Quickly conquer the martial arts world, and let your fists dominate the heavens!

He thrust out a palm, meeting Chen Zhan's palm.

The Iron Palm technique is activated at full power, with the tendons and bones of the entire arm twisted together from the shoulder to the elbow to the wrist to the palm, concentrating all the power on the palm for a head-on collision, palm to palm.

boom.

The palms are clasped together.

The air exploded between their palms, and dust rose from the concrete beneath their feet, spreading outwards.

Logically speaking, Chen Zhan casually pushed out a palm strike, while Zhong Tiesheng exerted all his strength, unleashing his Iron Sand Palm technique, with bulging veins and black membranes, demonstrating his full power.

The result was quite different from what everyone expected.

The two-character unicorn horse under Zhong Tiesheng's feet could no longer hold on.

That horse stance that held the lower body firmly in place, with the knees tucked inward as stable as a rock, crumbled like paper under Chen Zhan's palm strike.

With legs spread wide and knees pointing outwards, the person's center of gravity was pushed backwards by this palm strike.

His body flew backward.

With both feet off the ground, he floated backward in mid-air, like a small boat being overturned by a gale on the waves, retreating five or six steps before his back hit the ropes at the edge of the ring.

The rope snapped back, and Zhong Tiesheng was thrown back, staggering a few steps forward.

He steadied himself, his palms still raised in front of his chest, about to strike again.

Looking up, Chen Zhan was already in front of him.

The two people were less than a foot apart.

He didn't see how Chen Zhan got there; one moment he was five or six steps away, and the next he was right in front of him, as if he had appeared out of thin air.

Zhong Tiesheng tried to raise his hand.

A hand was placed on his shoulder.

With five fingers clasped together at the shoulder well point, it's like a friend patting each other on the shoulder when they meet—very ordinary.

A surge of internal force entered his palm.

There was no pain; a thin stream seeped into the skin and flesh, following the meridians down, past the shoulder blade, past the upper arm, past the elbow, and into the forearm and palm.

Both arms lost their strength at the same time.

His raised hands fell down, like two broken puppet arms, limp and hanging limply at his sides. His fingers were still moving, but he could no longer clench them into fists.

Zhong Tiesheng looked down at his arm, his face showing disbelief.

He looked up at Chen Zhan.

Chen Zhan looked at him and said, "The Iron Palm technique has three levels."

"The first level involves iron filings penetrating the skin, turning it bluish-black; this trains the skin and flesh. After mastering this, the palms thicken and harden, developing layers of calluses, allowing the hands to replace iron and shatter stones and bricks."

Zhong Tiesheng listened and nodded slightly.

This was the level he had reached; his palms were black, his skin and flesh were rough and hard, and one strike could shatter a person's sternum.

"In the second layer, the iron sand is internalized, and the palm returns to its fleshy color. The surface appears normal, but its inner strength is hidden. It is no longer just hard skin and flesh, but hard bones, tendons, and blood. The palm looks no different from an ordinary person's, but once force is exerted, the internal energy bursts forth from the body."

Zhong Tiesheng frowned.

He had heard his master mention this level, but he had never seen it.

His master practiced Iron Palm his whole life, but never reached the second level before he died. He considered himself to be more diligent than his master, but he was only hovering around the top of the first level.

"The third level is the realm of transformation, formless and colorless, body and form as one. The hands always appear to be those of an ordinary person, white and soft, without calluses or visible marks. But once power is exerted, blood and energy instantly flow to the palms, turning them crimson; a single strike can shatter stone tablets and split rocks."

Zhong Tiesheng couldn't understand.

He had never heard of or seen anything like the intangible and colorless, the unity of body and form, or the ability to shatter objects from a distance, even after practicing martial arts for twenty years.

"You've only reached the first level."

"However, this is not your problem. Gu Ruzhang from your lineage has already reached the third level."

Zhong Tiesheng's eyes widened suddenly.

Gu Ruzhang.

That was his grandmaster.

His master's master, the Iron Sand Palm lineage, has been passed down for three generations in Lingnan. The first generation was Gu Ruzhang, a well-known figure in the Lingnan martial arts world back then, whose Iron Sand Palm was invincible throughout Guangdong and Guangxi.

His master told him stories of his grandmaster since he was a child, saying that his grandmaster's palm power could shatter cow bones, and that his grandmaster's palms in his later years were as white and smooth as jade, showing no signs of having practiced Iron Palm.

He always thought that his master was exaggerating.

The person in front of me immediately mentioned my grandmaster's name and said that my grandmaster had reached the third level.

Who exactly is this person?
"But he was no match for Chen either."

As these last words fell, Zhong Tiesheng's face flushed red, his muscles and bones bulged, and his inner strength surged within him as he tried to break free from the restraint of the hand on his shoulder.

Before I could even raise my hand, my feet were already sinking into the ground.

Chen Zhan's hand slid from his shoulder to his chest and gave him a push.

