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

Pan Chengmiao stood in front of the Central Martial Arts Academy, his shoulders covered with dust he had brought along the way.

He traveled north from Fujian by boat, then by train, covered in dust and grime.

He practices the Five Ancestors Fist style. His family has been involved in martial arts for three generations. When locals mention the Pan family, everyone gives them a thumbs up.

A few days ago in Quanzhou, I heard that one of my junior brothers from a collateral branch of the family was beaten to death in Shanghai.

Upon further inquiry, it was discovered that the murderer was a young man named Chen Hongwu.

A few days later, the whole city was buzzing with news of the "Central Martial Arts Academy." Chen Hongwu wanted to become the leader of the martial arts world and to collect all styles of martial arts, both Southern and Northern. Even the newspapers were reporting on it.

He grew angrier the more he thought about it: "My Fujian martial arts community isn't extinct yet, and this brat thinks he can be the leader? I'm going to Shanghai right now, and I'll see if his fists are really made of iron!"

After a long and tiring journey, we arrived in Shanghai.

After leaving the station, unable to hire a car, Pan Chengmiao simply asked for directions and walked all the way to the entrance of the Central Martial Arts Academy.

The sun was blazing, and sweat soaked through the back of his shirt. He looked up at the large gold-lacquered plaque and suddenly let out a cold laugh.

"To parade around in public."

The sound wasn't loud, but it was clearly jarring.

But those four words were swallowed up by the surrounding noise as soon as they were uttered.

He tightened the cloth belt around his waist and stepped across the threshold.

The front yard was very large, with more than a dozen long benches placed in the courtyard, filled with martial arts masters from all over the country.

Some people were shirtless, some were wearing short jackets, and a few were wearing silk shirts, all with name cards beside them.

Pan Chengmiao looked left and right, and after a while, he grabbed a young disciple who was hurrying past and said in a deep voice, "Listen carefully, I'm here to challenge you. Call your master out."

The disciple glanced at him, then at his own sleeve that had been grabbed, and his reaction was surprisingly calm:

"Challenging us? Go inside, to the third room on the left in the main hall, register, get a number, and wait to be called. Our master will arrange the match when he's available."

"What registration? What number?" Pan Chengmiao felt like he'd misheard. "I'm here to challenge you! To challenge the reputation of your Central Martial Arts Academy!"

The disciple pulled his sleeve out of his hand and said unhurriedly, "I know, there have been at least eighty or a hundred like you these past two days."

"Let's talk inside, don't block the way here."

A burst of fire shot up to the top of Pan Chengmiao's head.

His Five Ancestors Fist style was well-known in Quanzhou, and even in Fuzhou, no one dared to make him wait.

"What arrogance!" His face flushed red as he pointed at the disciple. "I, Pan Chengmiao, have traveled a thousand miles to your establishment, and you, a mere servant who sweeps and serves water, dare to speak to your guests like this? Is this how the Central Martial Arts Academy looks down on all martial artists?"

The disciple was also annoyed and was about to retort when a hand suddenly appeared from the side.

"Xiao Yu, go about your business."

The man who arrived was in his thirties, dressed in a gray silk short jacket, and his body was as stiff as a low wall.

He stepped between the two men, cupped his hands in a fist salute to Pan Chengmiao, and said, "Master, don't be angry with the child. The servants don't know how to speak properly, so please be understanding."

Pan Chengmiao was still furious and only snorted.

The man smiled again: "My name is Wang Yunpu, from Fenning, Jiangxi. I practice Zimenquan (a style of Chinese martial arts). May I ask your name, Master?"

Upon hearing the words "Zimenquan" (字门拳), Pan Chengmiao straightened his expression.

Zimenquan originated in Jiangxi. Its moves are short and concise, and it emphasizes the generation of power and the exhalation of breath. It is named "Zimen" because it uses words to express the sound.

He cupped his hands and said, "Pan Chengmiao, Quanzhou, Fujian, Five Ancestors Fist."

