Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

The moment he finished speaking, Zhang Qiliang casually raised his right hand and placed it on the railing on the side of the tricycle's cargo bed.

The railing was made of welded hollow iron pipes, about the thickness of a thumb, and covered in rust.

Before Boss Cai could understand the meaning of this action, he heard a short and muffled "crack".

The sound wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet of the early morning.

The section of iron railing that Zhang Qiliang was holding, with his palm as the center, dented inward in a distinct arc, slowly and steadily becoming flat.

Rust flakes off.

Mr. Cai's pupils contracted sharply, and he almost dropped the cigarette from his mouth.

He stared wide-eyed at the deformed railing, then suddenly looked up at Zhang Qiliang.

Zhang Qiliang's hand had already moved away, as if he had just casually touched it, and was now pressed against the steel plate on the side of the tricycle's cargo bed—the same thin steel plate that had just been hit by the aluminum alloy with a thud.

"Squeak—creak—"

A sickening groan rang out.

The steel plate, about two millimeters thick, began to slowly and visibly indent in the area covered by Zhang Qiliang's palm, as if it were being slowly pressed down from the inside by a jack. A bowl-sized indentation appeared in the center of the steel plate, gradually deepening.

Radial stress lines appear on the surface of the steel plate.

The entire deformation process lasted two or three seconds, slow enough for Mr. Cai and the two workers to see every detail clearly.

It was a slow, controlled feeling that was more chilling than instantaneous violence.

Only then did Boss Cai snap out of his shock, a chill running from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.

He opened his mouth as if to shout something, but found his throat dry and could only make a "hoarse" sound.

Zhang Qiliang didn't look at him, but turned to face the front half of the tricycle.

He lifted his right foot and, seemingly casually, lightly tapped the main frame beam next to the front wheel—the thick steel pipe.

"Boom."

A muffled thud.

The sound wasn't loud, like the sound of a hammer striking solid wood.

But immediately after that sound, the sturdy load-bearing steel pipe, centered on the point where Zhang Qiliang's toes touched, clearly bent inward at an angle of about fifteen degrees.

The paint at the bend crackled and popped, revealing the whitish metal underneath, violently twisted and distorted.

The entire front of the vehicle collapsed noticeably due to the deformation of the main beam, causing the front wheels to tilt at an angle.

Almost simultaneously, the diesel engine, which had been roaring loudly, emitted a violent and irregular "coughing and groaning" sound, and several thick, blackish wisps of exhaust gas billowed from the exhaust pipe, and then—

The engine is off.

The world suddenly fell silent.

A gentle morning breeze swept through the streets, and the faint chirping of birds drifted from afar.

There was a deathly silence at the entrance of the junk shop.

Mr. Cai's face was ashen, his lips trembled, and his eyes were fixed on his tricycle, which had become crooked, dented, and completely silent in the blink of an eye, as if he were looking at a strange monster.

His mind went blank; he couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

The two workers were terrified. The aluminum they were holding fell to the ground, and they froze on the spot, too scared to move. Their eyes were filled with primal fear as they looked at Zhang Qiliang.

Several windows upstairs were quietly opened a crack at some point, then quickly closed tightly again.

Zhang Qiliang slowly withdrew his arm and stood up straight.

"Now, it's scrap."

"Keep this safe."

18. That's too reasonable.

Mr. Cai was completely stunned.

He stood frozen in place, his eyes fixed on the mangled tricycle.

What just happened went against all the common sense he had accumulated over fifty years of life experience.

The young man with glasses just lightly touched and bumped it, and that sturdy machine that had carried him around the urban village for three or four years, his livelihood, was just... ruined?

It's truly ruined.

Mr. Cai knew that even the best sheet metal technicians could never restore the main beam to its original state, given the angle at which it was bent.

The two workers were even worse off.

They leaned against the corner of the wall, their faces ashen, their legs visibly trembling.

The younger one made a faint "clucking" sound in his throat, as if he wanted to shout but couldn't.

Having hauled scrap for years, they knew best the hardness of metal and the terrifying force required to bend such a thick iron pipe with a single kick.