Zhong Tiesheng was launched into the air, his body flying horizontally, clearing the ropes at the edge of the ring, drawing an arc in mid-air, and falling off the stage.

The spectators screamed and scattered to both sides. Zhong Tiesheng's body fell from the air and crashed onto the sandy ground below, sending sand and gravel flying and raising a cloud of dust.

He rolled on the ground, then lay on his back, his chest heaving violently as he gasped for breath, his arms outstretched at his sides, but he still couldn't muster any strength.

But surprisingly, he wasn't injured; his bones weren't broken, his skin wasn't torn, and his internal organs weren't damaged.

Chen Zhan deliberately didn't hurt him, and Zhong Tiesheng had no intention of killing him.

Zhong Tiesheng used all his strength in that palm strike and that final push, but there was no hatred in his fists, and no ruthlessness in his fighting style.

He was forced to step onto this stage.

Chen Zhan didn't ask why, nor did he want to help him solve the problem.

People who step into the underground boxing ring all have their own reasons; otherwise, who would be willing to come here and fight to the death?

Zhao Hongwei did it to pay off his debts, while Zhong Tiesheng did it for something else. Everyone had their own difficulties and their own hardships.

He can't control that much.

Chen Zhan stood on the stage, glanced at Zhong Tiesheng lying below, and then looked up at the second floor.

Wu Jianglong stood behind the fence, his cigar half-burnt, long ash hanging from the tip, which he had forgotten to flick off.

He stared at Chen Zhan on the stage, his expression much more complex than before.

Having just killed the blond-haired man, he felt that this person was strong and ruthless, and was a master who had practiced hard skills.

Now, his views have completely changed.

Tai Chi's techniques of deflection, neutralization, and sealing acupoints with hidden force can send a 200-pound strongman flying with a single palm strike, while still managing to control the force without injuring the person.

This is no ordinary expert.

Wu Jianglong flicked the long ash off his cigar, took a puff, and exhaled smoke from his nostrils.

Chen Zhan stood on the stage, having already turned around, looking at the second floor.

The meaning is self-evident: he still wants to fight.

Wu Jianglong, with a cigar in his mouth, did not speak immediately.

One hundred and eighty taels, tripled to five hundred and forty taels. Converted to Hong Kong dollars, it was a considerable sum, but not a crippling blow to the Green Dragon Gang, whose monthly revenue from the boxing ring was far more than that.

Money is not the issue. Saving face is.

Chen Zhan continued fighting, killing one and pushing another away, crushing his opponents in every match. If he continued like this for several more matches, eventually defeating all the martial artists supported by the Green Dragon Gang, taking a huge sum of money, and swaggering away, it wouldn't be a spectacle; it would be a laughing stock.

The Green Dragon Gang can't afford to lose face in Kowloon Walled City.

There have been wins and money-making streaks before, but none have ever been played like Chen Zhan.

The underground boxing ring in the Walled City wasn't considered a top-tier venue in Hong Kong. Compared to the games played by the real big shots, it was beneath its dignity, so no top fighter ever challenged it.

Since he took over the place, there hasn't been a single problem.

Chen Zhan's strength has made him take him seriously.

Wu Jianglong turned his head and whispered a few words to the person next to him. The person nodded, turned around and went out through the small door at the back of the attic.

Chen Zhan waited for a moment, and then a person came up from the entrance of the channel.

Mo Zhiqiang, Hung Kuen, Iron Wire Fist, the one whose sign says he won two matches.

He was in his early thirties, with a stocky build, a short, thick neck, and bulging muscles on his forearms, clearly the result of his bridge hand training.

After taking the stage, he didn't waste any words. He immediately adopted a stance, standing tall and imposing, with his fists guarding his chest and his hands firmly planted on the ground.

The essence of Iron Wire Fist is its hardness.

Using the bridge hand as a shield and the short fist as a spear, they take the hits head-on without dodging or avoiding.

Mo Zhiqiang rushed forward, his right arm raised in a defensive stance, and his left fist aimed straight at Chen Zhan's chest. As the fist approached, Chen Zhan dodged to the side, then slapped back, his palm landing on Mo Zhiqiang's right arm and pressing down.

Mo Zhiqiang's bridge hand was pressed down half an inch, his entire arm sank, and his shoulder tilted.

He gritted his teeth and held on, his left elbow sweeping across Chen Zhan's ribs.

When they got close, Chen Zhan didn't back down. He grabbed Mo Zhiqiang by the back of his collar with his right hand and supported his belt with his left. With a lift and a turn, he flipped Mo Zhiqiang over.

Mo Zhiqiang did a half-flip in mid-air, landing on his back against the edge of the ring, bounced once, and rolled off the stage.

He landed on the sand below the stage with a muffled groan. He wasn't injured, but it was a bit embarrassing.

Three tricks.

The shouts from the audience rang out again, but much shorter than before; the spectators had begun to become numb.

