Republic of China era: Actor? Please call me Martial Arts Master!

Chapter 175 Borrowing a Drum

The wind in Beijing, especially around the middle of March, seems to be locked in a fierce battle with people.

Yesterday the sun was shining, so bright it made your bones feel weak, but this morning the sky was overcast, like a broken iron pot.

The black lacquered gate of the Lu residence creaked open.

Lu Cheng did not wear the eye-catching moon-white silk shirt, but instead changed into a gray cloth gown that had been washed until it was slightly faded.

On his feet were still a pair of black cloth shoes with a thousand-layer sole, the uppers of which were clean and free of any dust.

He didn't bring a folding fan; his hands were casually tucked into his sleeves as he stepped out the door.

Behind them, Shunzi and Lu Feng followed closely on either side.

Both men had changed into their usual coarse cloth shorts today, but they stood up straight, and the sharp and capable air unique to martial arts practitioners could not be hidden.

Lu Feng, in particular, had his eyes scanning every corner of the street with vigilance.

"Sir, it's windy outside, how about we call a rickshaw?"

Shunzi looked at the gray sky, rubbed his hands together, and asked in a muffled voice.

"Need not."

Lu Cheng shook his head.

"Let's go. When we go to borrow something, we need to be sincere. We should soak up some of the local atmosphere."

The three disciples then walked south along Qianmen Street.

In the past few days, the story of Lu Cheng single-handedly taking down a Japanese dojo in Tianjin and then giving away all his wealth to help the entire city has become a legend in the streets and alleys of Beiping.

Along the way, anyone with eyes could recognize that this was the legendary living martial saint who could "slice bullets with a knife and tear foreigners apart with his bare hands".

They all instinctively stopped what they were doing.

The rickshaw puller put down his handlebars, the breakfast vendor stopped hawking his wares, and the laborers carrying loads on shoulder poles quickly moved to the base of the wall.

No one made a loud noise, and no one dared to approach them.

The common people simply watched the young man in the gray cloth gown with an almost reverent gaze.

That kind of awe is not fear.

Instead, they genuinely believed that as long as this person was walking on the street, the sky over Beijing would never fall down.

"Candied hawthorn berries! Sweet and sour candied hawthorn berries!"

A childish yet clear shout broke the tranquility of the street.

A little girl wearing a tattered red floral jacket and with two topknots was standing at the entrance of the alley, holding a bundle of straw covered with candied hawthorns.

Her little face was red from the cold, and her snot was almost frozen into ice crystals, but she was still trying her best to shout.

The little girl was stunned for a moment when she saw Lu Cheng walking over.

Although she was young, she had heard her parents tell stories about this Master Lu.

The little girl's eyes lit up, and she wasn't shy at all; she ran over in a flash.

He plucked the largest, most sugar-coated hawthorn berries from the bundle of grass and, somewhat hastily, handed them to Lu Cheng.

"Master Lu, would you like some candied hawthorn?"

The little girl's voice trembled slightly with nervousness, and her little hand was raised high.

"My father said that you are a great hero of Beiping, and this string of candied hawthorns is free; it's a gift from me to you."

Lu Feng, who was following behind, frowned and was about to step forward to stop him, but Lu Cheng stopped him in his tracks with a look.

Lu Cheng stopped in his tracks.

He didn't mind the little girl's dirty little hands, nor did he refuse the food that wouldn't last a meal in this chaotic world.

He stretched out his long, fair hands, stained with the blood of countless masters, and steadily accepted the string of candied hawthorns.

"Okay, I'll take it."

Lu Cheng bent down slightly, his eyes gentle and warm as he looked at the little girl.

"Go back and tell your father that I dare not call myself a hero; I am just an opera singer."

97

"But as long as there are still people in Beijing, this show will never end."

After saying that, Lu Cheng took out a brand new ten-cash copper coin from his sleeve and gently placed it into the little girl's palm, which was frozen purple.

"Here, buy two frozen treats."

Ignoring the little girl's profuse thanks, Lu Cheng straightened up and took a bite of the bright red candied hawthorn.

The crisp, sweet syrup crumbles between your teeth, and the tartness of the hawthorn explodes on your taste buds.

"Is it sour, sir?" Shunzi swallowed hard from behind.

"acid."

Lu Cheng chewed on a hawthorn.

"But the sourness is invigorating."

"In this world, too much sweetness becomes cloying; a touch of bitterness is what reminds us that we are still alive."

