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

After those words were spoken, the table fell silent.

Zheng Wenda's face was gloomy. He saw how the chicken bone flew out. With a twist of his chopsticks and a flick of his two fingers, the bone pierced through the wrist of a martial artist with internal strength.

It wasn't a hidden weapon at all, just a piece of bone, yet it struck with the force to shatter gold and split rocks.

This skill
Of the remaining people, some were half-sober, while others were completely sober.

The people who were just moments ago clinking glasses and exchanging toasts are now all more sober than the last.

The smell of alcohol was forced out by cold sweat, and a chill ran down my back as I stared at the man across the table who was eating meat and drinking.

"Flying Locust Stone!"

Zheng Wenda blurted it out.

The Flying Locust Stone technique isn't exactly a secret skill. Various schools of martial arts, both in the north and south, have similar throwing and throwing weapon techniques. You can pick up any object and launch it to injure people. There are quite a few people in the martial arts world who practice this skill.

But when it comes to hidden weapons, it's never about whether they're secret or not; it's about their power.

A piece of chicken bone, flicked with two fingers, pierced through the wrist of a martial artist with internal strength, the bone tip protruding from the other side, white and streaked with blood.

This finger strength is something I've never seen before in my life.

He slowly put down his wine glass, his gaze darkening as he stared at the unfamiliar face opposite him, his voice low.

"What do you mean? You can come back to challenge us tomorrow. Our Chinese Martial Arts Association will accept your challenge."

He spoke in a steady tone, even with a hint of composure.

Hong Kong is a land of the rule of law. The Hong Kong British government's police patrolled the streets day and night. Even during the most chaotic times on the mainland, no one dared to break into the Tsing Yi Society's territory and cause trouble.

Moreover, there were more than a dozen people downstairs. The cadres of the Qingyi Society all had guns on their waists. If a fight broke out, a single shout would bring dozens of gun barrels to your attention.

Zheng Wenda had seen people who came to his door looking for death, but he had never seen anyone this audacious.

Chen Zhan did not reply.

A pair of chopsticks flew across the table as one dish after another—white-cut chicken, roast goose, steamed grouper—was quickly fed into the mouth.

It seems like they swallowed it whole without chewing. Chicken bones, goose bones, and fish bones were crushed into pieces with a lick of their tongues and swallowed down their throats.

The eating manners are rough, but upon closer inspection, the chopsticks are precise, each bite landing on the thickest piece of meat, with bones crumbling in the mouth.

Everyone at the table watched him eat, but no one dared to touch it.

The injured, burly man slumped in a chair, clutching his wrist. His face was deathly pale, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his lips were bitten until they turned purple. He couldn't utter a single word.

A man was sitting next to the burly man.

With a hawk-like face and extremely high brow bones, his eyes were sunken deep in their sockets, giving him a sinister look. His lips drooped down, and his face was full of scheming.

The effects of the alcohol had long since worn off.

When that piece of chicken bone flew out, he felt a chill run down his spine, but he didn't show it on his face. He lowered his head and pretended to be drunk, his right hand tucked into his sleeve, two fingers already gripping the tail of the hidden weapon.

Two swallows in front of the hall.

A small, cast-iron concealed weapon, shaped like a swallow, with wings that spread to no more than an inch and a half, as thin as a cicada's wing, and a blood groove on the blade, designed for a ruthless and insidious fighting style.

Seeing that Chen Zhan remained silent.

Zheng Wenda slammed his hand on the table.

"Snapped!"

This shot is a signal.

With a flick of his sleeve, the eagle-eyed man released two swallows from his hand. They flew out with a flash of cold light, one high and one low, drifting up and down, following an arc that skimmed the ground and water, as if two iron swallows were rapidly approaching, brushing against the table.

The distance was less than ten feet, and the hidden weapon reached the person in the blink of an eye.

Chen Zhan wasn't in a hurry.

With a piece of roast goose still in his mouth, he slowly brought the chopsticks to his lips, took the last bite of meat, and then flicked them away.

Two bamboo chopsticks flew out.

"Boom, boom!"

Two muffled thuds, almost simultaneously.

The chopsticks pierced precisely into the bellies of the two swallows in front of the hall. The swallows stopped in mid-air, their wings trembled twice, and they came to an abrupt halt as they were pinned down by the chopsticks.

Chen Zhan reached out and scooped up two chopsticks, each pierced with an iron swallow, which landed steadily in his palm.

He plucked the swallow from the chopsticks, turned it over in his hand, and rubbed the blood grooves on its wing with his thumb, as if he were playing with a small object.

"A swallow before the hall? The dart is quite good."

He glanced at the eagle-eyed man opposite him, speaking casually.

"Your throwing technique is far from good enough. You've only learned one or two tenths of the Tang Clan's hidden weapon skills."

The eagle-eyed man's pupils suddenly contracted.

Tangmen.

His hidden weapon techniques were indeed inherited from the Tang Clan, but only from a collateral branch. He only grasped the basics and couldn't even come close to being a direct descendant of the Tang Clan.