Even Zhong Tiesheng couldn't withstand it, and Mo Zhiqiang was just a sitting duck; anyone could see that.

Chen Zhan stood on the stage and patted the dust off his hands.

This time, without further prompting, Wu Jianglong understood.

There was movement at the entrance of the channel, and another person went up on the stage.

He wasn't a burly man like Zhong Tiesheng, nor a sharp thug like Huang Mao.

A young man, in his early twenties, thin with narrow shoulders, stood a few steps away from Chen Zhan after going on stage. His steps were a little unsteady, and his eyes swept over Chen Zhan, then looked away, then back again, with obvious fear in them.

But they did not admit defeat.

He bit his lip, clenched his fists at his sides, and stood there stubbornly.

He should be one of those rookie boxers mentioned on the sign, someone who comes to the ring to earn money. He gets paid for winning a fight, but gets nothing if he loses.

Wu Jianglong figured out Chen Zhan's thoughts.

Chen Zhan showed no mercy to the boxers who fought him, but would he really kill ordinary people who came to him just to beg for a living?
Two people stood on the platform, and the iron bell rang.

thump.

Nobody moved.

Chen Zhan stood still, and the young man didn't rush up either. The two stood a few steps apart.

The spectators shouted twice, but not loudly. The excitement of the previous matches had worn off, and with a clearly inferior opponent coming on, the atmosphere suddenly cooled down.

After a few moments, Wu Jianglong on the second floor spoke up.

"Mr. Chen, why don't you come up and talk?"

Chen Zhan hesitated for a moment, then glanced at the young man in front of him: "You win this match."

After saying that, he turned around, jumped off the stage, and headed towards the second floor.

The young man stood there stunned for a while before he came to his senses. He breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumped, and his clenched fists loosened.

The crowd parted to make way for Chen Zhan as he walked toward the stairwell.

Some people were talking, some were cursing, and some were laughing. The noise gradually returned to normal volume.

Wu Jianglong has already arranged the next match. Two boxers who came to make money were pushed onto the stage to fight each other. They would get 1,000 yuan for each win and 10,000 yuan for winning five consecutive matches.

After Chen Zhan left, the cheers from the audience subsided somewhat, but there wasn't much of a commotion.

The previous few shows were already worth it. The audience knows that it's impossible for every show to be that exciting. If every show were exciting, the tickets would cost much more.

Chen Zhan climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor and arrived at the attic.

Wu Jianglong did not wait for him in the attic.

Behind the attic is a small door, behind which is a narrow corridor that connects to the second floor of another building.

Wu Jianglong stood at the entrance of the narrow corridor, raised his chin to Chen Zhan, and gestured for him to follow.

That's what Kowloon Walled City was like.

Buildings within buildings, caves within caves, one building next to another, the corridor on the second floor leads to the third floor of the neighboring building, and looking out of the window on the third floor leads to the roof of another building, on which another shed is built, and behind the shed is another dark alley.

From the outside, it looks like a bunch of messy, dilapidated buildings, but once you go inside, you realize that the roads are winding and interconnected, and people who don't know the area can't get out once they go in.

Chen Zhan followed Wu Jianglong through the narrow corridor, turned a corner, entered another building, went up half a flight of stairs, and pushed open a wooden door.

Behind the door lies a hidden world.

A private room.

It was considered very clean and spacious within the Kowloon Walled City.

The floor was covered with smooth wooden planks, the walls were whitewashed, and two paintings and calligraphy works hung on the walls. I don't know if they are genuine or not, but they are neatly framed.

Against the wall was a long table made of huanghuali wood, on which were placed tea sets: a purple clay teapot with white porcelain cups. Next to it was a bronze incense burner, from which sandalwood incense was burning, and thin wisps of smoke drifted upwards.

The window was half open, and the lights of the walled city could be seen outside. In the distance, one could faintly hear voices and the clatter of mahjong tiles, but the sounds were muffled, as if they were coming from another world, separated by several walls.

The Green Dragon Gang is quite powerful.

The fact that they have such a quiet room in a place like Kowloon Walled City shows that they have deep roots in the city and are not a small-time gang.

Wu Jianglong walked to the long table, gestured for Chen Zhan to sit down.

He sat down opposite me, placed the half-burnt cigar in the copper ashtray on the table, and poured two cups of tea from the purple clay teapot.

"Mr. Chen, would you like Hong Kong dollars or silver?" he asked casually. "I might not have that much silver on hand, but I can exchange it for gold for you."

Chen Zhan picked up his teacup, took a sip, and found the tea to be quite good. It wasn't the kind of broken tea leaves found in the city; it was genuine Tieguanyin, with a sweet aftertaste.

"Gold, perhaps."

Wu Jianglong waved to the door, and the people waiting outside nodded and left to prepare.

There were only two people left in the room.

Wu Jianglong looked at Chen Zhan without beating around the bush.

"Mr. Chen, would you be interested in joining our Green Dragon Gang?" (End of Chapter)