That's something no human can do—at least not within their understanding of what "human" means.

Upstairs, the gaps in several windows had quietly widened.

Teacher Wang, who had been woken up earlier, did not open the window again, but the trembling of the curtains revealed the figure behind it.

On the balcony of the third floor of the opposite residential building, an old woman who had gotten up early to water her flowers stood frozen in place, holding a watering can, her cloudy eyes wide open.

Further away, two passersby who were on their way to buy breakfast stopped and watched this scene from a distance, whispering to each other, but dared not approach.

The entire street seemed to have been muted, with only the faint whistling of the wind blowing through the power lines and the increasingly loud and chaotic heartbeat of Boss Cai himself.

Zhang Qiliang reached out and gently waved his hand in front of Boss Cai's dazed eyes.

"What are you standing there for?" Zhang Qiliang's voice was calm. "Give me the money."

Mr. Cai shuddered, his unfocused gaze barely managing to focus on Zhang Qiliang's face.

He opened his mouth, and a few words squeezed out from his dry throat: "W-what money?"

"What money?" Zhang Qiliang laughed. "You collect scrap metal and don't pay me?"

"I...I still have to pay?" Mr. Cai blurted out.

"You don't understand, do you?" Zhang Qiliang smiled again, this time with a different meaning, like a teacher facing a stupid student who can't understand no matter how he teaches. "Yeah, that's right, you do have some hearing problems."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhang Qiliang moved his hand.

Mr. Cai had no time to react—in fact, even if he were fully alert, he wouldn't have been able to make any effective response.

The hand moved faster than the limits of visual perception. Mr. Cai only saw a blur before his eyes, his collar tightened, and he was lifted up like a chicken being choked, without any chance to resist. Then, with a "bang," he was slammed face down onto the cold, oil-stained steel plate of the tricycle's cargo bed.

The rough rust stung his cheeks, and his nostrils were instantly filled with the pungent smell of diesel, metal, and dust.

He tried to struggle, but the hand pressing down on the back of his neck felt incredibly heavy. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't lift it even a centimeter.

"Choose one," a voice came from above, as if asking what you wanted for breakfast. "Do you prefer the left or the right?"

"Wh-what left and right?" Boss Cai's voice trembled, his mind a complete mess.

He genuinely didn't understand what the question meant. Which side to choose? What does "which side" mean?

But he could feel that the pressure on the back of his neck did not ease at all, and the young man's patience seemed to be running out.

Upstairs, the gaps in Teacher Wang's curtains have widened again.

The old lady on the opposite balcony had already put down her kettle, her hands gripping the railing tightly, her body leaning forward.

A couple more passersby appeared further away. Someone quietly raised their phone, but it was immediately pressed down by the person next to them—the person holding the phone looked nervous and shook their head rapidly.

No matter what it means, we have to choose one! In a flash, a thought crossed Mr. Cai's mind: I'm right-handed, so wouldn't the right side be better?

“Right, right side!” he almost shouted.

"Okay." Zhang Qiliang nodded. "Then the right side."

After saying that, he casually pulled out a square-section aluminum strip about sixty centimeters long from the pile of aluminum alloy scrap that had just been loaded into the truck bed.

The aluminum strip was not heavy, and its edges were not particularly sharp; it gleamed with a cold white light in the morning light.

Zhang Qiliang weighed it in his hand, and then, facing the right side of Boss Cai's head—the direction where his ear was—he lowered his wrist.

"Bang—!!!!"

A deafening, thunderous roar suddenly erupted!

The crisp, high-pitched sound, carrying the distinctive metallic clang of metal striking metal, instantly shattered the fragile tranquility of the early morning.

The loud noise was so sudden and so violent that it made everyone who heard it feel a sharp pang in their heart.

On the distant balcony, the old woman was so startled that she dropped the kettle with a clatter. The figures behind the upstairs windows all trembled. The two workers were especially startled, instinctively covering their ears.

For Mr. Cai, the world was completely turned upside down at that moment.

