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

Tang Fengxian sprang up from the armchair, grabbed the knife from the table with his right hand, and reached for the gun at his waist with his left.

There was no sound in the courtyard.

The footsteps of the four men who had been guarding the four corners have stopped.

It was unusually quiet.

There were about fifteen or sixteen people in the entire Yong'an Guild Hall, and about seven or eight on the periphery. Their breathing, footsteps, and heartbeats could be heard if you listened carefully, but suddenly they disappeared.

Tang Fengxian stood with his back against the wall, sideways in the corner of the reception room, with a knife in his right hand and a gun in his left, the knife tip pointing forward and the gun muzzle pointing towards the door.

The door was pushed open.

He wore a gray cardigan, was of medium build, had a cool and aloof expression, and stood at the doorway with nothing in his hands hanging at his sides.

The first thing Tang Fengxian noticed was the man's physique; he stood there loosely, as if not a single muscle in his body was exerting any strength.

The second thing to look at is the aura.

At the peak of the Transformation Realm, one cannot sense anything.

There was clearly a living person standing in front of me, but I couldn't sense their presence at all. If I closed my eyes, I couldn't feel anyone at the door.

Tang Fengxian's pupils contracted slightly, but he didn't hesitate.

The gun fired first: "Bang!"

"Bang bang bang!"

They fired four shots in quick succession. Having experienced the ravages of war, their generation had long lost any semblance of martial arts ethics, so it goes without saying that they were joining this kind of organization.

With his left hand, he fired a Browning rifle at a level point, less than two zhang away, and the bullet went straight for Chen Zhan's chest.

As the gunshot rang out, his body lunged forward, his right hand wielding a short knife from his waist, employing the close-quarters swordsmanship of the Six Harmonies School. The tip of the knife traced an arc from bottom to top, aiming for Chen Zhan's abdomen.

The gun attacks the middle, the knife the bottom, a pincer attack from both sides; the gun is a feint, the knife the real weapon.

The Kuomintang's (KMT) killing methods disregard martial ethics and rules, employing guns and knives at will, using whatever is convenient, with only one purpose—to kill.

The bullet seemed to be right in front of Chen Zhan, posing an extreme danger.

But Chen Zhan had already noticed the gun on Tang Fengxian's body when he entered the room. The moment he pulled the trigger, he moved his feet, but only slightly. He turned his body slightly to the side, and the bullet passed through his ribs, hit the wall behind him, and embedded itself in the brick.

The knife followed closely behind.

Tang Fengxian was extremely close, and the angle of his short knife's upward slash was tricky, the blade grazing past Chen Zhan's clothes, less than half an inch from his skin.

I didn't cut it.

Chen Zhan twisted his waist and hips, leaning his upper body back half a foot. The blade grazed his abdomen, catching a wisp of fabric.

Tang Fengxian didn't sheath his knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade changed from vertical to horizontal. The short knife was turned upside down, close to the forearm, with the back of the blade against the forearm. He then made a backhand slash, aiming for Chen Zhan's throat.

The Liuhemen's continuous sword technique—sweeping, flipping, and slicing—is executed in one fluid motion without any pause. Each slice is a continuation of the previous one, creating a continuous and seamless sword path.

Chen Zhan took a half step back.

Tang Fengxian's eyes lit up. The Six Harmonies Linked Blade was all about momentum, pushing forward relentlessly, pressing in step by step, and unleashing a series of deadly strikes.

He took three quick steps, followed closely, and unleashed a flurry of short sword strikes, slashing left and right, parrying upwards and downwards, pouring the power of peak internal energy into each strike.

The wind howled, sweeping over the tables and chairs in the reception room. Teacups were knocked off the table and shattered on the floor.

Liuhequan emphasizes six harmonies: hand and foot, elbow and knee, shoulder and hip, internal and external harmonies, forming a unified whole.

Tang Fengxian's swordsmanship and footwork were perfectly integrated; his feet, sword, body, and strength all moved in unison, and every strike was an explosion of his entire body's power.

The accumulation of seven or eight years of peak internal strength was all in these few strikes.

He delivered twelve consecutive blows.

Twelve cuts, each one missing its mark.

Chen Zhan's figure moved in and out of his sight, sometimes advancing, sometimes retreating, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right. Every strike was just half an inch off, not even half an inch more, just a hair's breadth away.

Tang Fengxian felt a chill in his heart; he understood all too well what that half inch meant.

The opponent was controlling the distance, deliberately making each strike miss by half an inch, achieving extreme precision.

If his kung fu wasn't exceptionally high, no one could have done this. It's like an adult toying with a child; they're not treating him like a human being.
But Tang Fengxian did not stop; he could not stop, for if he did, he would die.

With the thirteenth strike, he suddenly changed his move, switching the short sword from his right hand to his left. At the same time, he drew a gun from his waist with his right hand, pointed the muzzle at Chen Zhan, and pulled the trigger.

Bang bang bang.

