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

Lai Dechang's face turned pale instantly.

He stared wide-eyed at the gold bar embedded in the table, his eyes bulging behind his glasses, and his hands unconsciously tucked under the table.

He tried to reach out and pry open the gold bar.

He dug his fingernail into the edge of the gold bar, applied some force, but it wouldn't budge. He applied even more force, until his fingernail flipped over. The gold bar was embedded in the wood as if it had been welded shut, and he couldn't pull it out.

Chen Zhan looked at him: "Do we still need two thousand Hong Kong dollars?"

The voice was very soft, as if asking how the weather was today.

Lai Dechang's Adam's apple bobbed again, his voice trembling: "No, no more, twenty, twenty Hong Kong dollars will do."

Chen Zhan pulled out a few crumpled Hong Kong dollar bills from his pocket—the ones Wang Zhihui had given him as change yesterday. He counted out twenty dollars and put them on the table.

Lai Dechang processed the matter quickly and soon presented a piece of paper.

Then Chen Zhan lightly tapped the table with his right index finger.

With a ding, the gold bar popped out from the table, flew half an inch high, and landed in the palm of the hand.

There was a gold bar-shaped groove on the tabletop, with smooth edges, as if it had been carved with a knife.

He put the gold bars into his pocket and turned to leave.

He lifted the oilcloth curtain, and sunlight streamed in, dazzling Lai Dechang's eyes.

Wang Zhihui was still standing there, his legs weak, and the friendly smile on his face was long gone, replaced by a look of terror.

Lai Dechang slumped in his chair, watching Chen Zhan's departing figure at the door, then looked down at the groove on the table and muttered something under his breath.

"You've brought a jinx here."

He looked up at Wang Zhihui, "With that kind of skill, you're trying to swindle him? Are you crazy?"

Wang Zhihui's lips trembled twice, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Chen Zhan took the paper and walked out of Kowloon Walled City. He found a newsstand, bought a map, and wandered around looking at it.

He had never been to Hong Kong, but he knew some of the landmarks and areas.

Causeway Bay, Sham Shui Po, Kowloon, Yau Tei.

Once outside the Walled City, the area in Kau Tung was much cleaner and tidier than inside the Walled City, and the oppressive atmosphere was gone. At this time of year, Hong Kong was indeed a refuge for ordinary people.

It's not just people from the mainland; people from many small neighboring countries are also desperately flocking here.

The British Empire is still at its zenith, and neither Japan nor the United States are willing to offend it easily. Walking on the street, you see many foreign faces.

Chen Zhan walked along the street for a while, checking the map to familiarize himself with the route.

It's not far from Kowloon City to Tsim Sha Tsui; it only takes about half an hour to reach the pier.

Long queues formed at the Star Ferry terminal, with coolies carrying loads on shoulder poles, foreign company clerks with briefcases, women in cheongsams holding parasols, and barefoot children weaving through the crowd—all sorts of people squeezed together.

I bought a ticket and boarded the ferry.

During the ten-minute voyage, the scenery of both sides of Victoria Harbour unfolds from the ship's side.

Kowloon is a drab gray area, with rows of low-rise buildings. Hong Kong Island is different; the buildings are much taller, and the signs of trading companies stand on the rooftops in large English letters, visible from halfway across the bay.

The ferry docks at Central.

Stepping on the stone slabs of the dock felt completely different from walking on the muddy ground in the walled city.

Trams clanged past on Queen's Road. They were double-deckers, painted dark green, with wires running overhead and English advertisements painted on the sides.

The mailboxes by the roadside are red and bear the coat of arms of the King of England.

Half of the shops on the street had English signs and the other half had Chinese signs. The banks, foreign firms, and department stores all had grand facades.

There were two types of police officers on the street: white officers walked in front and Chinese officers followed behind. The white officers wore short-sleeved uniforms and carried short batons, while the Chinese officers wore long-sleeved uniforms and cloth hats.

colonial order.

Clean, tidy, and orderly, it's a completely different world from the walled city.

