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

Twenty or thirty people looked over at the same time.

Chen Zhan was wearing a hat, which he had casually taken from Sun Mao on the second floor. The brim of the hat was pulled low, covering most of his face, with only his chin showing.

Some people wanted to see his face clearly, so they squinted and peered at it.

The next instant, Chen Zhan vanished from the spot.

The middle-aged man closest to him had a short knife at his waist. His right hand reached for his waist, but his fingertips didn't touch the hilt; they touched the blade.

"Whoosh-!"

The hand was severed at the wrist, the cut was clean, the bone fragments were white, and before the blood could even gush out, the knife was no longer in its sheath.

The man opened his mouth, trying to shout, but a thin line appeared on his neck, from which blood gushed. His throat was broken, and all that could be heard was the whooshing sound of wind. He fell forward to the ground.

With a knife in hand, one can reap lives.

"what--!"

The shouts in the hall were deafening.

The sounds of tables and chairs overturning, porcelain bowls shattering, footsteps on stone slabs, and screams mingled together.

"Bang, bang bang."

Taking advantage of the chaos, someone drew a gun and fired three shots at the spot where Chen Zhan had just been standing. The bullets hit the stone pillar, sparks flew everywhere, and white ash fell to the ground.

It missed.

Chen Zhan's divine will enveloped this area. Within a radius of several feet, the position, movement, breathing, and heartbeat of everyone were clearly visible. Even if there were more than a dozen or twenty people, they could not interfere in the slightest.

Before the gun could turn, the blade was already there.

The arm holding the gun was severed at the wrist, and the gun and hand fell to the ground together, the finger still on the trigger, twitching twice.

Chen Zhan moved through the crowd, his figure shifting left and right, his blade flashing intermittently, each strike swift and precise.

Within a dozen or so breaths, most of the people in the hall had collapsed.

He only targeted members of the Green Robe Society.

Those with blue cloth strips tied to their arms and guns and knives tucked at their waists—all those who had been drinking, playing drinking games, and boasting on the table just moments before—were all gone.

The waiter serving the dishes was huddled in a corner, trembling, while the handyman clearing the plates was lying under the table, covering his head, but neither of them was in any danger.

Most of those working in the service industry are refugees from other places trying to make a living, and many of them came from the mainland. There's no need to implicate them.

Chen Zhan sheathed his knife, straightened his hat brim, tore a piece of cloth from his waist, wiped the blood off the blade, and tucked the short knife back into his waistband.

Turn around and walk towards the main entrance.

The sound of footsteps on the stone slabs was clear and distinct, one step at a time.

There was no other sound in the hall.

The survivors huddled in a corner, too afraid to breathe. Several of the men were paralyzed with fear, trembling and unable to speak. A few others took advantage of the chaos to run away, but he didn't chase after them.

As Chen Zhan stepped across the threshold of the main gate, the street outside was already in complete chaos.

Several gunshots rang out, and pedestrians on Hollywood Road scattered and fled. Some shouted "Shooting! Shooting!" and crawled into the alley, while others lay down behind stone blocks by the roadside, too afraid to move.

The sharp, piercing sound of a patrolman's whistle could be heard in the distance, growing louder as it approached.

Chen Zhan turned left and walked into the narrow alley next to him. His hat brim was pulled down, and he walked at a moderate pace. After a few turns, his figure disappeared into the depths of the night.

When the police arrived at the Chinese Martial Arts Association, the main gate was wide open, the plaque was broken on the steps, the lights were on, and it was eerily quiet inside.

The leading police captain was surnamed Mak. He had worked for the Hong Kong British Police Force for over ten years and had seen all sorts of scenes. He had been to the scene of brawls in Kowloon Walled City, shootouts at the docks, and feuds in opium dens.

The moment I pushed open the door, the stench of blood hit me, so strong it tasted sweet, like stepping into a slaughterhouse.

Corpses littered the ground.

Some lay horizontally, some vertically, some prone, some face up, and some were decapitated, with their heads and bodies separated by several steps.

Tables and chairs were overturned, cups and plates were shattered all over the floor, and wine and blood pooled on the stone slab, forming a dark red puddle.

Captain Mai stood at the door, his face pale. The police officers behind him also stopped in their tracks, and one of the younger ones bent over and began to retch.

"Go upstairs," Captain Mai said through gritted teeth.

Tap tap tap, several police officers went up the wooden stairs to the second floor.

The situation was even worse in the corridor.

The thugs' corpses littered the corridor; some had been killed with a single blow, their chests caved in, while others had their necks snapped, their heads lolling to one side at bizarre angles.

Sun Mao's body was not found in the innermost private room. He had been thrown out of the second-floor window and was later found in the alley below. His chest cavity had completely collapsed, and bone fragments had pierced his internal organs. His death was extremely gruesome.

Zheng Wenda leaned against the wall in the stairwell, his neck bent at an impossible angle, his eyes still open, his pupils frozen in fear.