He fired three shots in quick succession, while simultaneously thrusting his short knife from the side with his left hand. It was a sneaky stab, the tip of the knife not following an arc but a straight line, aimed directly at Chen Zhan's ribs.

Guns and knives were drawn simultaneously, three guns and one thrust, all at different angles, blocking from four directions at the same time.

This was his signature killing technique. Over the past ten years, he had used it to send countless people to their deaths. In fact, this move had become a must-learn skill for assassins in the Green Robe Society and the Military Intelligence Bureau.

At close range, less than a meter apart, even a god couldn't dodge a shot.

However, Chen Zhan was wearing a hat and showed no emotional fluctuation whatsoever; he merely raised his right hand slightly.

With palms facing forward and fingers slightly spread, it's as if you've grabbed something from the air.

All three bullets disappeared.

There was no sound of them hitting the ground, no sound of them embedding themselves in the wall; after the three bullets flew out of the muzzle, it was as if they were swallowed up by that hand.

Tang Fengxian's pupils constricted sharply, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest. 'Holy crap! Catching bullets with his bare hands? Is this even human?'

His left hand was still thrusting forward; the dagger aimed at Chen Zhan's ribs was already irreversible.

Chen Zhan simultaneously brought two fingers of his left hand together and clamped the tip of the knife.

Two fingers.

He held a short sword that he had thrust out with all his might at the peak of his internal energy level.

Tang Fengxian desperately pushed the knife forward, twisting his waist and hips, concentrating all the tendons and bones of his arm into one, and pouring all the force of his internal energy into the tip of the knife.

The knife remained completely still.

He held the knife tip between two fingers, as if he were holding a stalk of grass.

Chen Zhan looked at him and said, "You've mastered the Six Harmonies Saber Technique to this extent; that's quite impressive."

The voice was flat and calm, like a still well.

"Pity."

Twist two fingers. Snap.

The knife broke.

The 1.8-foot-long short knife was broken in two, the front half still between Chen Zhan's fingers, and the back half in Tang Fengxian's hand, the cut clean.

Tang Fengxian's hands were trembling. He was almost exhausted. He unleashed the full power of his peak internal energy, using all his sword and spear techniques. He used twelve swords, three spears, and one thrust, giving it his all.

This level of explosive power is something no master of internal energy could withstand.

"Who...who are you? How is this possible!"

Chen Zhan looked up, revealing most of his face under his hat. "I've never seen you before, but you should know me."

Tang Fengxian recognized the young face and his facial muscles twitched. "You...you're Alliance Leader Chen? How could you be? You're an imposter."

Who would impersonate Mr. Chen?

Chen Zhan nodded. This wasn't a question or answer. Before Tang Fengxian could react, Chen Zhan's right fist was placed on Tang Fengxian's chest, the force penetrating his body and severing his heart meridian.

Tang Fengxian took a few steps back, leaned against the wall, and slowly slid down the wall until he sat on the ground.

His eyes were still open, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something but didn't.

Even in his dying moments, he stared at Chen Zhan's hand as he caught the bullet. His right hand was loosely clenched, and there was a thin, fine metallic membrane on his hand, a mesh-like structure that could only be seen in sunlight.

He sat at the base of the wall, his back straight, dying with dignity.

Chen Zhan withdrew his hand, glanced down at him, and turned to walk upstairs.

On the second floor, in the telegraph room, Shen Tingdong heard gunshots and sounds of fighting downstairs.

Six gunshots rang out, spaced very close together, followed by the sound of tables and chairs shattering, lasting for less than half an incense stick's time.

Then it fell silent.

Shen Tingdong sat next to the telephone, which had only been a dozen or so breaths, with both hands on the table, waiting for the call to connect.

He knew that Tang Fengxian was probably gone.

If Tang Fengxian had won, he would have come up to report. If Tang Fengxian were still fighting, the area downstairs wouldn't be so quiet.

The reason for this quietness is that the other person is going upstairs.

Why isn't he answering the phone?!

The long-distance call, transiting through Guangzhou, connects to Shanghai. The line is connected, but there's only a buzzing sound as I wait for the other party to answer.

beep - beep -

There were footsteps in the hallway.

Slowly and deliberately, stepping on the wooden planks, creaking and groaning, they moved closer to this side step by step.

beep - beep -

"Hello, this is the Shanghai headquarters." The phone was finally answered, the voice coming through the background noise.

Shen Tingdong spoke rapidly: "I am Shen Tingdong, Hong Kong station, number 37. Urgent intelligence: The Chinese Martial Arts Association was attacked last night, and all twenty-four people were killed. Sun Mao and Zheng Wenda were among the dead. The perpetrator is a single person with extremely high martial arts skills—"

The footsteps stopped at the doorway.

"The Yong'an Guild Hall has also been breached, and Tang Fengxian is already—"

The door opened, gently pushed open from the outside, as casually as if it were the door to one's own home.

Chen Zhan stood at the door.

There were a few dark red spots on my clothes, which were splashed up from downstairs.

The two people looked at each other.