Chen Zhan wasn't in a hurry. He strolled slowly down the street. As a newcomer to the city, he looked around curiously, finding everything new and exciting. No one paid him any attention.

After walking two streets, we turned into Sheung Wan.

Sheung Wan is a bit older than Central, with narrower streets and smaller shops, but it's more popular.

Teahouses, herbal medicine shops, general stores, and pawnshops are crammed together with their signs, and the sounds of vendors calling out their wares rise and fall on the street. Most of the cries are in Cantonese, with occasional interjections of Chaoshan dialect and Hakka.

Chen Zhan stopped at the corner of a street.

Across the street, there is a three-story stone building.

The storefront is quite large, with a plaque hanging above the main entrance. It has four large characters in gold on a black background: "Chinese Martial Arts Federation".

Below the plaque is a couplet, written in gold on red paper, but it's too far away to read what it says.

The gate was wide open, and two people stood at the entrance, their backs straight, their eyes scanning the pedestrians on the street. Their hands were calloused, and they stood in a stance that suggested they were trained martial artists.

These weren't the things that caught Chen Zhan's attention.

There were two black sedans parked at the entrance.

The license plate wasn't an ordinary civilian number. Chen Zhan remembered seeing this kind of plate before; it was an official plate. Cars with this kind of plate weren't something you could just drive if you had money.

The people coming and going were a mixed bunch.

There were martial artists in long robes, their steps steady, clearly trained; there were men in suits and ties, their leather shoes gleaming; and several men in worn military uniforms, their waists bulging, the outlines of their holsters visible even through their clothes.

A martial arts association had official cars parked at the entrance, and people coming and going carried guns.

This is not a martial arts school.

Chen Zhan bought a newspaper from a newsstand on the street corner, opened it to cover his face, and stood leaning against the wall.

I watched it for about fifteen minutes.

There are quite a few people coming and going, and the frequency is very steady, with someone going in or coming out every three to five minutes.

Several young martial artists dressed in short-sleeved shirts emerged from the side door, their arms wrapped in blue cloth strips. They walked with a swagger, their eyes rolling upwards, exuding arrogance.

One of them spoke a few words to the guard at the gate, took out something and handed it to him. The guard took it, turned around and went through the gate.

Entry and exit require credentials, with clear hierarchical distinctions and strict rules.

Chen Zhan put away the newspaper, turned around, and left.

I felt nothing.

The Chinese Martial Arts Association split, with some members joining the Tsing Yi Society. Wu Jianglong mentioned this last night. The Tsing Yi Society has money, manpower, and guns, so it's not surprising that they can control the Chinese Martial Arts Association.

Although I haven't been there for more than a decade, the course of the war has not changed. When the War of Resistance against Japan had just begun, the forces there were at their zenith, so naturally many people gravitated towards them.

It wasn't a big mistake not to follow the route he left behind. People in the martial arts world also need to eat and survive, so naturally quite a few of them went there.

Those who walk different paths cannot make plans together; each should go their own way.

The Chinese Alliance was the framework he built back then.

When we first started this project, our idea was to unite the martial arts community and get things done. As for how and why we split up, seventeen years have passed, so we've just split up.

He folded the newspaper, stuffed it into his pocket, and walked toward the dock.

On the ferry, Chen Zhan stood by the railing, watching the outline of Hong Kong Island slowly shrink behind him.

The sea breeze was salty and fishy, ​​making my clothes flutter loudly.

After reaching the shore, he did not return to the Walled City, but headed west to Sham Shui Po.

Sham Shui Po is even more dilapidated than Kowloon City.

The shantytowns stretched out one after another, with tin roofs, wooden walls, and tarpaulin curtains, similar in layout to the walled cities, but without the oppressive, airtight feeling of the walled cities. At least on the piers, you could see the sky from the rooftops.

The streets were packed with people.

People speaking all sorts of accents—Cantonese, Teochew, Hokkien, Shanghainese, and Mandarin—are all mixed together, making a terrible racket.

The narrow street was packed with vendors selling herbal tea, congee, and other items, including street stalls, letter writers, and fortune tellers.

refugee.

