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

In front of the Jingwu Association, a black lacquered coffin lay across the stone steps.

The coffin, made of new cedar wood with its lacquer still wet, faced outwards, directly towards the main gate. A piece of white paper was placed on the coffin lid, bearing four characters written in ink: "Received by Chen Hongwu."

A dozen or so onlookers had gathered around, pointing and whispering.

"That Japanese man put down the coffin and left as fast as the wind; we couldn't catch him."

"How unlucky! The martial arts school hasn't even opened yet, and they're sending a coffin first—this is deliberately disgusting!"

"Exactly! Master Chen killed so many of them. The Japanese couldn't beat us, so they resorted to these underhanded tactics!"

"I don't think so. The Japanese are just trying to scare Master Chen."

"Nonsense! Master Chen dared to break into their barracks, what's a broken coffin to him?"

The crowd grew increasingly agitated, with some cursing the Japanese for their treachery, others feeling sorry for Chen Hongwu, and still others simply watching the spectacle.

Several Jingwu Association disciples were about to carry the coffin away when they saw Chen Hongwu come out, so they stopped.

Chen Gongzhe, Hu Baoyi, Chen Hongwen, Li Yi and others followed them out the door.

Chen Gongzhe laughed angrily: "These Japanese devils are so petty. They can't beat you, Master Chen, with their fists, so they resort to these disgusting tricks to show off in front of you."

Upon seeing the coffin, Chen Hongwen gritted his teeth and said, "Those Japanese bastards! Brother, I'm going to chop this broken coffin up and use it as firewood!"

Chen Hongwu raised his hand to stop him. He walked to the coffin, glanced at it from top to bottom, and gently tapped the coffin lid with his foot.

The coffin lid snapped open half an inch, revealing that the inside was completely empty.

"It's nothing." Chen Hongwu withdrew his foot, his tone indifferent. "Carry it inside and put it in the backyard. In a few days, it'll be perfect for carrying the Japanese."

The Japanese are making such a big fuss; surely it can't just be to annoy him? There'll be more to the story once the martial arts school opens.

We'll see the real test then.

After saying that, he turned and went back to the courtyard, never looking at the coffin again.

Chen Hongwen was taken aback at first, then grinned: "That's right! Pretend to be a Japanese! This will save us money on the coffin!"

He waved to his disciples: "Carry it inside, find a tarpaulin to cover it, so it doesn't crack in the sun."

---

Meanwhile, in a very quiet Taoist temple in Hongkou.

The courtyard is small, with white sand on the ground and green pines leaning out.

A cast-iron wind chime hangs under the eaves, its sound deep and muffled when the wind blows.

An elderly man dressed in a black kimono is practicing martial arts in the center of the field.

He was about sixty years old, not tall, but as strong as if cast in iron or carved from stone.

His face was thin and gaunt, with high cheekbones, and his narrow eyes held a restrained glint of intelligence.

He practices the Daito-ryu Aikijutsu.

The Daito-ryu Aikijutsu originated from the Aizu Domain in Japan and was secretly passed down for hundreds of years before being revived by Takeda Sokaku.

This technique appears gentle on the outside but is actually powerful and violent on the inside. It emphasizes the unity of qi and body, using the opponent's strength to neutralize their force, and then striking with a short, sharp blow.

When practiced to a high level, one can generate power throughout the entire body; the shoulders, elbows, palms, knees, and toes are all as strong as iron, and anything touched by them will crumble instantly.

Takeda Sosaku was the restorer of this great eastward flow.

He held neither a knife nor a weapon, but simply held his hands loosely in front of his abdomen, and his body suddenly sank.

The energy originates from the Yongquan point (Kidney 1), passes the knee, rotates the hip, propels the shoulder, penetrates the elbow, and finally condenses at the fingertips.

He stepped forward with his left foot and thrust out his right palm like a millstone. As his palm struck, a two-foot-tall stone lantern three feet away seemed to be pushed violently by an invisible hand. With a "crack," it broke at the waist, the upper half rolling to the ground, scattering pebbles everywhere.

Then, he turned around and stepped back, pushing off with his right foot, leaving a three-inch-deep footprint on the hard wooden floor, with the surrounding wood grain cracking inch by inch.

A wave of air surged out from underfoot, causing the wind chimes under the eaves to vibrate and their copper tongues to sway wildly.

"call--"

Takeda Sokaku finished his stance, slowly pressing his hands down, and exhaling a wisp of white breath from his mouth and nose.

He remained expressionless, simply taking a white towel and slowly wiping the dust from his fingertips.

Outside the dojo gate, a Japanese officer was already kneeling and waiting.

He was wearing a khaki army uniform with the rank of major, was slightly overweight, and had his hair slicked back.

Seeing that Takeda Sokaku had stopped, he quickly crawled forward on his knees and said, "Lord Takeda, the coffin has been delivered to Chen Hongwu. There are quite a few people gathered in front of the Jingwu Association, and they all saw it."

Takeda Soukaku didn't turn around, only humming in response.

The officer added, "Sir, Chen Hongwu is no ordinary man. Takano Sasaburo died at his hands. We hope you will be extra careful with the military."

Upon hearing this, Takeda Sokaku slowly turned around, his gaze falling on the officer's face, like two thin knives pressed against the other's flesh.

"Kimura, don't compare me to that brat Takano Sasaburo." Takeda Sokaku's voice was hoarse but calm. "Takano Sasaburo is skilled in swordsmanship, but he's still young and hasn't seen the true 'martial arts,' the true 'way.'"

"The difference between principle and technique is slight, but the result is vastly different."

The officer lowered his head even further and said in a trembling voice, "Yes, yes. Your Excellency is right."

Takeda Sokaku folded the towel and placed it on the veranda.

He looked up towards the west; the sun had already set, and the horizon was ablaze with a dark red glow.

"Morita Ueshiba was my student. He died at the hands of Chen Hongwu, and I must avenge him personally." He paused, then sighed and said:

"Shengping was a promising talent. He might very well have inherited my mantle and become a grandmaster who carries on the legacy. It's a pity."

The officer hurriedly said, "It is his great fortune that Mr. Ueshiba is able to become a disciple of Lord Takeda Sosaku."

Now that a high-ranking official has intervened, Chen Hongwu is surely doomed. Those Chinese who know a little martial arts are no different from chickens and dogs in front of a high-ranking official.

Takeda Sokaku did not respond.

He suddenly took a step forward, his body arched like a bow, his right palm and fingers like a sword, and gently poked at the old tree in the courtyard that was as thick as a bowl.

"Bang!"

The base of the tree trunk suddenly exploded, sending wood chips flying everywhere. The entire tree was broken in two, with the upper half falling diagonally and crashing onto the bluestone slab. The break was jagged, as if it had been gnawed by a giant beast.

A flock of sparrows scattered with startled cries, and the dust on the wall was shaken off in a flurry.

Kimura Torao gasped, his legs went weak, and he almost knelt down.

He only knew that Takeda Sokaku was known as the Meiji War God, but he never expected that this person's skills had reached such a level.

A single finger snapped a tree trunk in two, shattering its interior even through half a foot of air.

Such methods are no longer just "martial arts," but are almost like the legendary "qi."