Shen Tingdong's hand holding the receiver froze in mid-air. The person on the other end of the line was still speaking: "Commander Shen? What happened to Tang Fengxian? Commander Shen?"

Chen Zhan took a step forward, extended his right hand, palm facing up.

I need a phone number.

"Commander Shen? What happened? Why aren't you saying anything? I'm taking notes."

A faint sound could still be heard from the phone. Shen Tingdong swallowed hard; he could see Chen Zhan's face now.

Young, composed, and calm.

But none of that matters.

He worked as a secret agent for twenty years, witnessed countless life-or-death situations, and personally sent countless people away. He was never afraid of death.

The important thing is that this person looks exactly like him!

That photo, which circulated within the Tsing Yi Society for over a decade, was seen countless times by all of the Society's spies.

She was standing right in front of him, alive and well.

"Give me the phone, I'll do it," Chen Zhan said.

The voice coming through the receiver in Shen Tingdong's hand asked, "Commander Shen, have you been attacked? Who attacked you?"

Shen Tingdong handed over the receiver, his hand trembling violently as he did so. Chen Zhan caught it and held it steadily in his hand.

The other hand, silently, landed on Shen Tingdong's crown, with tremendous force, "Pfft—!"

It was done so casually, like brushing dust off a hat.

Shen Tingdong's eyes immediately went blank, his body went limp from the chair and slid to the ground, his head tilted to the side of the table leg, his eyes still open, but his pupils had already dilated.

Chen Zhan held the receiver to his ear.

The person on the other end of the phone was still calling out, "Commander Shen? Commander Shen? What's going on? Are you still there?"

Chen Zhan held the receiver to his ear. The other end was still shouting, the voice urgent, and he could only make out fragments of what he heard through the background noise.

"Quiet down, who's in charge of the Tsing Yi Society now? Chan Cho-yin? Hung Chen?"

The voice on the other end of the phone abruptly stopped.

silence--

There was a crackling noise, interspersed with the buzzing sound unique to line switching, and neither side spoke.

Shen Tingdong's identification number, the internal phone number of the Qingyi Society, and the connection method of the Shanghai headquarters are all top-secret information. Only a handful of people can dial this number.

The voice on the other end wasn't Shen Tingdong's; they'd never heard it before.

There was silence for about ten breaths.

There was a rustling sound coming from the receiver, like someone switching hands to answer the phone, the sound of a chair being moved, and then a new voice came on.

Much more robust than the previous one, with a strong voice, a Shanghai accent, a slow pace, and each word was pronounced very unclearly.

"Who are you? Where is Shen Tingdong? What do you want?"

"Shen Tingdong is dead. What do I want to do?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then the deep voice suddenly rose in pitch.

"Dead? You killed him? You want to go against the Green Robe Society? You want to go against the Military Intelligence Bureau?"

He was followed by a string of Shanghainese, interspersed with profanities, spoken very quickly, with his tone fluctuating wildly.

Chen Zhan understood most of it, but he didn't quite understand some of the slang. The gist of it was that it was an insult, calling him reckless, saying he had the guts to mess with the Kuomintang's secret police, and that he was tired of living.

After cursing for a while, the person on the other end took a couple of breaths and lowered their voice again, with a fierce intensity that seemed to be forcing themselves to stay calm.

"What's your name?" Chen Zhan asked when he saw him stop.

"Huang Luwei." The other person paused for a moment, then said, "Tell me, who exactly are you?"

"Remember to clean up for your people. Um, I'll come and tell you who I am in a while."

drip-drip-drip-

The phone hangs up.

He didn't recognize the name Huang Luwei; he wasn't someone he knew back then, but someone who must have been introduced to him in the last ten years or so.

When Chen Zuyan and Hong Chen's names were mentioned, there was no response or denial from the other side, indicating that these two people are probably still around, or at least their names are still recognized within the Qingyi Society.

We'll talk about the rest when we get to Shanghai.

Chen Zhan put the receiver back on the telephone, stood up, and searched through the telegraph room.

The book contained codebooks, telegram drafts, copies of incoming and outgoing telegrams, and a leather-bound address book with serial numbers and corresponding contact information, written in code names, but some with real names marked in pencil next to them.

Take everything useful and stuff it into your pocket.

There was a stack of Hong Kong dollar banknotes and a few silver dollars in the drawer under the table. He didn't take them. When he walked to the door, he looked back at Shen Tingdong's body, which was lying next to the table leg in a contorted position. Compared with Tang Fengxian's death downstairs, it looked much uglier.

I pushed open the door, went downstairs, and crossed the courtyard.

Several corpses lay on the stone slabs in the courtyard; they were the sentries who had been dealt with casually before entering.

Outside the Wing On Guild Hall, the streets and alleys of Mong Kok were bustling with people. Stalls selling herbal tea were still set up at the alley entrances, with old men squatting beside their stoves, fanning the fire.

Nobody knew that more than a dozen people had just died deep in the alley.

next.

Yau Ma Tei, Temple Street, Sam Yee Tong.

He folded the map and headed south. (End of Chapter)