They suffered even more than the people in the walled city.

At least in the Walled City, people had a roof over their heads and a place to live. But in the slums of Sham Shui Po, some people couldn't even afford to rent a slum. They would just put up a tarpaulin on the street, lay a straw mat underneath, and squeeze their whole family into it.

Chen Zhan was walking on the streets of Sham Shui Po.

The two young men in the boxing ring last night, Zhao Hongwei's fellow students, mentioned that their martial uncle's surname was Ruan, and he practiced Cheng-style Baguazhang, which was practiced in the Sham Shui Po area. Cheng-style Baguazhang, surnamed Ruan.

He couldn't possibly ignore those two words when they were put together.

After walking through several streets, turning into a side alley, and passing the entrance of a narrow lane, Chen Zhan paused for a moment.

Inside the alley, someone is walking in circles.

A wooden stake, as thick as a bowl, is driven into the ground. A person walks around the stake, not fast, with his body slightly leaning inward and his center of gravity low. His two hands alternate palm strikes in front of him, thrusting, flicking, and flipping, changing with each circle.

It's the circle walking technique in Baguazhang.

Chen Zhan stood at the entrance of the alley and looked around several times.

The circle walking technique in Baguazhang varies from school to school.

The Yin school of walking in circles has large steps, an upright posture, and emphasizes the stride of a dragon and the gait of a tiger, exuding a grand and imposing aura.

The Cheng style is different. The steps are fragmented, the waist and hips twist with a large range, the body is short, the center of gravity is low, the palm techniques are numerous, including thrusting, parrying, chopping, and pressing, the style is more winding and continuous, and the power moves in a spiral.

The person in front of me follows the style of the Cheng School.

His steps are quick yet steady, and every turn of his waist and hips is full of twisting force. His palm techniques are varied, with spiraling palm strikes and flipping palm strikes. He has a solid foundation and is not an amateur; he has a master.

The people walking in circles stopped and turned around.

A man in his forties, not very tall, with an old scar on his face that stretched from his temple to his cheekbone, had healed many years ago and had turned white.

He was wearing a gray cloth shirt with the cuffs rolled up above his elbows, and there were several fresh scars on his forearms that hadn't fully healed yet.

He saw a person standing at the entrance of the alley, his gaze darkened, and his brows furrowed.

Without saying a word, his aura tightened instantly, and he subtly adjusted his stance, placing his front foot lightly and his back foot firmly, ready to move forward or backward at any moment.

The alertness of a trained fighter.

Chen Zhan met his gaze.

The man didn't recognize Chen Zhan's face, but Chen Zhan felt he looked familiar.

Back then, Cheng-style Baguazhang practitioners went south in several groups, one group went to Foshan, and another group stayed in Guangzhou.

Chen Zhan had visited the Bagua Museum in Foshan, but he had never personally visited the Jinlou and Bagua Museum in Guangzhou.

However, I have seen one group photo.

In that photo, Cheng Yougong, Feng Junyi, and Li Wenbiao were standing in the front row, Ruan Zhi was standing on the left, and this man was standing to Ruan Zhi's left and behind the three of them.

He looks young in the photo, with delicate features, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, and full of energy.

Nearly twenty years have passed, and now there is an old scar on my face running from my forehead to my cheekbone, and my demeanor has changed a lot.

The youthful vigor in the old photos is gone, replaced by a dull, weary heaviness.

"Sir...is there something you need?"

The man spoke, his voice low, his tone polite but not intimate, and his vigilance remained unwavering as he asked his question.

Chen Zhan could tell that this person was extremely wary.

With old injuries and stagnation in his lungs, making it difficult to breathe, practicing martial arts in the alleyway under such conditions, and being stared at by a stranger for several rounds, anyone would be nervous.

Chen Zhan relaxed his tone and tried to be as easygoing as possible.

"Judging from your gait, it reminds me of some past events. Would you mind exchanging a few words?"

The man glanced at him a few times, his gaze sweeping over Chen Zhan from head to toe.

"No need."