Passing through the bustling Dashilan area, the further south you go, the more dilapidated the surrounding scenery becomes.

The bluestone slabs on the road gradually turned into a bumpy, muddy road, and the shops on both sides were replaced by low, dilapidated mud houses.

The air, filled with a mixture of cheap coal smoke, sewer water, and some indescribable sweet smell, began to fill people's nostrils.

This is the edge of the Eight Great Hutongs.

It was also a "ditch" where prostitutes, opium dens, and the lowest rungs of society gathered.

"Master, this flavor is amazing!"

Lu Feng frowned and covered his mouth and nose with one hand.

Although he also came from a poor background, since joining the Qingyun Troupe, he has been taking medicinal baths every day to cleanse his marrow, and has become very sensitive to such foul air.

-

"Gather your mind and hold your breath. This is also a form of spiritual practice."

Lu Cheng didn't stop walking. He stopped in front of a low storefront with a half-drawn tattered curtain hanging on it and no signboard.

The curtain was dark and covered with a thick layer of grease.

From inside, a few violent coughs could be faintly heard, along with that nauseating, cloyingly sweet and rotten smell unique to burning opium.

"This is it."

Lu Cheng said calmly and reached out to lift the foul-smelling curtain.

Stepping in felt like falling from the human world into hell.

This underground opium den had no windows and was only lit by a few tiny kerosene lamps, making it so dim that it was almost unbearable to look at.

Amidst the swirling smoke, a dozen or so ghostly figures, resembling withered ghosts, lay sprawled about.

Some were holding their pipes and frantically puffing away.

Some were already in a severe state, their eyes rolling back as they convulsed on the tattered mat, drool dripping from their mouths, like walking corpses.

A burly, shirtless madam was sitting at the doorway eating melon seeds when she saw three imposing men enter.

Especially the young man at the head of the group, dressed in a moon-white long gown, whose spotless demeanor was completely out of place in this rat hole.

"Oh, gentlemen, you've come to the wrong place. This is an opium den; we don't have any female servants."

The madam spat out the sunflower seed shells and tried to stop people in a sarcastic tone.

"Get out of here."

Shunzi didn't waste any words. He leaned forward and casually pushed with his large hand.

The madam felt a tremendous force come over her, let out a scream of pain, and was spun around three times like a top before crashing heavily into the nearby pile of coal slag. She didn't dare to utter another sound.

Ignoring this incident, Lu Cheng, guided by his [Exquisite Heart] and [Avoid Misfortune and Seek Good Fortune] perceptions, headed straight for the deepest, darkest, and dampest corner of the opium den.

There wasn't even a tattered mat in that corner.

There was only one person.

An old man, so thin he was practically skin and bones, lay on his side on the ground like a dying wild dog.

His flesh had shrunk to its extreme.

His eye sockets were sunken like two black holes, his cheekbones were high and prominent, and his complexion was sallow.

But what's most eye-catching is the garment he's wearing.

It was a jacket whose original color was long gone, hardened by grime, cigarette ash, and unknown dirt.

But even in the dim light, one could still vaguely discern the bright yellow background and the remaining python pattern embroidered in gold thread on the cuffs.

Yellow jacket!

The yellow jacket was bestowed by the Qing Dynasty and was only worn by those who had made outstanding military achievements and possessed unparalleled martial prowess.

And below his emaciated body.

What was being used as a mattress was not a bed board.

Instead, it was a large cowhide drum, about the size of a water vat.

The drum is made of the finest ebony. Although it is covered in dust and scratches, it still exudes a sense of weight and solidity.

The drumhead, made from the tanned skin of wild boar from Changbai Mountain, was now covered with a thick layer of tobacco ash, and even had charred marks from being burned by a pipe.

This is the supreme treasure representing the majesty of the former Qing Dynasty imperial family and the pinnacle of martial arts—the [Kui Niu Drum].

The skeleton-like cripple lying on the drum was the martial arts champion of the last imperial examination of the Qing Dynasty in the twenty-fourth year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign.

Zhang Sanshen, the peerless warrior who once made Huo Yuanjia vomit blood and admit defeat with just two punches!

"Who's blocking my light?!"

Zhang Sanjia didn't turn over, he didn't even move.

He was tightly gripping a shiny black pipe in his hand, with a cigarette holder dangling from his mouth.

The cloudy whites of his eyes rolled upwards, and his voice was so faint it sounded like it was being squeezed out from a crack in a coffin.

