Chinese martial arts: From being shot and killed by the armed police during a mountain search to bec

Japanese trading company, second floor.

Funakoshi Gichin knelt on a futon, with a tea set in front of him.

The tea is pre-rain Longjing tea, the water is Tiger Spring water, the charcoal fire is glowing red, and steam rises from the spout of the iron kettle, carrying a faint aroma of tea that permeates the room.

He picked up the iron kettle, poured hot water into the purple clay teapot, and the tea leaves turned over in the boiling water. He poured out the first brew and then poured the second brew into the cup.

His movements were neither hurried nor slow, and he was meticulous in every detail.

Yoshinobu Funakoshi knelt at the lower end, his back ramrod straight, his hands neatly placed on his knees.

"Yoshinobu." Funakoshi Yoshichin picked up his teacup, gently blew on the foam floating on the rim, took a sip, and said, "You handled Huang Hansen's matter well."

Yoshinobu Funakoshi lowered his head: "Senior brother, you are the mastermind behind everything. I was just running errands according to your instructions."

Funakoshi Gichin put down his teacup, a faint smile appearing on his lips: "Huang Feihong's son was the most skilled fighter among his disciples. He mastered the Tiger Crane Double Form, Iron Wire Fist, and the 'Gongzi Subduing Tiger' technique, and reached the threshold of internal strength in his early twenties. Given time, he might even surpass his master. Now that the man is dead, Huang Feihong, having lost his son in his old age, is consumed by grief and anger. With his physique, this strike is more effective than any other fist or foot technique."

Funakoshi Yoshinobu quickly followed up: "Senior brother's move is like striking at the heart of the matter. Wong Fei-hung is over sixty years old, and now he has suffered such a great loss, his qi and blood are both depleted. Let alone fighting in the ring, it would be a miracle if he didn't collapse."

Funakoshi Gichin put down his teacup, his smile fading, replaced by his usual stern and cold expression: "Has the challenge been sent to Po Chi Lam?"

"It's been sent." Yoshinobu Funakoshi nodded. "Wong Fei-hung signed for it himself."

Funakoshi Yoshinobu hesitated for a moment before speaking, "Senior brother, I have a concern. Huang Hansen just died, and our challenge arrived so soon after. Doesn't that mean we're clearly telling the Foshan martial arts community that we were the ones who killed him?"

The air in the tea room fell silent for a moment. Funakoshi Gichin slowly stood up, walked to the window, and pushed open the wooden window.

The noise from the street poured in through the window. A march boycotting Japanese goods was passing by downstairs, with several students leading the way holding a banner that read "Never forget national humiliation, boycott Japanese goods" in large characters.

The crowd behind them held up small white paper flags and shouted slogans.

"So what if they know?" Funakoshi Yoshichin stared at the marching crowd below, his voice as cold as a knife. "When a nation is weak, there are no human rights. We want them to know that we are the ones who did it, yet be unable to do anything about it."

That sense of powerlessness, that despair... and then forcefully breaking their spines, that's how we demonstrate the power of our Great Japanese Empire.

There's an old Chinese saying: "An army in despair is bound to be defeated." Wong Fei-hung is currently in despair. Desperate soldiers are easily agitated, which leads to impatience, which in turn causes their fists to falter, and faltering fists inevitably lead to defeat.

Therefore, we must press our advantage and not give the enemy a chance to regroup.

Funakoshi Yoshinobu bowed his head deeply: "Senior brother's insights are profound; Yoshinobu has learned a great deal."

The slogans on the street rose higher and higher. Funakoshi Yoshichin stood with his hands behind his back by the window, his gaze passing over the crowd of demonstrators and looking at the outline of Foshan City in the distance, a cold smile appearing on his lips.

---

The streets of Foshan are teeming with people.

Chen Hongwu, Chen Huaijin, and Chen Hongwen rode in rickshaws out of the Chen family mansion. As soon as they turned onto the main street, they were blocked.

A dense crowd stretched from the intersection of Fuxian Road all the way to the entrance of Ren'an Lane, with everyone holding a paper flag.

The flag was covered in ink, with slogans such as "Boycott Japanese goods," "Defend national rights to the death," and "Don't buy Japanese goods, don't be slaves of a conquered nation" written on red paper in black characters. The sight was shocking.

The parade was mostly made up of students, with many dockworkers and shop assistants mixed in, winding like a long dragon that seemed to stretch endlessly.

At the front of the group, someone led the chanting, his voice hoarse: "Japanese devils, get out of China!"

