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

Chen Hongwu took the invitation and glanced at it.

The letter was printed on red paper with gold foil, and the wording was polite. It was signed "Respectfully invited by Chen Gongzhe of Jingwu Gymnastics Association".

He closed the invitation, handed it back to Chen Hongwen, and smiled: "We only arrived in Shanghai this morning, and Chen Gongzhe's invitation has already been delivered to the inn. He truly lives up to his reputation as a local Shanghai expert."

He turned to Li Cunyi and said, "Let's go together. We can talk about other things later."

Li Cunyi nodded, put down his teacup, and stood up.

The three of them went back to their rooms to tidy up briefly, then hailed two rickshaws and headed straight for Fuzhou Road.

The rickshaw traveled north along the edge of the French Concession, passing through several narrow alleyways before turning onto the wide Nanjing Road.

The prosperity of Shanghai's streets far surpassed that of Foshan. Shops lined both sides of Nanjing Road, and the glass windows of Sincere and Wing On Company displayed foreign fabrics, watches, and cosmetics, while uniformed Indian police officers stood at the entrances.

The tram clanged past, its roof scraping against the power lines and sending up a string of blue sparks.

A foreigner in a suit got out of the car arm in arm with his wife in a cheongsam, while a newsboy on the street shouted at the top of his lungs, "Breaking news! Breaking news about the Taikoo Steamer murder case!"

The street vendors' cries were interspersed with a few words of authentic Shanghainese.

"Soy sauce pork, soy sauce pork, freshly cooked soy sauce pork!"

"Steamed buns, Nanxiang steamed buns—"

The sound was sharp and crisp, like popping beans.

Chen Hongwu sat in the rickshaw, watching the street scene flash by.

Shanghai's prosperity was undeniable, but he noticed several beggars huddled on a street corner, their clothes tattered and their faces sallow.

The opium den's sign was blatantly hung on the second floor facing the street, and once the curtain was lifted, one could see the figures lying haphazardly inside.

Under the guise of a smoking ban in the French Concession, people like Huang Jinrong and Yamamoto Ichiro made their money by squeezing these skeletal bodies.

The rickshaw stopped in front of a four-story restaurant on Fuzhou Road. Xinghualou is a famous old restaurant in Shanghai, specializing in Cantonese cuisine. The storefront is not big but it is very impressive.

With upturned eaves and vermilion pillars, a black lacquered plaque hangs above the door with three gilded characters: "Xinghualou" (Apricot Blossom Pavilion).

Several black cars were parked in front of the gate, and several businessmen dressed in silk shirts were getting out of the cars.

The greeters at the entrance, dressed in crisp, white uniforms, greeted the guests coming and going with smiles.

"Which private room is Mr. Chen Gongzhe of the Jingwu Association in?"

When Chen Hongwu and his two companions announced Chen Gongzhe's name, the greeter immediately adopted an even more respectful demeanor, bowing as he led them into the lobby and up the red-carpeted staircase to the third floor.

At the end of the corridor was an elegantly decorated private room. The host opened the door and stepped aside to let the three people in.

A crystal chandelier cast a warm yellow light, cold dishes were already laid out on the mahogany round table, and several calligraphy and paintings by famous Shanghai artists, all of which were genuine, hung on the wall.

Outside the window is the street scene of Fuzhou Road, and through the glass you can see the bustling scene of people coming and going downstairs.

There were already two people in the private room. Chen Gongzhe stood up to greet them, followed by a middle-aged man of medium build with a square face, broad forehead, thick shoulders, calm and reserved gaze, and a straight back like a pine tree.

"Master Chen, you must be tired from your journey!" Chen Gongzhe said with a cupped hand and a smile, then turned to introduce, "This is Master Chen Zizheng of the Jingwu Gymnastics Association, a master of Eagle Claw Fist, and currently an instructor at the Jingwu Association. Brother Zizheng, this is Master Chen Hongwu, whom I mentioned to you."

