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

Chen Hongwu sat down on the other side of the square table. The chair was made of huanghuali wood, with a warm, smooth patina on the armrests, which naturally straightened his back when he sat down.

He didn't lean back in the chair; his waist and hips sank slightly, and his toes gripped the ground, naturally assuming the three-body stance.

Huang Feihong looked up and glanced at Chen Hongwu. His gaze lingered on Chen Hongwu for a moment before suddenly brightening.

"It's been a few days, and Master Chen's kung fu has improved again." Huang Feihong's voice was hoarse, but every word was clear. "His muscles and bones are restrained, and his sharpness is rounded. The strength in his whole body is twisted into one, contained but not released, but when it is released, it is like thunder. This is almost the level of divine mastery."

Chen Hongwu laughed and said, "Master Huang, you flatter me. I haven't mastered the internal strength and softness of my body yet. My face and groin are still vulnerable. I'm one step away from mastering the ultimate strength."

Wong Fei-hung raised his hand to stop him: "Master Chen, there's no need to be modest. Your mind is clear, and it's only a matter of time before you reach a state of divine enlightenment."

"Compared to Master Huang's level, he is still a notch below."

Upon hearing this, Wong Fei-hung leaned back in his chair and fell silent.

Intermittent sobbing could be heard from outside the window; it was the female members of the Huang family mourning in front of the mourning hall. The sobbing was very low, as if afraid of disturbing something, but it only made people feel heavier.

Wong Fei-hung shook his head, then suddenly sighed, "What use is mastering martial arts to such an extent?"

His gaze fell on the smoke from the three incense sticks on the altar, and he suddenly looked more than ten years older. "I've practiced boxing my whole life, starting from the horse stance when I was five, and I'm still over sixty now. Tiger Crane Double Form, Iron Wire Fist, Gongzi Subduing Tiger, Wulang Bagua Staff, which one haven't I been immersed in for most of my life?"

In my old age, my beloved son was murdered. I know perfectly well who the killer is, but I cannot seek revenge.

Master Chen, you say, what's the point of practicing this boxing style if you've trained your whole life and can't even protect your own son?

Chen Hongwu's expression shifted: "Master Huang, do you know who the murderer is?"

There was a lot of discussion on the street outside, with all sorts of rumors circulating.

Whether it was revenge from enemies, grudges from escorting goods, or assassination by the Japanese, his father, Chen Huaijin, was certain that it was the Japanese who did it.

But in the end, it was all just hearsay; no one could produce any evidence. Yet, Huang Feihong's tone was extremely certain.

Huang Feihong did not answer. He reached into his pocket with his right hand, took out a letter, placed it on the square table, and pushed it in front of Chen Hongwu.

The envelope was made of white paper, and the seal had been torn open. The words "To Mr. Huang Feihong" were written vertically on it, in a strong and vigorous style, in the style of Tang Dynasty calligraphy.

Chen Hongwu took out the letter and unfolded it.

The paper contained only a few lines, and the meaning couldn't be simpler.

"Seven days from now, at the Foshan Ancestral Temple arena, Funakoshi Gichin will await Master Huang's arrival. If you fail to arrive by then, we request that you publicly concede defeat and cease all interference in trade with Japan."

The inscription reads: "Shotokan-ryu Karate, Funakoshi Gichin."

After reading it, Chen Hongwu folded the letter and placed it back on the table: "Master Huang, didn't we say the martial arts competition was scheduled for two months from now? Was this challenge delivered today?"

"This morning," Wong Fei-hung leaned back in his chair, pressing his right hand to his injured back, "Hansen was shot dead last night at the entrance of Ren'an Lane, and this morning the Japanese declaration of war was delivered to the entrance of Baozhilin, less than four hours later." He paused, looking intently at Chen Hongwu, "Master Chen, do you think this is a coincidence?"

These Japanese are far too arrogant; this is clearly a blatant provocation.

"The Japanese are clearly telling us that they are the ones who killed the people." Chen Hongwu folded the letter and put it back on the table. "Since they started this, we'll do it again. If the feud between martial arts masters dares to involve firearms, then let's retaliate in kind."

"It's not that simple." Wong Fei-hung shook his head. "These foreigners have always been arrogant and domineering. A few years ago, when the Boxer Rebellion broke out, the Eight-Nation Alliance invaded Beijing. How many houses did they burn down and how many people did they kill?"

They dared to openly tell us that he killed the person because they knew we couldn't do anything about it.

If they were to assassinate Funakoshi Yoshichin, even without evidence, it would be a convenient pretext for them. They could directly mobilize the military to suppress the rebellion, and countries like Britain and the United States would not intervene.

At that time, it won't just be the two of us who die; it will implicate many innocent people. I cannot let personal grudges harm everyone.

Wong Fei-hung sighed deeply: "Personal grudges are small; national enemies are greater!"

Chen Hongwu remained silent.

What Huang Feihong said was true: weak countries have no voice, and the warships of the great powers were anchored outside the Pearl River Estuary, with their cannons pointed at Guangzhou.

The British invaded in the same way during the Opium War. The Japanese also launched the Marco Polo Bridge Incident in the same manner.

One excuse is enough; no evidence or reason is needed, just an excuse.

"I invited Master Chen here for this martial arts competition." Huang Feihong's voice pulled Chen Hongwu back to reality. "As you can see, Master Chen, I am getting old, my old back injury has not healed, and now I have lost my beloved son, which has damaged my heart meridian. My strength has been greatly reduced."

"Funakoshi Gichin was the founder of Shotokan-ryu, a karate master, a near-perfect figure. If it were before, I might have been confident of fighting him, but now—"

He shook his head and smiled bitterly, not finishing his sentence.

Chen Hongwu looked at him. In just a few days, Huang Feihong's hair had turned mostly white, his eyes were sunken, his cheekbones were prominent, and his complexion was sallow.

The sprightly old man who had sparred with him at the Mid-Autumn Festival banquet now seemed to have lost all his energy and appeared much shorter.

Huang Feihong was a master at the threshold of Huajin (a martial arts level), and his strength of muscles and bones far exceeded that of ordinary people. However, the heart meridian is not the same as muscles and bones, and cannot be restored by standing meditation and medicinal wine.

Traditional Chinese medicine practitioners say that "the heart governs the blood vessels and stores the spirit." If the heart vessels are damaged, blood circulation will be impaired, and the spirit will not be at peace. The Yellow Emperor's Inner Classic states that "the heart is the sovereign organ, from which the spirit emerges."

The heart is the monarch of the body's vital energy; if the monarch is disordered, the officials will not care for each other. Martial arts originate from the tendons, are driven by the bones, and are governed by the heart.

When the heart meridian is damaged, one cannot freely control one's strength.

At this point, let alone fighting in the ring, he would be considered quite robust if he could even stand up and finish a set of Tiger Crane Double Form.

"I don't mind dying," Wong Fei-hung said in a hoarse voice. "But if it hinders the overall situation, allows the Japanese to gain prestige, breaks the backbone of Foshan's martial arts community, and enables Japanese goods to enter Guangdong, then I will truly become a sinner for all time."

He paused, then slowly stood up, supporting himself on the edge of the table with his right hand. He walked to Chen Hongwu and stopped.

Then, with his hands clasped together and his back slightly bent, he bowed deeply.

"Please, Master Chen, take my place."