After saying that, he turned and left.

The steps were fast, but not running; they were the unique turning steps of Baguazhang. With a twist of the body, the person slipped into the corner deep in the alley.

Chen Zhan followed.

After following for several dozen steps, the alley became narrower and narrower, and the corrugated iron walls on both sides could almost touch our shoulders.

The man suddenly stopped.

He stood with his back to Chen Zhan, his shoulders slightly slumped, and his voice came from the front, carrying a sense of exhaustion and anger.

"Even if the relationship wasn't what it used to be, there's no need to chase us all the way here and kill us all, especially since we've already withdrawn from the conflict."

Chen Zhan frowned slightly.

He didn't understand what that meant. What did "old friendship" mean? What did "ruthless extermination" mean? What did "withdrawing from the fight" mean?
Before he could even ask a question, the man had already moved.

As he turned, his footwork changed, and he took three Bagua steps in quick succession. His body spun half a circle like a top, and he was already close to Chen Zhan. He struck out with a single palm strike, followed by a double palm strike. The two palms went one in front of the other, the front palm moving through and the back palm moving up and down. The angles were tricky and the strikes were decisive.

His gossip skills were extremely proficient.

His palm techniques are varied and his footwork is fluid. The transitions between palm strikes are seamless, clearly showing that he has put in a lot of hard work.

But he has difficulty breathing.

When he struck out, his breath was interrupted in his chest and he couldn't catch up. He had an old injury in his lungs, so when he exerted force, he couldn't keep up. He could only deliver 70-80% of the power he needed to strike.

Chen Zhan stepped aside, dodging the first palm strike.

The man reacted extremely quickly, changing his palm to a stick the moment his strike missed, and spreading his five fingers to grab Chen Zhan's shoulder.

The alley was too narrow, with corrugated iron walls on both sides, making it difficult to dodge in a wide area.

Once in close combat, the full power of Baguazhang is revealed. Footwork circles the body, palm techniques are continuous, left and right thrusts, upward chop and downward press, creating an impenetrable offensive within a small space.

This fighting style is dangerous enough against opponents of the same level.

But Chen Zhan was not among them.

With one arm outstretched, he grabbed the man's right wrist, and with a quick twist, pressed it down onto his forearm.

Without using any hidden force, only the surface force was used to push the person backward.

The man staggered back two steps, his back slamming against the metal wall with a loud thud.

"I'm not here to cause trouble."

Is Ruan Zhi here?

The man's pupils contracted sharply.

He didn't answer after uttering the name Ruan Zhi.

Instead, they fought even more fiercely.

With a series of Bagua steps, he charged in close, his palm techniques no longer the previous thrusting, parrying, chopping, and pressing, but instead short, sharp palm strikes, each one more ruthless than the last, aimed at vital points: temples, Adam's apple, chest, and ribs—every strike was a potential death blow.

They gave it their all.

Chen Zhan became increasingly puzzled.

He only asked if Ruan Zhi was there, and she reacted like this. What does that mean?
This means that Ruan Zhi was indeed in the vicinity, that someone was chasing them, and that he mistook Chen Zhan for the person chasing him.

The previous statement, "Even if the relationship was over back then, there was no need to chase them all the way here and kill them all," now has an explanation.

Someone is hunting down people who practice the Cheng School of Baguazhang.

Chen Zhan subdued him with two moves.

With his left hand gripping the man's right elbow and his right hand pressing on his shoulder, he released a burst of subtle force that, while not causing injury, merely restricted the movement of half of the man's body, rendering him immobile.

"Someone is chasing you? Who?"

The words had barely left his mouth when the divine sense intervened, and a thought arose in his mind.

The perception of the Way of Sincerity exploded at this moment.

Without a sound or warning, Chen Zhan felt as if he had been pricked by a needle on the back of his head, and a very thin and sharp sense of danger came from behind him.

She released the man instantly.

With a slap of his right hand, he pushed the man hard against his back, sending him flying.

The man slammed into the tin wall of the alley before he could react.

"Oh!"

A shot rang out. (End of Chapter)