side spat and sneered. “Who the hell said we’re Qing fans? We’re hired online muscle. But seeing you’re just students, I’ll be kind. Lie down on the ground, let me snap a picture, send it over to the guy in Beijing, and we won’t beat you.”

Zhu Xue gave a cold snort. “Lie down for a photo? That depends on whether you lot have the skill. Brothers, for our Great Ming—charge!”

He shouted and started forward.

Then after two steps, he realized no one was following.

Across from him, the twenty-odd men all pulled out weapons. Baseball bats. Spiked clubs. Thick sticks. Cold iron in a row, ugly and mean.

Zhu Xue’s heart gave a hard thump.

Damn. Looks like these fellows’ convictions aren’t strong enough.

And right then, even he started feeling the fear creep in.

Sure, he’d trained some fists and kicks. Taking on four or five men wasn’t impossible.

But over twenty?

That was a different beast.

Two fists couldn’t beat four hands, much less forty. And now his own side was already scared stiff. Before the fight had even begun, they’d already lost half of it.

Regret hit Zhu Xue in the gut.

If I’d known, I should’ve brought the five idiots from my dorm.

If those five sons were here, this would’ve been one hell of a fight.

He stopped where he was and forced out, “How about... how about we do this one-on-one?”

The other side burst out laughing.

“Sure,” one said. “You one man, versus all twenty of us.”

Zhu Xue nearly blacked out on the spot.