He knew both of them.

The Tsing Yi Society wields immense power in Hong Kong, spending lavishly and maintaining close ties with the local police. They consistently send red envelopes during holidays. He has dealt with both Sun Mao and Cheng Man-tat, and even had dinner with them at a restaurant last month.

He squatted down next to Zheng Wenda's body and looked at it for a couple of seconds. When he stood up, his legs were weak. After taking a few steps, he couldn't hold it in any longer and leaned against the wall, vomiting loudly.

After vomiting, I wiped my mouth and leaned against the wall for a long time to recover.

"Ask the survivors downstairs what the killer looks like."

Chen Zhan left Sheung Wan and walked back the way he came towards Kowloon.

The night wind blew in from the direction of Victoria Harbour, carrying a salty, fishy smell mixed with coal smoke, and the streetlights receded one by one.

After passing Yau Ma Tei, we turned into the streets and alleys of Sham Shui Po.

After walking a hundred steps, I turned into an alley. There was a broken matchstick stuck in the crack of the bricks at the base of the wall, with the match head facing left.

signal.

The markings Ruan Zhi used were a set that only Ye Ningzhen and Chen Zhan knew back then. Outsiders would just think they were random discarded junk and wouldn't understand their significance.

The match head pointing left means to go left, and the next mark is within fifty steps.

Chen Zhan followed the signs, turning from alley to lane, then to side streets, and finally to dark alleys. He wandered around for a while, until dawn broke, and finally arrived at Yau Tsim Mong.

It's better than Sham Shui Po; there are proper shops and buildings on the streets, not just shantytowns.

A six-story old tenement building, with large sections of its cement exterior peeling away to reveal the red bricks underneath. The stairwell was dark and gloomy, without any lights. I climbed the stairs to the third floor.

The innermost house had its wooden door closed, painted with a layer of dark red paint. The paint was cracked, and a sliver of light shone through the cracks.

Chen Zhan stepped forward and knocked on the door.

Two rapid sounds, two soft sounds.

There was a moment of silence inside, then Ruan Zhi's voice came: "Open the door."

The door opened from the inside, and the tall Fang Henian stood behind it. Upon seeing Chen Zhan, he bowed slightly.

"You've arrived."

Chen Zhan stepped aside and went inside. Fang Henian peeked out into the hallway to make sure no one was following, then closed the door and bolted it shut.

The house was much more spacious than the stilt houses in Sham Shui Po, with a three-bedroom, one-living room layout and thick curtains hanging on the windows, covering everything completely.

Ruan Zhi stood in the hall.

She's much better than yesterday. Although she's still thin and her face is still sallow, she's straightened her back and her legs are steady. She took a few steps to come over, and although her steps were slow, at least she no longer looked like she was about to fall down at any moment.

Chen Zhan glanced at her and nodded, saying, "You can get out of bed now, and you're recovering quite well. Sit down, and I'll help you with a blood circulation massage. In another half month, you'll be mostly recovered, and then we'll return to Shenghai." Ruan Zhi nodded and was about to walk towards the bed when she sniffled twice and stopped in her tracks.

"Are you injured?"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head.

"No, it's not your blood, but you smell of blood."

Chen Zhan turned around and took off his gray cardigan. There were indeed many dark red spots on the clothes, especially on the cuffs and front, some of which had turned black and dried.

"It's nothing, I just dealt with a few scoundrels."

Ruan Zhi gave him a deep look.

She knew Chen Zhan's personality too well. After hearing what happened yesterday, she knew this would happen. It was probably not just a few scoundrels who would turn Hong Kong upside down.

But she didn't ask any more questions, nor did she intend to stop them; they should have been killed long ago.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, her back straight, with her hands resting on her knees.

Chen Zhan sat down by the bed, placed his palm on the Mingmen acupoint on her back, and channeled his Qi and blood, the warm and gentle force penetrating from his palm and slowly pushing along Ruan Zhi's meridians.

While pushing, he asked, "No one's chasing us, right?"

"No, just like you said, we left Sham Shui Po overnight, and the other side is already watching that area. We're not far from Sham Shui Po, what if they come after us?"

"No, they'll be too busy taking care of themselves later."

Ruan Zhi remained silent for a moment, then did not ask any further questions.

A stick of incense.

Chen Zhan finished his practice, removing his palm from her back, his fingers slightly warm.

"You can stay here. I will come over once a day. Leave a signal if anything happens."

"Mm." Ruan Zhi nodded, then paused for a moment, "Brother-in-law... be careful."

"rest assured."

Chen Zhan responded and turned to leave.

Fang Henian saw him off at the door, his gaze complex. He seemed to want to say something, but his lips moved without uttering a sound, and he closed the door.

Returning to Kowloon Walled City, it was just noon. We walked through several narrow alleys, turned into the depths of the walled city, and headed towards Han Shouyi's lodging.

Before he even reached the door, Wu Jianglong had already come to greet him.

