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

Six days passed in the blink of an eye.

On the open ground in front of the Foshan Ancestral Temple, a three-foot-high arena has sprung up.

The countertop is made of five-inch-thick cedar planks, joined by mortise and tenon joints, with tung oil putty filling the gaps. It has a slight springy feel when stepped on.

Four thick cedar pillars, each as thick as a large bowl, stand at the four corners, with the four large characters "以武会友" (meaning "to make friends through martial arts") still fresh in ink.

A row of reed mat sheds was erected on the east side of the arena, with armchairs placed under them, intended for the heads of various martial arts schools and prominent figures from all walks of life; the west side was left empty, reserved for the Japanese.

Before dawn, the arena was already surrounded by people.

There were martial arts students in short jackets, businessmen in long gowns, neighborhood women carrying bamboo baskets, and dockworkers carrying shoulder poles.

Children ride on their parents' shoulders, holding paper windmills that spin incessantly in the morning breeze.

"Roasted chestnuts!"

"Wonton noodles, please!"

Vendors selling roasted chestnuts, wonton noodles, and sugarcane weaved through the crowd with their loads on shoulder poles, their shouts rising and falling.

Just after Chen Shi (7-9 AM), martial arts schools from Foshan began to arrive.

Chen Sheng of Hongsheng Hall led the way, followed by Li Su and a dozen or so disciples, all dressed in gray cloth short jackets with red belts around their waists. Their steps were neat and their aura imposing.

Ip Man and Chan Yu-mian walked side by side, followed by Ng Chung-su and several of his fellow disciples.

Iron Finger Chen Tiezhi from Hung Kuen School has arrived, Zhang Liquan from Pai Mei Kung School has arrived, and people from Xia Jia Kung School have also arrived.

The heads of each martial arts school entered the reed mat tent and took their seats in order of seniority and rank.

The disciples stood outside the shed, a dense, dark mass of people—some in short jackets, some in long gowns, some lean, some muscular—a sea of ​​heads stretching as far as the eye could see.

The neighborhood residents surrounded the arena, packed in layers, making it impossible to move.

Some people brought a bench and stood on it, some climbed onto the stone lions at the entrance of the ancestral temple, and others climbed onto the old banyan tree by the roadside, sitting on the branches and looking down.

All the well-known figures in Foshan's martial arts world are here today.

Huang Feihong was the last to arrive. Today he had changed into a clean gray cloth long gown, his hair was neatly combed, his steps were neither fast nor slow, his back was straight, and his face was calm.

Only when you get close can you see the lingering weariness deep in his eye sockets.

The martial arts school owners all stood up and clasped their hands in greeting. Chen Sheng stepped forward, grasped Huang Feihong's hand, and said in a low voice, "Master Huang, please accept my condolences."

Huang Feihong nodded, patted the back of his hand, and didn't say anything more.

Just then, a commotion suddenly broke out outside the crowd.

The onlookers were pushed aside to make way for them.

The Japanese delegation strode in, with Funakoshi Yoshichin leading the way.

He was dressed in a black kimono, barefoot in wooden clogs, with a black belt around his waist, his face arrogant and his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Behind him followed Yoshinobu Funakoshi and several disciples in judo uniforms, as well as two Japanese men wearing gold-rimmed glasses, carrying leather bags.

The west side of the arena was originally empty, but as the group strode over there, someone brought out chairs for them.

Funakoshi Gichin did not sit down immediately, but stood there with his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the group of brothel owners under the reed mat shed.

Yoshinobu Funakoshi stood behind him, his eyes narrowed, a faint smile playing on his lips.

He glanced at Wong Fei-hung and suddenly spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the room could hear him clearly.

"Master Huang, please accept our condolences. We have heard about your son's situation. It is truly a pity that he suffered such a misfortune at such a young age. However, I remember there is an old Chinese saying: 'Life and death are determined by fate, and wealth and honor are bestowed by heaven.'"

"In one's twilight years, the loss of a beloved son is inevitably emotionally damaging. Please take good care of yourself in the ring later, lest another tragedy of an elderly person burying their child be added to the ranks."

As he spoke, his smile deepened. "However, if Master Huang is unwell, it's not too late to admit defeat now."

The entire audience erupted in uproar.

Li Su slapped the back of the chair and was about to stand up when Chen Sheng grabbed her and held her down.

Several Hung Kuen disciples clenched their fists, their knuckles cracking.

Ip Man's hands, which were behind his back, clenched slightly, and Chen Rumin's face turned ashen.

Huang Feihong sat in the chair, his face calm, only the hand resting on his knee moved slightly.

He didn't speak, but his gaze passed over the crowd and landed on Yoshinobu Funakoshi's face.

Funakoshi Yoshinobu felt a chill run down his spine from that gaze, his smile froze for a moment, then he snorted coldly and turned his head away.

Chen Hongwu sat beside Huang Feihong without saying a word from beginning to end.

His gaze swept across Funakoshi Yoshinobu's face, then landed on Funakoshi Yoshichin, before returning to his own, his eyes lowered as if he were resting.

P.S. My head is throbbing, but I managed to write this.