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

Chapter 176 May Everyone in the World Be Like a Dragon

That was the resonance of energy fields between masters of the Transformation Realm, as if it were a tangible force.

It's like an ancient dragon sleeping in the mud of the deep sea, suddenly smelling the blood of another real dragon.

"boom!!!"

There was absolutely no time for anyone to react.

Even if his nerves had been numbed by opium for thirty years, even if his consciousness was still immersed in that desperate nightmare filled with gunfire and bloodshed.

But Zhang Sanjia's body, that physical body that bears the supreme glory of the last martial arts champion of the Qing Dynasty.

But it awoke before his soul.

It violates all common sense in physics and physiological limits.

"Bang!"

A loud explosion.

The tattered straw mat beneath Zhang Sanjia, along with the layers of old cotton wadding underneath, turned into a cloud of dust in that instant.

His emaciated body, reduced to nothing but bones, sprang straight up from the opium couch in a chilling manner.

fast!

too fast!

It was so fast that even Lu Feng and Shunzi, two martial arts experts who had already mastered the Ming Jin technique, only felt a sudden blur before their eyes, and not even a residual image remained on their retinas.

"Sizzle!"

Zhang Sanjia's originally hunched back straightened in that instant.

The large tendons in his body, which should have atrophied and died long ago, were now making a loud "crackling" sound, like rusty steel cables being forcibly tightened.

There was no outward release of internal energy, no earth-shattering bursts of qi and blood.

Thirty years of opium addiction had long since drained his resources.

What he was unleashing at this moment was pure to the extreme, and also returned to the ultimate simplicity—the "true meaning of martial arts"!

"kill!"

No sound came out of Zhang Sanjia's throat.

But this murderous intent, born from a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood, had already pierced through the murky air of the underground opium den.

The long brass pipe in his hand, used for smoking opium, was blackened and shiny with tobacco residue.

At this moment, it became the heavy iron broadsword in his hand, weighing 120 jin (approximately 60 kg).

"Buzz!"

The tobacco pipe transformed into a black glint, aimed straight at Lu Cheng's throat.

This attack didn't even make a sound, nor did it reveal a trace of killing intent.

All the energy and spirit.

All the resentment, despair, and the last remaining pride of a martial arts champion were compressed into the tip of this less than two-foot-long opium pipe.

This was a strike of the highest caliber.

This is a desperate gamble by the greatest master of the old era!

"Master!"

Lu Feng and Shunzi felt their hair stand on end, as if a shadow of death was gripping their throats.

They wanted to draw their swords and stand in front of them.

But it was too late.

Their hands had barely touched the hilt of the knife when that dark glint was already less than half an inch in front of Lu Cheng's Adam's apple.

Faced with such extreme speed and stillness that could pierce the heavens, any move or reaction seems like a joke.

however.

Lu Cheng, facing this earth-shattering thrust, did not retreat.

His moon-white robe remained spotless in the dark, filthy cave filled with the cloying smell of opium; not even the hem of his robe fluttered.

At this moment, the exquisite heart is as still as a clear mirror.

It illuminates the emptiness of the five aggregates and the origin of all phenomena.

In Lu Cheng's eyes, time seemed to stretch out infinitely.

He didn't activate the "Overlord's Armor Removal" technique to confront the opponent head-on, nor did he use the powerful and unparalleled "Beng Jin" of Xingyi Quan to smash them.

Because he knew that if the old man in front of him, who was nothing but bones, were to be struck by a powerful, hidden force, his frail body would instantly turn into a pile of mud.

He came to borrow the drum.

They sought an unyielding spirit, not to kill.

"Taiji originates from Wuji, is the mechanism of movement and stillness, and is the mother of Yin and Yang."

The true meaning of the tattered Tai Chi manual he brought back from Tianjin flowed through Lu Cheng's mind.

He slowly raised his right hand.

Bring your index and middle fingers together.

This seemingly slow movement, which is actually so fast that it seems to happen in the gap of time, contains the most advanced wisdom of Chinese martial arts over hundreds of years.

What flows from the fingertips is no longer simply the straightness of form and meaning, nor the intensity of the eight extremes.

Instead, it integrates the "listening" and "transformation" of Tai Chi, the "rotation" and "turning" of Bagua, and the "integration" and "penetration" of Xingyi.

All the martial arts in the world were fused together in this one pulsating "fake pill" at this moment!

"Smack."

A soft sound.

Lu Cheng's two fingers, as if picking up a fallen flower, steadily caught the black brass pipe that was aimed at his throat.

Neither of them would give an inch.

Inside the opium den, there was no surging air or bursts of energy.

The opium addicts lying on the ground around them didn't even lift their eyelids, completely unaware that just three feet above their heads, a clash representing the pinnacle of martial arts had just taken place.

Extreme motion transforms into extreme stillness.

Lu Cheng's two fingers and Zhang Sanjia's withered, claw-like hand remained locked in mid-air.

next second.

"puff----"

It sounded like the dull thud of chalk being crushed.

That old pipe made of fine brass.

Under the frenzied clash between the "extremely soft force" at Lu Cheng's fingertips and the "extremely hard intent" of Zhang Sanjia, they could not withstand the pull of these two supreme forces.

It actually started to shatter from the point where it was trapped!

Instead of breaking in two, it weathered directly into a clump of black sashimi powder.

The black powder seeped through Lu Cheng's fingers and fell softly onto his filthy yellow jacket.

