Chinese martial arts: From human punching bags to martial arts mastery

Animal cage!

The underground boxing ring was already packed with people.

The dim, dilapidated lights swayed in the wind, casting flickering light on the dark mass of people. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, alcohol, tobacco, and the lingering smell of blood, making one's chest feel heavy.

"Insider information!"

"Rumor!"

Rumors flew rampant in the arena, with true and false information swirling around like venomous snakes, and gamblers placed bets frantically.

The odds of betting on Chen Feng to survive were frighteningly high, at 5 to 1, yet almost no one dared to bet on it.

The odds of betting on Chen Feng's immediate and tragic death were extremely low, yet gamblers were scrambling to buy it.

In the eyes of these onlookers, Chen Feng tonight was nothing more than another death row inmate being entertained by Japanese samurai.

Just as the noise and commotion reached its peak.

"One thousand dollars! Bet on Chen Feng to win!"

The old man in black robes placed another large bet, leaving all the gamblers speechless with astonishment.

Followed by.

"Buy Chen Feng! Buy all of Chen Feng's shares to win!"

The bald man and his gang of henchmen also placed bets.

next moment.

Hu Sanzhen reappeared, and once again placed three heavy bets on Chen Fenghuo.

He had just left.

Mancang and his fellow apprentices crowded around the gambling table, placing heavy bets without hesitation: "Live! Mancang must live!"

At last.

When Zhao Shanhe took out fifty Mexican dollars and several hundred dollars to bet on Chen Feng, the crowd instantly erupted in a cacophony of discussion.

Just now.

"Baka—"

A group of Japanese ronin stormed up to the gambling table, throwing down a large stack of silver dollars: "Bet on that Chinese pig to die!"

Before he could finish speaking...

The crowd fell silent abruptly, and the Japanese ronin automatically parted to make way for them.

A group of Japanese men in uniform swaggered up to the gambling table. The leader threw down a large stack of silver dollars, shouting smugly, "Our Marine Corps Headquarters bets on those Chinese pigs to die a horrible death... Hahahaha!"

When the air in the entire boxing ring became suffocating.

"Baka—"

A group of martial artists from the Hongkou Dojo, dressed in tight-fitting black karate uniforms with pure white belts around their waists, strode in. Their outfits were neat and tight, with the cuffs and trouser legs tightly bound. They carried Japanese swords of varying lengths at their waists, and their steps were as precise as if cut by a knife.

Their eyes were sinister, their faces arrogant, and when their gaze swept over all the Chinese people in the room, it was full of undisguised contempt and disdain. They also uttered harsh insults without restraint: "Chinese pigs, lowly!"

The Chinese audience dared not speak out, and all of them kept their heads bowed.

Everyone knows that in this magical city, foreigners don't have to pay with their lives for murder; the worst outcome is merely a symbolic deportation.

In their eyes, a Chinese life is less than that of livestock.

In Shanghai, people are divided into different classes.

Top: French officials and Catholic priests.

Second floor: British and American capitalists and White Russian nobles.

The third layer consists of Japanese ronin, Annamite police officers, and Jewish merchants.

At the very bottom: Chinese compradors, also known by foreigners as "white shoes and black feet." Despite their usual haughty demeanor, they could not hold their heads high in front of foreigners.

"Baka—"

From among the group of Japanese samurai stepped five Japanese men who looked exactly alike—the infamous "Five Sons Passing the Imperial Examination" of the Hongkou Dojo!

The five men were dressed in black martial arts uniforms, with cold expressions and a unified aura. Their movements were seamless, like five deadly iron nails twisted together.

Amidst the deathly silence of the entire arena, they swaggered onto the high platform, looking down upon each other like five deadly demons.

Meanwhile, the accompanying Japanese samurai occupied the front row of the boxing ring, the second-class seats with the best view, crossing their legs and watching the show with cold smiles, extremely arrogant.

Not long after, a commotion broke out on the other side of the crowd.

Surrounded by his senior brother, Er Gou, Yan Xiaomei, and a group of indignant Chinese, Chen Feng slowly walked into the cage boxing ring.

His upright posture and calm expression stood out starkly amidst the despair and mockery of the crowd.

Of course!

The great war has not yet begun.

A brutal, appetizing trap has already begun.

"Bringing death row inmates???"