He never told anyone about this secret.

Chen Zhan chuckled, pinched two fingers together, and pressed his palm down slightly.

"Whoosh-!"

Two swallows flew out of his hand, several times faster than the one the eagle-eyed man had just fired. The iron swallows flew up and down within a few meters, their wings cutting through the air with a sharp whistling sound.

"Crack, snap."

Two crisp sounds.

A metal blade was embedded in the left cheekbone of the eagle-eyed man, the iron blade sinking into his flesh, the sound of bone shattering muffled beneath his skin.

Another one followed closely behind, lodging on the edge of the right eye socket, its wingtip peeking out from the corner of the eye.

The eagle-eyed man's face was instantly a bloody mess, his features twisted into a jumbled mess. He opened his mouth as if to shout, but only gurgling bubbles came from his throat. He fell backward off the chair and crashed to the ground, his limbs twitching twice before going still.

Chen Zhan sighed and put his chopsticks down on the table.

"These are the only dishes we have. They're so boring."

Dozens of dishes were laid out on the table, including roast goose, white chicken, steamed fish, and stir-fried shrimp. The variety was dazzling and comparable to a Manchu Han Imperial Feast.

But the dish he was referring to wasn't the food on the table, but the person in front of him.

A table full of people.

Zheng Wenda's eyelids twitched twice. He pressed his palms on the table, clenched his fingers, and sweat seeped between them.

Sun Mao's right hand had already reached the gun handle at his waist; the buckle had long been undone, and his index finger was resting on the edge of the trigger guard.

The remaining two martial artists from the Tong faction exchanged a glance, then stood up simultaneously, each clutching a short knife, which they had pulled from under the table.

The broker in the suit reacted the fastest, overturning the chair in front of him and running towards the door.

"Snapped!"

In an instant, the private room was in complete chaos.

Some flipped tables, some drew guns, and some drew knives.

Chen Zhan's figure disappeared from the seat.

Before Sun Mao could even draw his gun from his waist, a figure appeared before him, so close he could smell the alcohol on the other person's clothes.

One cubit.

The "Top Heart Elbow" is a close-quarters strike in Bajiquan. The elbow tip is raised from below, carrying the whole force of the twisting waist and hips, with all the power concentrated in that one-inch area of ​​the elbow tip.

"boom!"

A muffled thud.

Sun Mao's chest caved in, and the sound of his ribs breaking echoed like firewood crackling. His body exploded from his chest to both sides, blood mist rose, and he flew backward, smashing the wooden window of the private room.

Zheng Wenda's pupils contracted sharply upon seeing this scene.

One elbow strike and you're crushed!
Without the slightest hesitation, he overturned the table to shield himself and turned to run.

With his peak Dark Force cultivation, only half a step away from Transformation Force, and at around forty years old, he reacted extremely quickly. With a change in his footwork, he took three consecutive Xingyi Five Elements Steps and his figure was already at the door.

He could clearly see that the person in front of him was far more powerful than he had ever imagined. Staying in the private room would only lead to certain death; he had to go downstairs where there were more people, guns, and a chance of survival if they surrounded him. Chen Zhan didn't chase after him.

The two martial artists from the Tong faction were still in the private room.

A man swung a knife at Chen Zhan. The short knife followed the Eight-Cut Technique, the blade close to Chen Zhan's forearm, the edge slicing horizontally from the outside in, aiming for Chen Zhan's throat.

Chen Zhan turned his head to dodge the blade, then spread his right hand and grabbed the man's wrist holding the knife. The wrist bone cracked in his palm.

The short knife flew out of Chen Zhan's hand, and with a twist and a push, the man's body was thrown out, his head hitting the wall and his skull caved in. He then slid down the wall.

Seeing that things were not going well, the other one didn't even draw his knife, but turned and ran, squeezing towards the door one after the other, along with the middleman in the suit.

Chen Zhan casually picked up a wine glass from the table and flicked his wrist.

The wine glass flew out, leaving a trail of wine in its wake, and struck the man on the back of the head.

The white porcelain wine glass shattered, and so did the person.

He was incredibly strong; anything amplified by his strength became a terrifying hidden weapon.

The man's skull fractured, and he fell forward, his face slamming against the threshold, where he fell silent.

The broker in the suit had already run out of the private room. He staggered a few steps down the corridor, stepped on the corpse of the thug lying on the ground, slipped, and fell face-first into the mud. He got up and tried to run again.

Chen Zhan walked out of the private room, his steps unhurried. He bent down on the corridor and picked up a short stick that a thug had tucked into his waistband. He weighed it in his hand and then casually tossed it aside.

The short stick spun out and struck the broker in the back. The sound of his spine breaking was crisp. The broker's legs instantly gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, whimpering. He crawled forward a couple of steps, but could go no further.

Chen Zhan walked over and stepped on the back of his neck, breaking the bone and killing him instantly.

The corridor fell silent.