The smoking pipe was shattered.

The murderous intent vanished without a trace.

Zhang Sanjia froze on the spot.

His body, like a taut bow about to snap, was frozen in time.

He did not make a second move.

Because he can't get out.

That last blow had drained the last bit of potential from his broken body.

Moreover, his cloudy white eyes finally began to focus, and he could see the face of the young man in front of him clearly.

I also saw clearly what was contained in that move just now.

"you----"

Zhang Sanjia's lips trembled.

He looked down at his empty hands.

She slowly raised her head again, looking into Lu Cheng's eyes, which showed no sign of retreat or killing intent.

This last martial arts champion was the last number one martial arts master in the Qing Dynasty.

The deathly gray despair that had covered his eyes for thirty years suddenly cracked open like a city wall struck by lightning.

A ray of extremely complex light surged out from the crack.

There was shock, confusion, and disbelief.

But there is also a trace of—

The relief and bittersweet feeling of finally seeing a glimmer of light in the boundless darkness.

"Tai Chi's listening and neutralizing force, Bajiquan's 'stabilizing the sea stance,' and Xingyiquan's three-body foundation—"

Zhang Sanjia found it hard to believe.

His eyes began to redden, and the muscles on his grime-covered face twitched.

"Okay—okay."

"This strength is perfectly rounded and flawless, combining both hardness and softness. You little rascal, you've actually taken all these secret techniques and swallowed them all."

Zhang Sanjia knew all too well what this meant.

In his time, the prejudices between different factions within the martial arts world were as deep as the sea.

A teacher who teaches his apprentice will starve his master.

"The secrets of martial arts should not be passed on to six ears," and "Keep a trick up your sleeve"—these are the ironclad rules for all martial arts masters.

Those who practice Tai Chi will never teach Xingyi, and those who practice Bagua will never study Bajiquan.

Anyone who dares to steal martial arts techniques from other schools will be sentenced to death with severed tendons and lacerations.

But this young man in his early twenties actually possessed the core essence and top-level spirit of the three major internal martial arts styles of the North.

Moreover, this essence was without any stagnation, clearly indicating that it had received the "true teachings" from those old monsters without reservation!

"They—those stubborn old mules who won't die."

Zhang Sanjia's tears finally rolled down the deep creases of his eyes and fell to the ground.

"They didn't hold anything back at all!"

"They actually entrusted their ancestors' most precious possessions to an outsider like you—"

Zhang Sanjia understood.

He understood completely.

Why would those veteran boxers who valued rules more than life itself break centuries-old taboos and impart all their secrets to this young man?

Because the country is about to perish.

Because foreigners' guns are already pointed at our heads, if we take those tattered boxing manuals to our graves, the roots of Chinese martial arts will truly be severed.

They are entrusting their orphan to someone.

They placed all their last hope for the Chinese martial spirit on this young man named Ya Cheng.

What immense courage and profound sorrow this must possess!

"thump."

Zhang Sanjia was neither enraged nor humiliated by the fact that the benevolent man had broken the deadly move with just two fingers.

He was like a tattered sack that had been drained of its last breath, slumping back onto the filthy opium couch.

That yellow jacket bestowed by the Qing Dynasty emperor seemed so ridiculous and so glaring at that moment.

"Mei, right?"

Zhang Sanjia leaned against the wall, his chest heaving violently, breathing like a broken bellows.

"This old man is convinced."

He closed his eyes, and two streams of turbid tears slid down his cheeks into the hideous scar.

"It's much stronger than the foolish, headstrong force I had back then, which only knew how to fight and advance by force."

"You youngsters are better than us."

Ya Cheng remained standing in the same spot and withdrew his hand.

He looked at the once arrogant old man who had fallen to such a state, a trace of pity flashing in his eyes.

"senior."

Ya Cheng bowed slightly.

"The world has changed, but we must not lose the integrity left by our ancestors."

"I have come today to borrow the drum so that I may preach at the Temple of Heaven in three days."

"I want to smash the sectarianism among the various martial arts factions to pieces in front of all of Beiping and the whole world."

"Foreigners' guns and cannons can shatter our city walls, but they cannot shatter the backbone of our Chinese nation."

"I want everyone in this world to be like a dragon."

Ya Cheng's words were calm and collected, yet they struck like a thunderclap in the opium den, which was filled with a dull and dark atmosphere.

Zhang Sanjia suddenly opened his eyes and stared intently at Ya Cheng.

Preaching at the Temple of Heaven?

Break down barriers?

Is everyone a dragon?

This—what arrogance, what a grand ambition to swallow mountains and rivers!

This kid is going to fight against the entire Dharma-ending Age all by himself.

"Good—good for your unyielding backbone."

Zhang Sanjia shakily stretched out his skin-and-bones foot.

"Bang."

He kicked the huge Kui Niu drum that was underneath it.

This table, covered in dust and soot for thirty years, was treated as a priceless treasure by the family, like a broken coffee table.

It rolled along the ground and landed at Ya Cheng's feet.

"Take it."

Zhang Sanjia turned around, covering most of his palm with the tattered sleeve of his yellow jacket, as if unwilling to let anyone see his vulnerability and tears at this moment.

He lay back down, his hands trembling, and grabbed a handful of dark opium paste from the broken box beside him. He shoved it into his mouth, no longer needing his pipe, and just chewed it dry, mixed with blood and tears.

"Kid, take the drum with you."

"Go knock on it—"

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