The referee shouted at the top of his lungs, and five Chinese men, who were being used as human punching bags, were roughly pushed onto the ring.

Their faces were ashen, their bodies trembling, their hands half-bound by iron chains, leaving them no chance to resist.

They came to Shanghai just to survive, but they were tricked by Green Gang thugs and forced into the ring, becoming live targets for Japanese masters to warm up.

The five men were so frightened that their legs went weak. Some of them wet their pants on the spot, while others collapsed on the ground and kowtowed desperately, their foreheads bleeding profusely as they pleaded repeatedly.

"Spare me!"

"I'm just a farmer!"

"I'm just a beggar!"

But the foreigners and Japanese samurai in the audience just burst into laughter, treating them like livestock to be slaughtered.

"Baka—"

Five dark figures suddenly pounced out.

There was no fatal blow, no pain whatsoever—what they wanted was extreme torture, to crush the last shred of Chinese pride.

"Hey--"

The first Japanese expert struck like an iron clamp, grabbing the condemned prisoner's right arm and twisting it upwards sharply!

"Snap—!"

A crisp, piercing sound of bone cracking pierced through the noise, so clear it sent chills down everyone's spine.

The "death row inmate's" right arm was bent at an eerie angle, the flesh bulging out in a deformed lump. He was in so much pain that he fainted on the spot, only to be revived by being splashed with cold water. His heart-wrenching screams pierced the hearts of every Chinese person like knives.

The second condemned prisoner had his knees pinned down, and the Japanese samurai twisted his ankle violently.

"Click—click—"

Both knees were shattered, and he collapsed to the ground like a lump of mud, his ten fingers frantically digging into the wooden board, his nails breaking and blood flowing from between his fingers.

His mouth was open, but he was in so much pain that he couldn't make a complete sound; only a dying "hoarse" sound rolled from his throat.

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

The sounds of bones breaking echoed one after another—arms, legs, wrists, collarbones—each sharp crack accompanied by the death row inmates' agonizing screams.

Some had their spines snapped and were left paralyzed; others had their ribs broken by heavy punches, bone spurs piercing their chests and gushing blood; some had all four limbs broken and were twisted in the center of the ring like rag dolls, only able to twitch slightly.

As the Japanese man attacked, he let out a bestial, savage laugh and hurled insults in broken Chinese: "Die slower! You Chinese pig, squeal! Scream louder!"

They deliberately held onto their last breath, prolonging the suffering indefinitely.

Below the ring.

The Chinese audience members were ashen-faced, trembling, their teeth chattering, and their eyes bloodshot.

Some people covered their mouths tightly to stop themselves from crying out; some clenched their fists so that their nails dug deep into their palms, and blood dripped from between their fingers to the ground; some turned their heads away, unable to bear to look, but tears streamed down their faces—these were their compatriots, living Chinese people, being tortured and killed like livestock, their bones broken and their bodies slowly tortured!

But no one dared to rush forward, no one dared to roar.

Everyone knows that this is Shanghai, where foreigners call the shots, and anyone who dares to make a move will suffer a worse fate than the death row inmates on the platform.

Anger, humiliation, powerlessness, and overwhelming hatred piled up, burned, and boiled wildly in the chests of every Chinese person, almost bursting them open!

The air was no longer filled with the stench of sweat and alcohol, but with an overwhelming stench of blood, despair, and a deep-seated hatred that was about to erupt.

Yan Xiaomei trembled all over, gripping her senior brother's arm tightly, tears streaming down her face but daring not to cry out loud; Er Gou's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his forehead, wishing he could rush up and fight to the death immediately; the senior brother clenched his teeth, veins throbbing on his face, each crack of bones making his body shudder violently.

Chen Feng stood in the crowd, his face calm as ice, but deep in his eyes, beneath that silence, was a raging fire that consumed everything.

Finally, after half an incense stick's time of cruel torture, the five breaths were completely extinguished.

Five corpses, their limbs severed, bones shattered, and flesh mangled, were kicked off the stage by the Japanese samurai like trash, leaving long, glaring trails of blood on the ground.

On the arena.

The five men, having passed the imperial examination, slowly stepped forward. Their five identical, cold faces were filled with contempt. Their five eyes simultaneously locked onto Chen Feng, and their five mouths opened at once, roaring in the most vicious and arrogant tone:

"You Chinese pig, you're next! You're going to die!"