An indescribable, internally explosive roar. The sound seemed not to come from the outside, but rather exploded directly from deep within his skull and ear canal, as if someone had lit a firecracker in his brain. This was followed by an extremely sharp pain, as if a red-hot steel needle had pierced deep into his right ear and gone straight to the center of his brain.

The world spun around.

Suddenly everything went dark, and countless golden points of light darted wildly through the darkness.

A wave of nausea washed over me, and my stomach cramped violently.

He couldn't feel his body; it was as if he had been thrown into a high-speed spinning washing machine. His only sensations were the burning, tearing pain in his right ear and the constant, sharp tinnitus in his head.

"Hah...hah..." He opened his mouth, but couldn't make a decent sound, only the sound of his trachea pumping air.

Saliva mixed with snot flowed uncontrollably, dripping onto the cold tricycle floor.

A few seconds later, warm liquid flowed down his right cheek.

Bright red, viscous, it slowly trickled down his temples and dripped.

is blood.

A suppressed gasp escaped from the crowd in the distance. The old woman on the balcony covered her mouth. Teacher Wang's curtains were suddenly drawn shut, but gaps remained. The two workers were so frightened that they collapsed to the ground, the older one beginning to retch.

Zhang Qiliang released his hand from Cai's neck.

Like a lump of mud, Boss Cai slid off the edge of the truck bed and knelt down on the cement ground with a thud. He covered his right ear with both hands, curled up into a ball, and trembled violently.

Each tremor tugged at the nerves in his ear, bringing a new wave of stinging pain and causing him to whimper in agony.

The blood was still flowing, not surging, but continuous, staining his fingers covering his ears and half his cheek, dripping onto the dusty ground, blooming into a few dark red flowers.

Zhang Qiliang acted with great restraint.

The location and force of the aluminum strip impact are precisely controlled, with the main targets being the external auditory canal and tympanic membrane. This causes tympanic membrane perforation and local soft tissue damage, resulting in severe pain, dizziness, and hearing loss, but it will not actually endanger life or cause irreversible traumatic brain injury.

If you go to the hospital for timely treatment, your eardrum may heal on its own or be repaired surgically, and your hearing can be largely restored—of course, this requires time, money, and ongoing pain and inconvenience during treatment.

The ultimate guide to self-love: This is the extent to which Dad can love you.

About a minute later, Mr. Cai's trembling subsided slightly, but the tinnitus remained sharp. His right ear felt like it was stuffed with a constantly buzzing beehive, and the sounds from the outside world became blurry and distant.

He raised his head, his face covered in blood and snot, tears and snot mingling together, his eyes filled with primal fear and pleading.

Zhang Qiliang stretched out his hand again, opened his palm, and offered it to him.

"Can you hear me now?"

Mr. Cai shuddered and nodded hastily, as if afraid of being a second too slow.

He trembled and frantically reached into his trouser pocket with his blood-free left hand, pulling out a bulging, badly worn black faux leather wallet.

In the waste recycling business, cash transactions are still the norm.

Many elderly people who come to sell recyclables do not know how to use electronic payment, and small vendors prefer cash.

Mr. Cai opened his wallet with trembling hands. Inside was a wad of crumpled banknotes, ranging in denomination from one hundred to one yuan, along with a number of coins.

Without even glancing at it, he grabbed all the banknotes inside—a little over a thousand—and held them tremblingly in his hands, raising them toward Zhang Qiliang.

Zhang Qiliang didn't stand on ceremony at all. He took the stack of banknotes, still warm from his body and stained with sweat, roughly twirled them, then turned around and walked straight to the two workers who were slumped on the ground.

The two workers were so frightened that they shrank back and almost knelt down.

Zhang Qiliang simply handed over the money.

The two were stunned, staring blankly at the stack of banknotes, then at Zhang Qiliang, completely bewildered by what it meant.

"See that over there?" Zhang Qiliang pointed with his chin to the street corner, where there was a community supermarket with a faded sign. The lights had just been turned on, and the owner was unloading goods at the door.

The two were still bewildered, but instinctively nodded repeatedly: "We saw it, we saw it."