Gone is the arrogance of being the best in the world; all that remains is extreme desolation and emptiness.

"Old sir."

Lu Cheng stepped forward and stood calmly in front of the Kui Niu drum, which was covered in cigarette ash.

There was not a trace of contempt, nor a trace of sympathy.

It's like borrowing a hoe from an ordinary neighbor.

"Junior Lu Cheng."

"Three days later, there will be a theatrical performance at the Temple of Heaven. I heard that you possess a Kui Niu drum, a gift from the Imperial Palace," so I have come specifically to borrow it.

Borrowing a drum.

The moment those two words landed in the air, even the cloying smell of smoke seemed to freeze for a moment.

Zhang Sanjia still hasn't turned his life around.

He didn't even turn his head; only the murky whites of his eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, rolled slightly upwards.

"Borrow a drum?"

The old man's voice needed no arrogance or haughtiness.

It was an extreme desolation.

A kind of despair, a sense of emptiness that comes from seeing through the futility of all struggles in the world.

"Take it."

Zhang Sanjia said hoarsely.

His withered fingers casually tapped the priceless Kui Niu drum, producing a dull "plop" sound.

"This cowhide is so stiff. It hurts my old bones to sit on it in the dead of winter."

"If you want it, then move out."

He paused, took another deep drag of his opium, savoring the momentary numbness, and said in a humble tone.

"However—I can't lend it for free."

"Leave me two silver dollars, enough to buy a couple of ounces of 'divine soil' cigarettes, just enough for a few puffs to keep me going."

He was the last martial arts champion of the Qing Dynasty, who once defeated Huo Yuanjia, the greatest martial artist in the land, to the point of vomiting blood and admitting defeat.

For the sake of two silver dollars for opium, they could throw away even their most glorious symbol, even the dignity of a warrior, like trash.

Shunzi and Lu Feng's eyes reddened as they listened, a nameless anger burning within them, yet they felt too sorrowful to express it.

Lu Cheng stood there, looking at the dirty yellow jacket.

The exquisite mind sees that the five aggregates are all empty.

He could see that in this withered body, the tendons that were once as thick as dragons had shrunk, and the vital energy that was once as rich as lead and mercury had long since dried up.

But the most terrifying thing is not the decline of the body.

His heart was dead.

"senior."

Lu Cheng did not reach for the silver dollar; his voice remained steady.

"I'm not just borrowing this drum to make a sound."

"I will use it to suppress the foreigners' guns and cannons at the Temple of Heaven, and to suppress the arrogance of those warlords."

"To provide support?"

Upon hearing those two words, Zhang Sanjia's hand, which had been as stiff as a withered tree, suddenly paused in mid-air.

The tobacco paste on the cigarette stick fell to the ground.

Followed by.

"Heh, heh heh heh-hahahaha."

A bitter laugh escaped from Zhang Sanjia's lisp.

He didn't turn his head, but his laughter was full of mockery.

"Young man—"

Zhang Sanjia chuckled bitterly as he spoke softly.

"You have such a vibrant life force in you."

"No matter how well you conceal it, this old man could smell the 'Nine Core Formation' aura emanating from you from a great distance. A half-step Nine Core Formation cultivator in his early twenties—truly a prodigy, a genius!"

The old man's voice suddenly became harsh and stern.

"So what?!"

Thirty years ago, I was just like you.

"I was born with superhuman strength, my bones and muscles resonated in harmony. I thought I had reached the limits of the human body, I thought I, Zhang Sanjia, was the most invincible true god in the world!"

Zhang Sanjia suddenly gripped the filthy yellow jacket he was wearing, and in his cloudy eyes, it seemed as if the horrific war of the Gengzi year was reflected again.

"At that time, the foreigners invaded Beijing."

"I carried a 120-pound iron broadsword and led my 300 disciples who had trained in Iron Shirt and Golden Bell techniques their whole lives to guard Zhengyang Gate."

The old man's body trembled violently, and two streams of turbid tears slid down his filthy cheeks.

"My knife is fast, and my movements are faster than theirs—I can dodge the foreigners' bullets."

"But."

"I can't avoid the city gate behind me!"

"My disciples, who have mastered the external martial arts to the extreme and are invulnerable to swords and spears, cannot dodge this."

"The foreigners' rows of Maxim machine guns swept across, rat-a-tat-tat-tat—my three hundred good apprentices fell like wheat, all turned into minced meat, all turned into blood!"

