Counterfeit Hero

Tian Xingjian was grinning stupidly, these people were just too interesting. Their bodies bore footprints, their eyes were bruised, some even had nosebleeds, yet they all struck victorious poses. He chuckled drunkenly. His unrestrained laughter sounded so abrupt, so piercing, in the empty bar.

One of the so-called victors finally couldn’t stand it anymore and stepped up. He slapped Fatty with the back of his hand and said, "Stupid pig, get lost!" Fatty’s reaction was a bit slow; it took him a while to realize he’d been slapped. He touched his face stupidly, stood there pitifully, tears rolling in his eyes as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

The attacker clearly didn’t expect Fatty to react like this. He was initially amused, but when he saw that Fatty still wasn’t moving, his anger flared, "Stupid pig, I told you to get lost! Didn’t you hear me?" His companions seemed to have more violence to vent, and they gradually surrounded Fatty. Still, he remained standing there, dumbly covering his face.

"Damn, hit him!" Someone nearby couldn’t hold back. He rushed over and kicked Fatty, making him stagger. That person then tried to punch Fatty in the head, and a few others followed suit.

Fatty clumsily brushed away the hand aimed at his head, then forcefully headbutted the attacker’s face. A scream echoed as the person fell to the ground, nose bleeding. The crowd swayed in confusion. People who didn’t want to see Fatty get beaten were surprised by this unexpected turn of events. They watched wide-eyed as Fatty, whose face was now also bloody, trembled all over.

The fall of their companion further agitated the others. They grabbed chairs and bottles, swarming Fatty. Two chairs, three bottles, almost simultaneously hit Fatty. But he didn’t dodge; he let these objects pound him repeatedly. Like he was made of steel, they made bone-chilling sounds upon impact, but Fatty seemed unaffected. He merely reached out, grabbed one opponent at a time, pulled them in, and headbutted them again. His attack method was so unique that none could escape his lightning-fast strikes. His face bled more and more, making him look ruthless and fierce.

More than half of the dozen attackers had fallen. The remaining ones could hardly believe their own eyes. They stopped, fearfully looking at each other. Fatty staggered towards one of the dazed guys, grabbed his collar, and violently headbutted his face. Another scream, another body rolling on the ground. The rest backed away, terrified, but Fatty wobbled towards them. Spooked by the bloodied Fatty, they turned and ran. The bar suddenly fell silent, except for the solitary, bloody, foolish-looking Fatty swaying in the center of the empty hall.