His expression was somewhat strange, he seemed hesitant to speak, wanting to ask but not daring to, his lips twitched twice, and he managed to stammer out, "Mr. Chen... my brother is waiting inside, this way please."

Follow him through the dark alley, upstairs, and into another room.

It was a bit smaller than the private room from last night, but it was clean. There was a square table, a few chairs, and a pile of papers on the table.

Han Shouyi has arrived.

Sitting at the table with his back ramrod straight, a stack of papers and a folded map were in front of him. When he saw Chen Zhan come in, he stood up abruptly.

"Alliance Leader, you've arrived."

Chen Zhan waved his hand, sat down opposite him, and glanced at the papers on the table.

Han Shouyi pushed the stack of papers over: "I investigated overnight. It took me a lot of effort to find out about the Tsing Yi Society and the pro-unification faction's businesses and personnel in Hong Kong."

Chen Zhan opened it and read it.

The first picture shows the Tak Yee Martial Arts School in Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon, a stronghold of the Tongpai sect. The head of the school is surnamed Liu, a second-generation disciple of Wan Laisheng.

The second photo shows Sai Yeung Choi Street in Mong Kok, the Wing On Association. It has a sign for a fellow-townsman association, but it was actually the liaison station of the Tsing Yi Society in Kowloon. It had a telegraph room inside and communicated directly with Nanjing.

The third picture shows Temple Street in Yau Ma Tei, Sam Yee Tong. On the surface, it's a traditional Chinese medicine shop, but behind it is the armory of the Tsing Yi Society, where guns and ammunition were transferred.

The fourth image shows a money exchange belonging to the Lee Chun Trading Company in Causeway Bay, part of the Tsing Yi Society.

There are a few more pictures, showing various strongholds, martial arts schools, teahouses, and warehouses scattered throughout Hong Kong and Kowloon. Some pictures indicate the number of people in each location, while others indicate the names of the people in charge and their martial arts skills.

The last photo shows Hollywood Road in Sheung Wan, Chinese Wushu Federation.

Chen Zhan pulled the paper out and put it back on the table: "This is unnecessary."

Han Shouyi glanced at the paper and was about to ask why he hadn't looked at the information.

There was a knock on the door, urgent, several times.

Han Shouyi frowned and looked at Wu Jianglong: "Go see who it is. Didn't I tell you not to disturb them?"

Wu Jianglong strode out, where a sweaty underling stood, clutching a newspaper and panting heavily.

"Brother Long... Brother Long, the newspaper..."

"Why are you in such a hurry to publish the newspaper? Don't you know that our brother is discussing business?" Wu Jianglong said in a low voice.

"No, no, Brother Long, look, look at this."

The younger brother handed the newspaper to Wu Jianglong, his hands trembling.

Wu Jianglong took it suspiciously and unfolded it to take a look.

front page.

The full-width headline, in bold, spanned the entire page: "The entire Chinese Martial Arts Federation was massacred; the perpetrator is nowhere to be found."

The title was accompanied by three black and white photos.

The first picture is a panoramic view of the hall, with tables and chairs overturned, the floor in a mess, bloodstains on the stone floor, and several corpses lying haphazardly among the tables and chairs.

The second picture shows the second-floor corridor, where the bodies of the thugs are scattered along the walkway, their postures contorted. One of them has a broken neck, his head is tilted to one side, and his eyes are still open.

The third picture is of Zheng Wenda, leaning against the wall, his death exactly the same as in the newspaper photo, the frozen fear in his pupils clearly visible.

At that time, competition among Hong Kong's newspapers was fierce. In order to grab the headlines, they dared to publish any kind of photos. Bloody photos of the scene were printed directly on the front page without any cover-up.

Wu Jianglong's fingers gripped the corner of the newspaper, and he stood there stunned for a good three or four breaths.

He took the newspaper, turned around, went into the house, and handed it to Han Shouyi.

Han Shouyi took the book, glanced at the title, and his expression changed drastically.

I glanced at the photo again.

The newspaper trembled slightly in his hand. He looked up, his gaze drifted towards Chen Zhan for a moment, then quickly returned to his head, staring at the newspaper. His lips moved, but he didn't dare ask anything.

There's no need to say who did it.

Chen Zhan seemed oblivious to their reactions, pointing his finger at the stack of papers spread out on the table.

"Could you please introduce these places? Do you have a map?"

Han Shouyi took a deep breath, put the newspaper aside, pulled out a map of Hong Kong from the table, spread it out, picked up a pencil, and steadied his hand.

He pointed to the Kowloon Peninsula on the map, the pencil tip landing on Tsim Sha Tsui, "The Tsing Yi Society is widely distributed in Hong Kong, I can only find the ones that are visible."

"It's alright, say whatever you know."

Chen Zhan smiled, revealing his sparkling white teeth, as if the dozens of people who died yesterday had nothing to do with him.

"Alliance Leader, please take a look." (End of Chapter)