Corpses lay scattered on the floor, some were thugs who had just been knocked down, others were people who had just escaped from the private room, all in different positions. Blood dripped down the cracks in the wooden planks, staining the ceiling of the first-floor lobby with dark red stains.

Zheng Wenda had already opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.

His gaze swept across the corridor, and he stopped in his tracks.

The stairwell was full of corpses.

When we came up, there were five or six thugs standing guard in the corridor, but now they're all lying down, some horizontally, some vertically, some diagonally, and some in such contorted positions that they don't look like they'd be made by a living person.

Zheng Wenda's legs went weak, and a hand patted him off the shoulder.

The force was like a friend patting you on the back as a greeting.

But his body stiffened, and his spine grew cold, vertebra by vertebra, from his tailbone all the way to the back of his head.

"You really don't recognize me?"

The voice came from behind him, very close, its breath brushing against the back of his neck.

Zheng Wenda slowly turned his head.

The face was clearly visible in the dim light, with its facial features, the distance between the eyebrows and eyes, the curve of the nose, and the lines of the jaw.

His thoughts were churning, countless faces flashing through his mind, one after another, finally settling on a certain day more than a decade ago.

On the arena.

A young man stood on the stage, facing hundreds of martial arts masters from both the north and south, Wan Laisheng and Gu Ruzhang, officials from the Nationalist government, and the gaze of everyone.

That person single-handedly united the martial arts world of the North and South, created the Chinese Martial Arts Alliance, and ascended to the position of leader.

That person traveled east to Japan and caused a great disturbance in Tokyo. Even now, people in the martial arts world have to lower their voices when they mention him.

That person disappeared for more than ten years, and everyone thought he was dead.

Zheng Wenda's knees bent.

"This...how is this possible?"

His voice was forced out of his throat, hoarse and trembling, as if he were being choked.

"How could you possibly be back? You can't possibly still be alive!"

"Are you disappointed that I'm alive?"

Chen Zhan's tone was so indifferent, as if he were simply saying that the weather was nice today.

Zheng Wenda was drenched in cold sweat, his clothes soaked through, his back pressed against the fabric, feeling chilly. He knew all too well what the name in front of him represented.

That was the sky of the entire martial arts world.

He forced an expression that looked worse than crying, and his voice trembled violently.

"Why didn't you do this sooner?! If we had known you were still alive, there would have been no split in the Chinese Alliance..."

"It's all about timing and fate!"

That wasn't entirely an excuse.

For more than a decade, when Chen Zhanruo was in power, Wan Laisheng dared not make any rash moves, Gu Ruzhang dared not manipulate people's hearts, and the Qingyi Society dared not reach out. No matter how much the Chinese Alliance made trouble, it could not lead to a split.

His presence is a pillar of stability.

With the leader absent, people with their own ulterior motives began to emerge.

"you're right."

Chen Zhan nodded, and a glimmer of hope flashed in Zheng Wenda's eyes.

"But betrayal is betrayal."

"Click".

The sound of a neck bone breaking echoed through the corridor. Zheng Wenda's body went limp, sliding down the wall to the floor. The terror in his eyes froze there, never to dissipate.

Chen Zhan let go of his hand and walked towards the stairwell.

The clinking of glasses in the downstairs hall also stopped. The lively sounds of string and wind instruments, drinking games, and clinking glasses were mixed together. The Japanese geisha played the shamisen, its melodious tunes mingling with the aroma of alcohol in the air.

Now they've all been suspended.

Someone heard a loud noise upstairs, which wasn't the usual commotion of drinking and chatting. They frowned, turned around, and waved to the person next to them.

"Let's go up and see what's going on."

Two thugs from the Green Robe Society stood up from the table, holding wine glasses, and swayed as they walked towards the stairwell. Halfway there, they saw someone coming down the stairs.

Wearing a gray cardigan and with a cool expression, he walked down the wooden stairs step by step, his pace neither hurried nor slow.

There were a few dark red spots on the lapel, not very noticeable under the dim light, but clearly visible up close.

The two thugs stopped and exchanged a glance.

People in the hall gradually noticed.

First, the people at the tables near the stairwell looked up, glanced at the scene, and nudged the people next to them.

"Who is that person?"

"do not know."

"There seems to be blood on him."

The buzzing of conversation spread from the stairwell to the surrounding area, from one table to another, and the noise in the hall gradually subsided.

All eyes were drawn to the stairwell.

A burly man, his face flushed from drinking, stood up from his chair, staggered over to Chen Zhan, and put his hand on Chen Zhan's chest.

Are you a member of our Tsing Yi Society?

His tongue was swollen, and the smell of alcohol wafted onto Chen Zhan's face.

"No."

"Then you fucking—"

He hadn't finished speaking.

Chen Zhan's hand had already reached out, his five fingers gripping the burly man's face, and he pressed down.

The burly man's head slammed into the stone floor, his whole body landing on the ground like a lump of wet mud, his limbs bouncing slightly.

Everyone in the hall turned to look. (End of Chapter)