Chen Zizheng is the authentic successor of the Northern School Eagle Claw Boxing. He studied under Eagle Claw King Chen Tiesheng and was among the first boxers hired by the Jingwu Gymnastics Association when it opened its doors in Shanghai.

Eagle Claw Flip Boxing is a branch of Northern Imitation Boxing. It uses the shape of an eagle claw and the flip boxing style as its foundation. It is ruthless in its attacks, grappling and locking, and focuses on attacking joints and vital points.

However, even if one masters external martial arts to the highest level, it is only the peak of Ming Jin (manifest strength). If one does not have the internal cultivation method of An Jin (hidden strength), then it is the ceiling for one's entire life.

This man's eagle claw technique is extremely famous in the northern martial arts world. It is said that he once used his eagle claw to crush his opponent's wrist bone at a martial arts competition in Zhili.

However, since Huo Yuanjia's death, the fate of the Jingwu Gymnastics Association has been precarious and uncertain.

Old-school boxers like Chen Zizheng, with their solid fighting style, have gradually faded from public view, and only a very few people know that there is such a truly capable master hidden in the Jingwu Association.

"I have long admired Master Chen's name. Meeting you today, I can see that you are indeed a young hero." Chen Zizheng extended his hand.

"You're too kind, Master Chen." Chen Hongwu reached out and shook hands.

The two men's hands gripped each other and then immediately released. Chen Zizheng's hands were dry and rough, with thick finger bones and thick calluses on the base of his thumb. His five fingers were like iron clamps, with extremely strong grip.

Chen Hongwu felt a genuine, visceral strength in his palm, the kind of external hard skill that could only be developed through years of repeatedly pinching and gripping iron sand and stone balls with Eagle Claw Kung Fu.

Chen Hongwu glanced at Chen Zizheng, silently weighing his options.

Chen Zizheng was even more surprised. He had practiced Eagle Claw Fist his whole life, and the strength in his fingers was enough to crush walnuts and flatten iron sheets, but when he held Chen Hongwu's hand just now, he only felt a softness.

It was as loose as holding a ball of cotton; any force applied by the fingertips would dissolve completely.

He silently sat back down in his chair, picked up his teacup, and took a sip. This man looked to be no more than twenty years old; where did he get such composure?

The guests and hosts took their seats, and the waiters brought out hot dishes one after another.

Chen Gongzhe, holding chopsticks, smiled and said, "Please help yourselves, everyone. No need to be shy."

During the meal, they chatted casually, discussing everything from Xinghualou's signature white-cut chicken to the latest trends and fashions in Shanghai, and then to the Jingwu Gymnastics Association's recent situation in Shanghai.

Chen Hongwu took a few bites of food and then put them down, listening attentively and occasionally offering a word of agreement.

-

French Concession, headquarters of the Green Gang.

Huang Jinrong sat in a grand chair, with a letter that had just been forwarded from a Japanese trading company spread out in front of him.

That was an accountability letter from the Shanghai branch of the Black Dragon Society. Although it used diplomatic language such as "requesting assistance in the investigation," Huang Jinrong had been in the French Concession for over twenty years, and he could see the sharp edge between the lines perfectly.

With Yamamoto Ichiro dead, the handover, distribution, and final payment for this shipment have all been disrupted, and the Green Gang's supply chain to several opium dens in the north will also be broken as a result.

What's worse is that the dead were Japanese. The Japanese are always meticulous and calculating, so even if the truth is found out later, they will still be taken advantage of and have a piece of their flesh bitten off.

"Bring me the passenger list for this ship!" Huang Jinrong shouted.

Du Yuesheng stood aside, calmly pulled out a few pages of documents from his briefcase, and handed them over.

Huang Jinrong grabbed the list, scanned it from top to bottom, and then suddenly stopped.

He pointed to a line of text on the list with his stubby fingers, then looked up and asked, "Yuesheng, is this Chen Hongwu the one from Foshan?"

Du Yuesheng nodded.

"No need to check anymore, it's him!" Huang Jinrong slammed the list on the table. "Who else would dare to lay a hand on the Japanese? Give this list to the Black Dragon Society and let them handle it themselves!"