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

The car door opened, and Chen Hongwu got out.

The open space in front of the barracks was covered in mud and dust, mixed with the smell of diesel and gun oil. Intermittent gunfire could be heard in the distance.

On the shooting range, several veterans lay on the ground practicing prone shooting. The sound of the Type 38 rifle was crisp and sharp, and the sound of the bullet cutting through the air was like a whip cracking through iron.

Several groups of new recruits were practicing their formation on the parade ground, their leather boots kicking up dust as they stepped on the gravel.

Several shirtless cooks were squatting by the wall of the barracks, stuffing firewood into the stove, while the water in the large iron pot bubbled and steamed.

A row of wooden racks against the wall hung freshly washed military uniforms, water droplets dripping down the cuffs and leaving a trail of wet stains on the ground.

Hong Zhaolin strode out of the barracks to greet him, clutching a white towel in his hand, his forehead covered in sweat.

The sleeves of his gray-blue military uniform were rolled up to his elbows, revealing two strong forearms, suggesting he had just come from the training field.

"Master Chen, we've been waiting for you!" Hong Zhaolin draped a white towel over his shoulder, shook hands with Chen Hongwu, and said, "These past few days, the little rascals from the Special Service Company have been running around on the parade ground, just waiting for your lesson. Come on, let's walk and talk."

"Commander Hong is too kind."

The two walked side by side into the camp. Hong Zhaolin said in a loud voice, "Master Chen, I, Hong Zhaolin, am an honest man. I'll tell you the truth."

Your time is precious, and I can't let you teach those greenhorns who can't even hold a gun properly. That's using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, a waste of your skills.

He pointed to the training ground at the end of the parade ground, which was enclosed by barbed wire: "I selected a group of elites from the special operations company and the reconnaissance platoon. They are all veterans who have fought their way up on the battlefield."

They're accurate marksmen, quick-witted, and have a good foundation in hand-to-hand combat. You only need to point out their weaknesses; these guys have a solid foundation, they'll understand after one explanation, and master it after three tries. You can learn real skills in one lesson, which is better than six months of basic training.

Chen Hongwu nodded; Hong Zhaolin's words were indeed true.

New recruits can't even hold a gun steadily, so teaching them close combat is like swallowing a date whole; veterans have rolled through piles of corpses, they know which moves are practical and which fancy moves are harmful, and they understand immediately.

Soon, we arrived at the training ground.

The separate area enclosed by barbed wire is much smaller than a regular playground, but the ground is covered with fine sand, which can dissipate most of the force when you fall on it.

Several single and double bars stood on the side of the field, their iron pipes gleaming from being polished by countless hands.

A row of wooden dummy dummies stood against the wall, their wood dented and pitted from being punched. Several of the dummies' arms had been broken off, the jagged edges revealing the white, gritty wood.

More than twenty soldiers were scattered in twos and threes on the training ground. Some were squatting on the ground wiping gun parts, while others were shirtless and punching the wooden dummy.

The punches landed squarely, making the pile of stones thud loudly.

In the corner, two people wearing protective gear were fighting, exchanging blows with loud thuds. Several onlookers squatted nearby, grass stalks dangling from their mouths, occasionally cheering.

This group of people had thick calluses on their thumbs and index fingers, broad shoulders, thick forearms, and large knuckles. Their gazes were sharp as knives.

"I won't go over there. Let Staff Officer Jiang lead the way, so they won't feel uncomfortable."

Hong Zhaolin patted Staff Officer Jiang on the shoulder with a smile: "Old Jiang, Master Chen is in your care now. Make sure you treat him well."

You can also learn something from the sidelines. Don't treat those haphazard, Japanese-style grappling techniques like they're your treasures. Didn't those Japanese learn them from us too?

Staff Officer Jiang's face flushed red, but he still saluted: "I guarantee the mission will be completed!"

He then gestured to Chen Hongwu, saying, "Master Chen, this way please."

Chen Hongwu nodded.

Staff Officer Jiang walked ahead of Chen Hongwu, his leather boots making a rustling sound as they stepped on the fine sand.

When the soldiers on the training field saw him, they all stopped what they were doing.

"Staff Officer Jiang!"

"Chief of Staff Chiang has arrived!"

A soldier who was fighting took off his protective gear, ran over covered in sweat, and saluted Staff Officer Jiang.

Staff Officer Jiang returned the salute, stepped back half a step, and let Chen Hongwu step forward.

"This is Chen Hongwu, Master Chen." Staff Officer Jiang straightened his back and spoke in a measured tone, "Master Chen has been invited by Commander Hong to be your martial arts instructor."

"A martial arts instructor?" A soldier who was squatting on the horizontal bar jumped down, looked Chen Hongwu up and down, his eyes filled with undisguised curiosity and suspicion.

Too young, does this person look even twenty years old?

Staff Officer Jiang ignored him and continued, "You all heard about the ring in front of the Foshan Ancestral Temple a few days ago. Japanese karate master Funakoshi Gichin issued a challenge to Master Huang Feihong."

Master Chen fought in place of Master Huang, and in the ring, he killed Funakoshi Yoshichin with his bare hands, also killing the British strongman Peter in the process.

"Oh, right, Mo Laohu was also killed by this Master Chen."

The soldiers' gazes changed. They had heard of Chen Hongwu's deeds before and thought he was a middle-aged man.

Who knew this amazing guy was so young? Could the higher-ups have picked the wrong person?

Chen Hongwu was too young, only seventeen or eighteen years old. He wore a gray cloth short jacket and was thin and sturdy. He looked quite ordinary.

This group of people had all experienced gunfire and lived a life of danger, and many of them had also practiced hand-to-hand combat and had been exposed to martial arts.

Which martial arts master didn't start from a young age, training hard in the coldest and hottest winters, and spend decades to master their skills?

No one believed that a seventeen or eighteen-year-old martial arts master could have such great abilities.

It would be easier for them to accept that Chen Hongwu was a sharpshooter.

The soldier squatting on the horizontal bar crossed his arms, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, and tilted his head to look at Chen Hongwu.

The men wiping gun parts in the corner also looked up. One of them, a bald, big guy, put the butt of his gun on the ground, put his hands on his knees, and stood up.

The two fighters simply took off their protective gear, wiped the sweat from their necks with their sleeves, and came over to watch the spectacle.

Chen Hongwu saw the distrust in these people's eyes and, too lazy to waste words, turned to look at Staff Officer Jiang.

"Staff Officer Jiang, please draw your gun."

Staff Officer Jiang was taken aback: "What?"

"Draw your sidearm and fire at me." Chen Hongwu's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached the ears of every soldier present. "Don't hold back, shoot them dead."

In the age of firearms, nothing was more visually striking than dodging bullets.