"When the Krupp cannons fired, even the city walls collapsed."

Zhang Sanjia covered his face with his hands in despair, like a stray dog ​​whose spine had been broken.

"Martial arts?"

"What utter nonsense about martial arts!"

"No matter how loudly you beat your drum, can it drown out the noise of the foreigners' Krupp cannons?"

"No matter how high your cultivation level is at the Core Formation stage, can you withstand a barrage of ten thousand spears?"

"It's no use, it's all useless—"

"This era no longer belongs to us. We martial arts practitioners are just a bunch of outdated jokes, a bunch of clowns blocking the way—"

"Get lost."

Zhang Sanjia lowered his hand helplessly and groped for the blackened opium pipe again.

"Don't bother me with your bullshit theories."

"Take the drum and get out of here. Don't disturb my peaceful dream of drawing divine soil. In my dream, I can still see my apprentices—"

Dead silence.

Only the heavy breathing of the smokers remained in the opium den.

Shunzi and Lu Feng fell silent.

They had initially despised and scorned this old good-for-nothing, but after hearing his heart-wrenching confession, they felt as if a massive boulder was pressing on their chests, making even breathing painful.

Yes.

In the face of such an epoch-making industrial massacre, what use is individual force?

Who can bear the despair of such a collapse of faith?

Lu Cheng stood quietly in place.

He did not refute it.

Because he knew that any words of guidance, any impassioned reasoning, were pale and laughable in the face of the flesh and blood of Zhang Sanjia's three hundred disciples who had been blasted to pieces by cannon fire.

What Zhang Sanjia saw was a cruel reality.

In this era, this is an undeniable truth.

Since reasoning with them is futile.

Then I won't talk about it.

Lu Cheng slowly took a step forward.

He didn't go to get the big drum.

He simply walked to Zhang Sanjia's side and slowly extended his right hand.

The "eagle eyes" disappeared from his eyes, and the clear and serene state of mind of the "exquisite heart" shrank to its extreme in an instant.

"Croak—!"

A croaking frog, powerful enough to shake one's very soul, resounded deep within Lu Cheng's dantian like a thunderclap in early spring.

【Catching Toad Strength】Full-force operation.

The "fake pill" that had condensed on the Haihe River in Tianjin began to spin wildly at that moment.

A wisp of domineering and unparalleled [Embracing Core Qi] followed Lu Cheng's meridians, instantly condensing into a tangible white mist at the tip of his index finger.

Lu Cheng did not look at Zhang Sanjia.

He simply bent his index finger and pointed it at the edge of the "Kui Niu Drum," which was covered in grease and cigarette ash.

A gentle flick.

"Thump!!!!!"

'

It doesn't produce the crisp sound of striking a drumhead.

The sound was like a giant hammer weighing tens of thousands of pounds slamming down on an ancient bronze bell that had been sleeping for thousands of years.

The sound waves transformed into visible white ripples, instantly engulfing the entire underground opium den.

Those drug addicts lying on the ground didn't even have time to scream before they were knocked unconscious by the terrifying sound wave.

But it's not just about sound.

The sound of the drum contained Lu Cheng's unparalleled [White Tiger True Meaning], the [Overlord]'s peerless pride of going against thousands of people, and even more so, the purest wisp of the elixir-embracing energy!

This is a resonance of the aura of the pinnacle of martial arts.

Like two unparalleled magnets, they reacted intensely at that moment.

Zhang Sanjia, who was originally lying on his side on the tattered mat, like a dead body, was preparing to continue smoking opium.

His brain didn't react at all in that instant.

His consciousness was still immersed in that abyss filled with despair and nothingness.

but!

His withered, emaciated body, ravaged by opium for thirty years.

His martial arts instinct, etched deep in his bones, belonged to the last martial arts champion of the Qing Dynasty and the former number one martial arts master in the world.

The instant I sensed this terrifying killing intent of the same level, or even a higher level.

I'm awake!

"boom-!!!"

It completely violates any common sense in physics.

One second it was a dried-up corpse that could barely stand up.

next second.

A muffled "bang" was heard.

The tattered mat beneath Zhang Sanjia instantly turned to dust.

His body, under the last vestige of instinctive tremor of the spinal dragon, sprang up from the ground with terrifying speed, like a fully drawn bow snapping suddenly!

fast!

too fast!

It was so fast that even Lu Feng, who was standing to the side, felt a sudden darkness before his eyes.