Hundreds of people responded in unison, their voices soaring into the sky that the windows of the buildings along the street rattled.

Shops along the street lined up their doors one after another, and shop assistants carried boxes of goods back into the depths of the shops.

Chen Hongwen craned his neck to look around and suddenly spotted several disciples of Hongsheng Hall in the crowd. They were wearing gray cloth short jackets with the cuffs rolled up to their elbows, following behind the students, shouting slogans, and the veins on their arms were bulging.

Chen Huaijin sighed: "No wonder the Japanese are so anxious. As long as the boycott of Japanese goods continues, they will lose tens of thousands of dollars every day."

The merchants couldn't sell their stockpiled goods, the factories shut down, and the docks were full of stockpiled Japanese fabrics and matches.

If this drags on any longer, they'll collapse on their own without even needing to fight. That's why they're in a hurry to break the backbone of Foshan's martial arts community. Once the martial arts schools back down, the public's morale will collapse, and once that morale collapses, the wave of boycott will naturally subside.

Chen Hongwen clenched his fists: "Break their spines? With their abilities?"

Chen Hongwu didn't reply. The crowd and flags slowly swept across his vision—those young faces, hoarse voices, raised fists. A century of hardship, a nation shattered, but these things could not be broken.

Chen Hongwu looked away without saying anything more.

As the parade gradually receded into the distance, the rickshaws turned into Ren'an Lane.

---

The entrance to Po Chi Lam was draped in white mourning clothes.

Two white paper lanterns hung on either side of the lintel, their candlelight filtering through the plain paper and casting two dim, yellowish halos on the ground.

A couplet was pasted on both sides of the door frame, with black characters on white paper and the ink still fresh.

"Such a young man, with such skill, yet in the blink of an eye, misfortune and resentment befell him, and all his hard work went to waste."

"Many lessons, many worries, in the end the disease became incurable, leaving behind the regret that neither family nor country could be salvaged."

A large crowd had already gathered outside. There were representatives from the chamber of commerce in long gowns, martial arts students in short-sleeved uniforms, and neighbors carrying bamboo baskets to offer their condolences.

Local gentry and celebrities from Foshan arrived one after another, talking in hushed tones, creating a somber atmosphere.

As soon as Chen Hongwu got out of the car, the young disciples who were there to greet him at the entrance quickly came to his side. They had white cloths tied around their waists and their eyes were red and swollen. They bowed deeply to Chen Hongwu.

"Master Chen, Master Huang has been waiting for you for a long time. Please come into the inner room for a chat."

Chen Huaijin said softly from behind him, "You go first, Hong Wen and I will wait outside."

Chen Hongwu nodded and followed the disciple across the threshold.

A mourning hall has been set up in the front hall.

In the center was a thick wooden coffin with black lacquer, the lid of which was not yet closed, and white silk could be vaguely seen inside.

Two ever-burning lamps were lit on the offering table, the plain candles burning brightly, the candle wax dripping down the candle body and forming a translucent film in the copper dish.

In the center stands a memorial tablet with ink-stained characters: "The Tablet of the Late Father, Mr. Huang Hansen".

The Huang family members knelt before the coffin, their cries drifting in intermittently, making one's chest feel heavy.

As he walked through the front hall, many people recognized him.

"Master Chen is here," someone whispered.

Chen Hongwu simply nodded, continuing on his way.

After passing the carved wooden screen, the young disciple stopped in front of the door, stepped aside, and opened the door for him.

The room was filled with the smell of medicine—angelica, rehmannia, and astragalus—sinking heavily, mixed with the aged aroma of the old wooden furniture, creating an airtight atmosphere.

Upon entering, there is a square table made of rosewood, its corners gleaming with patina, and several yellowed boxing manuals scattered to the side.

Behind the table, against the wall, sat a mahogany altar with three incense burners burning. Wisps of smoke rose up the wall, swirled under the beams, and dissipated into the shadows.

Huang Feihong sat in a grand chair next to a square table. His hair was much whiter than it had been a few days ago. His back injury seemed to have flared up again. He was sitting with his right elbow on the edge of the table, barely supporting his body.

It was as if a bone had been removed from his body; his energy and spirit were far inferior to before.

Chen Hongwu stepped inside, clasped his hands in greeting, and said, "Master Huang, please accept my condolences."

Huang Feihong raised his hand, gesturing for him to sit down, his voice hoarse: "Master Chen, thank you for making this trip."