Time Travel: My Comfortable Life After Going to the Countryside

Just as Zhu Zi's hand was about to touch Chen Jiemian's sleeve, Liu Xiangyang moved.

His left leg seemed to slip casually to the side and back, the heel of his ice skate striking precisely the side edge of the blade on the front foot of the pillar, which was used as a fulcrum. The force didn't seem strong, but it was strangely powerful. The pillar felt as if something had suddenly tripped him, and he instantly lost his balance.

With a cry of "Ouch!", he slammed forward onto the ice like a sack of potatoes, his face hitting the ice with a dull thud. He groaned in pain, clutching his nose, and slid a long way across the ice, leaving a long trail behind him.

The other two accomplices were stunned for a moment, and before they could react to what was happening, Liu Xiangyang's right arm had already lashed out like a whip.

His hands didn't look particularly big, but once he grabbed the wrist of the person on the right, he gripped it like an iron clamp, and before the other person could struggle, he twisted his five fingers sharply—

"Ah—!" A piercing scream suddenly rang out, hurting the ears.

The man's wrist was bent at an odd angle, and his entire body was lifted off the ground by a brute force, swinging him around like a rag doll and slamming him hard into his companion who was charging towards him from the left.

With a dull thud, the two collided, rolled around in each other's arms, and slid several meters across the ice before coming to a stop, wincing in pain and unable to get up for a long time.

In just a few seconds, the arrogant men were all lying on the ground.

The ice rink fell silent instantly. Skating and watching from afar all stopped, mouths agape, eyes wide, staring at this scene. Even the song "We Workers Have Strength" playing from the loudspeakers seemed particularly jarring.

Young Master Qian's face instantly turned completely black. His previous nonchalance vanished, and the sinister look under his eyes could no longer be concealed.

The red armband-wearing men behind him, who had remained silent until now, all reached for their waists, where bulges were clearly concealing weapons.

"Fine, very well." Young Master Qian gritted his teeth, squeezing out a few words. He slid forward two steps, staring intently at Liu Xiangyang. "I didn't expect him to be a trained fighter. Violently resisting the law and beating revolutionary masses—do you know what kind of crime that is?"

Liu Xiangyang shook his hand as if he had just brushed off some ice shards. He looked at Young Master Qian with no expression on his face: "If you want to take her away, you'll have to fall down."

"Then so be it!" Young Master Qian suddenly raised his voice, as if to embolden himself, or perhaps to shout to those around him, "Comrades, you all saw it! This man violently attacked us and tried to protect suspicious individuals. I think he's Zhao Si's accomplice! Seize him! If he dares to resist, beat him to death! I'll take responsibility for anything that happens!"

The men in red armbands glared at each other and immediately pulled out their weapons from their waists—two gleaming triangular scrapers and several short sticks covered with sheet metal, which gleamed coldly in the bleak winter light, and slowly surrounded them in a fan shape.

Chen Jie's heart leaped into her throat. She gripped Liu Xiangyang's arm tightly, her voice trembling with tears, "Xiangyang! Don't fight them! Let's... let's go!"

Liu Xiangyang gently patted the back of her hand, signaling her to let go.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slightly, and then stood firmly. His gaze swept over the people who had surrounded him, finally landing on Young Master Qian's face, which was distorted with anger. He recalled what Uncle Wu had once said: if you encounter a thug who is truly ruthless and has no sense of rules, hesitating is being cruel to yourself.

His voice wasn't loud, but the surroundings were very quiet, enough for Young Master Qian and the few people with red armbands to hear him clearly.

Liu Xiangyang's eyes suddenly sharpened, like a crack suddenly appearing on the surface of ice: "Since you don't follow the rules, then don't blame me for not following them either."

The last word had barely left his lips when he moved.

It was no longer the clever use of leverage; this time, it was a real, overwhelming force.

The man in the red armband, who was wielding a scraper and lunging forward, probably hadn't expected him to dare to charge at him. He hesitated for a moment, and Liu Xiangyang was already in front of him. Liu Xiangyang parried with his left arm, his elbow precisely striking the inside of the man's wrist. A soft "crack" was heard, followed by a scream. The man's wrist drooped at an unnatural angle, and the triangular scraper clattered onto the ice, sliding a considerable distance.

Almost simultaneously, Liu Xiangyang's right fist, like a cannonball, slammed solidly into the man's chest.

"Bang!" A muffled sound, like a heavy hammer hitting a broken drum.

Without uttering a sound, the man flew backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into another man wearing a red armband behind him. The two rolled together, sliding seven or eight meters across the ice before coming to a stop, lying there motionless, their fate unknown.

Another man with a red armband, carrying a short stick, came around from the side and smashed the stick into the back of Liu Xiangyang's head.

Liu Xiangyang seemed to have eyes in the back of his head; without turning around, he kicked the man hard in the stomach with his right leg. The man let out a "whoop," his eyes widening instantly, his body arching like a boiled shrimp. The short stick clattered to the ground, and he knelt on the ice, clutching his stomach, unable to make a sound except for gasping for breath.

The remaining two people with red armbands, holding their weapons, stood still and didn't dare to go forward.

They had thought it was a cat-and-mouse game, but now, looking at their companions lying or kneeling on the ground, and then at Liu Xiangyang's frighteningly calm eyes, their legs started to tremble.

Young Master Qian was both shocked and furious. He had probably never seen anyone dare to be so arrogant in front of him, especially after he brandished his weapon.

He suddenly pulled a pistol from his inner coat pocket, pointed it at Liu Xiangyang, his hand trembling slightly with excitement: "Stop, stop! If you dare move again, I, I'll kill you!"

The dark muzzle of the gun was pointed directly at his face, the cold metallic gleam sending chills down his spine. The surrounding air seemed to freeze instantly, even the wind seemed to stop. The onlookers in the distance retreated in fear, lest they be hit by stray bullets, and some of the more timid ones covered their eyes.

Liu Xiangyang stopped what he was doing, slowly turned around, and faced the muzzle of the gun.

His chest was still rising and falling slightly, and his breath condensed into wisps of white mist in the cold air, but his eyes were unusually calm, so calm that it was unsettling, as if the gun was not pointed at him.

"Shoot." Liu Xiangyang looked at Young Master Qian and said each word clearly. After speaking, he took a small step forward, his ice blade making a slight sound as it hit the ice. "You can try and see if your bullet is faster or if I can snap your neck faster."