Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

At that time, Tongda Sword Classic will also leave Zhang Qiliang and find a new successor.

Having mastered the sword manual, one must forge ahead relentlessly.

Unyielding and unyielding, unbending and unwavering.

Transcend the mortal realm and become just another ordinary person?

It's entirely voluntary; you can choose whatever you want.

……

Damn it!

I knew it... nothing in this world is that simple...

Zhang Qiliang stood there for a moment, his intelligence was quite good, and he figured it out in just half a minute:

Choosing the Tongda Sword Manual is choosing to be an enemy of the whole world!

2. Three minutes can create a rebellious personality.

Old Sun hummed a little tune to himself, ignoring the accusations of "lack of self-awareness" and "disrespect for elders" behind him. No, they were even worse than whispers in his ear; they were just drumbeats to cheer him on.

He thought smugly: Trying to play by the rules here? When I was squeezing onto buses and grabbing discounted eggs, you bunch of youngsters were still wearing open-crotch pants! I'll just cut in line, what can you do about it?

This sense of self-satisfaction reached its peak when he firmly established himself in the team like an old tree that had taken root.

However, the next second, the old tree was uprooted.

Without warning, a hand like an iron clamp gripped the back of his neck by his collar. A force he couldn't resist came over him, choking him and almost lifting his feet off the ground. He was forcibly pulled out of the line like a tattered sack, staggering a few steps before regaining his balance.

"Who the hell is this?!" Old Sun roared in fury, the swear words he'd accumulated over decades were already on the tip of his tongue. He abruptly turned his head, ready to spit in the other man's face.

What came into view was a young man wearing glasses who looked rather frail.

Hmph, pushover! His confidence swelled even more, his anger mixed with contempt surging forth like a floodgate bursting.

"You little punk! What the hell are you doing, grabbing your dad?! You have no manners at all! Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders? You tore my clothes, can you afford to pay for them? Believe me or not, I'll lie down on the ground and make you bankrupt!"

The young man stood there quietly, his left hand gripping his collar as steady as a rock.

His face was expressionless, showing neither anger at being insulted nor tension from the conflict; his eyes behind his glasses were as calm as two deep wells.

He just listened, letting Old Sun hurt his filthy language as if he were listening to a noisy argument that had nothing to do with him.

Only when the cursing subsided and Old Sun took a breath did the young man raise his right hand.

The trajectory of his arm swing was crisp and clean, accompanied by a slight whistling sound.

Snapped!

A crisp, explosive bang, as if the air in half the street had been sucked away, landed squarely on Old Sun's face.

Old Sun was completely dumbfounded.

First, there was a long "buzzing" sound in my ears, as if countless bees had entered them. The world went silent instantly, leaving only the tinnitus.

Immediately afterwards, an indescribable burning sensation spread from my cheeks, first a numbness, then a scalding sting, as if I had been severely burned by a red-hot iron.

He could clearly feel that half of his face was swollen up like fermented dough, and his mouth seemed to have a slightly fishy taste.

He stood frozen in place for a full ten seconds before his detached soul seemed to return to its place.

"You...you dare to hit someone?! I'll fuck you..." Shocked and angry, an even stronger sense of humiliation surged to his head. He covered his face and let out even more vulgar curses.

The young man remained silent, his demeanor still chillingly calm.

He waited quietly for Old Sun to finish his second round of cursing, and then raised his right hand again.

Snapped!

The second slap, just like the first, was equally crisp and equally loud.

Time seemed to stand still next to the steamed bun shop.

Everyone stared in disbelief at the scene, a complex mix of relief and horror filling the air.

It's truly gratifying; this old scoundrel definitely deserves to be taught a lesson.

But what terrified them even more was the young man's methods.

Although the old man was over sixty, he was by no means a thin or weak person. He was slightly overweight, weighing at least 130 or 140 pounds, and was not short either.

But in the hands of that refined young man, it was as easy as picking up a disobedient cat or dog.

In stark contrast to this brute force was his stagnant calmness throughout.