Wang Yunpu said "Oh," and continued, "I've long admired the Pan family of Quanzhou. Master Pan has been practicing the Five Ancestors Fist for nearly twenty years, and his name is renowned throughout the five prefectures. May I ask what brings you here—"

"They say my junior brother died at the hands of that man surnamed Chen, and I've come to demand an explanation." Pan Chengmiao's voice hardened again. "Secondly, I also want to test his mettle as the 'leader of the martial arts world'."

Upon hearing this, Wang Yunpu was not annoyed, but instead nodded: "Then come with me."

Although Pan Chengmiao was seething with anger, seeing the other party's gentle tone, he couldn't afford to lash out again and had no choice but to follow Wang Yunpu to the main hall.

Upon entering the room, I discovered a long table with several yellowed booklets spread out on it.

An elderly man who looked like an accountant was sitting there, while several people were talking in a row in front of him.

One asked, "Can Li Wenhai, a practitioner of Shandong Chaquan, be scheduled for tomorrow's performance?"; the other replied, "I'm from Yichang, I don't have a number, I came with Master Liu, I can stay here."

There was a lot of chatter, but not a single person shouted for battle.

Wang Yunpu had Pan Chengmiao record his place of origin, name, and lineage in the register, and then received a wooden plaque. He then had someone take him to the backyard wing room to set up his bedding.

Pan Chengmiao grew increasingly uncomfortable and couldn't help but whisper, "Master Wang, we're here to challenge you, what are we doing staying here?"

Wang Yunpu walked to the corridor before turning back and laughing, "Master Pan, do you think Shanghai is still the creation of the world, where you can just fight anyone who comes? Look at all these people in the courtyard, aren't they all here to 'challenge' us?"

He pointed west: "That's from Hunan. He practices a branch of the Natural School. Yesterday, Master Chen gave him three pointers, and he was so happy that he couldn't sleep all night."

He pointed eastward again: "That guy, from Anhui, practices mantis shrimp. After losing, he spends every day in the courtyard training new disciples, he's more diligent than anyone else."

Pan Chengmiao's mouth dropped open: "This—aren't they supposed to be challenging us?"

Wang Yunpu shook his head: "At first, who didn't come here to challenge the competition? But once they started, they realized the difference in skill."

Master Chen is young but highly skilled, and he's always willing to tell the truth. If you say you're here to challenge him, he won't see you as an enemy; he'll just think you're here to test your skills.

If you beat him, you can take the signboard; if you can't beat him, you can stay as an instructor if you want, but we won't force you if you don't want to.

"Instructor?" Pan Chengmiao frowned.

"Don't be so unconvinced." Wang Yunpu patted him on the shoulder. "If you stand in front of him and demonstrate your boxing stance, he'll be able to tell you about your three generations of teachers, your old ailments, and your chronic injuries."

For someone your age to have practiced martial arts to encounter a master like this is more precious than finding gold.

"To be able to beg Master Chen to watch my boxing practice in person and give me a few pointers—normally, you wouldn't even be able to get that kind of opportunity by offering gifts."

Pan Chengmiao was dumbfounded.

He grew up in Quanzhou, where he worshipped gods and upheld traditions.

A martial arts school represents dignity; challenging a school is a matter of life and death.

I've never seen a place that invites people into its facilities, provides them with food and lodging, and then even shows them martial arts and tries to reason with them at the end.

"Absurd!" he muttered, wanting to lash out again, but not knowing where to direct his anger.

Wang Yunpu laughed heartily: "I also called it absurd at first. But think about it, Master Chen set up such a arena not for money or lives, but simply to bring together 'martial arts masters from all over the world'."

This isn't just a challenge; this is forging a giant piece of iron!

Pan Chengmiao fell silent. He picked up the teapot and poured himself some water.

The water tank was full, yet his hand remained remarkably steady, not spilling a single drop.

"Go back to your room, wash your face, and wait for dinner. There's a boxing talk at the Central Courtyard tonight; it's up to you whether you go or not."