No retaliating, no arguing, no getting agitated, just executing the punishment precisely and efficiently—listen to your insults, then slap you.

It was as if he wasn't beating someone up in the street, but rather performing a tedious but necessary task.

After receiving the second slap, even if Old Sun was slow-witted and muddle-headed, his mind, clouded by anger and his arrogance, instantly cleared up as if doused with ice water.

My face was burning with pain, and my ears were still ringing, but nothing could compare to the chill that was rising in my heart.

He finally understood: this young man opposite him was no pushover who acted on impulse; he was a living devil!

They're either ruthless people who've seen blood on their hands, or... they're the kind of desperados who don't care about anything anymore, who've made all the preparations, and who wouldn't care even if they blew the sky apart.

"I...I...I...when did I offend such an enemy?" Old Sun's mind was in turmoil as he quickly went through all the bad things he had done in his life. Was it last year when he yelled at the stall owner at the market for a few cents and made him cry? Or was it last month when he pushed and shoved that woman with a child on the subway? But those were all trivial matters, how could they have caused such a life-or-death feud? The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became, and his legs started to cramp.

"Y-you...what do you want?" Old Sun's voice trembled without him even realizing it, and he subconsciously used the respectful term he used for ruthless people in the underworld. "I-I'm sorry, brother...I-I'm getting senile, I didn't recognize your greatness..."

The young man completely ignored his almost pleading tone and spoke directly, his voice still steady but carrying an undeniable force: "Still cutting in line?"

A profound sense of absurdity instantly overwhelmed Old Sun.

Just for this trivial matter? Just because I cut in line? You dragged me out into the street like a dead dog and slapped me twice across the face?!

For a moment, he couldn't tell whether he should be relieved that the other person wasn't there for revenge, or feel a sense of utter humiliation and absurdity. Almost reflexively, he immediately replied, "No more! No more! Never again!"

The young man seemed not to hear and asked again, "Will you cut in line again?"

That calm gaze was like two cold awls, making Old Sun's heart tremble.

"I won't dare! I won't dare!" He shook his head like a rattle drum, afraid that if he hesitated even for a second, that terrifying right hand would rise again.

The young man nodded almost imperceptibly and released his grip on his collar.

With his collar loosened, Old Sun felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He didn't even scramble; he practically crawled backward several steps, wanting nothing more than to get away from this menacing figure and from this place of trouble that had just caused him to experience the extreme transformation from arrogance to fear.

He felt like a mouse that had just escaped from a cat's claws, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into the safety of its hole.

I had just turned around, and hadn't even taken a step, when that nightmarishly calm voice rang out from behind me again, not loud, but clearly piercing through the noise of the street:

"You just left like that?"

Old Sun froze, his blood running cold. He slowly and reluctantly turned around, the forced smile on his face more like a grimace, his voice trembling with tears: "W-W-is there anything else you need?"

The young man didn't speak, but simply raised his hand and pointed to the quiet—even deathly quiet—line next to him, where everyone in line was holding their breath and watching.

"Apologize."

The old man, almost hunched over, mumbled in a tearful voice to the long queue, "I'm so sorry everyone!" Then, like a startled rabbit, he plunged into the gaps in the crowd without looking back and staggered away.

Zhang Qiliang watched his disheveled figure disappear around the street corner before slowly exhaling a breath of stale air. The matter was considered settled.

He turned around and immediately felt countless eyes focused on him. The people in the group had complex expressions—gratitude, awe, and barely concealed fear. To make matters worse, many of their cell phone cameras were blatantly pointed at him.

"Dude, could you...could you delete what you just took?" He tried to speak to a young man in the front of the line who was holding a phone, trying to sound as calm as possible. The young man's hand trembled as he glanced at him, and he almost dropped his phone. He nodded hurriedly, "Delete it, delete it right away! You did the right thing, bro!" His fingers flew across the screen to show him.

Zhang Qiliang sighed inwardly.

He could certainly use his remaining power to demand that everyone nearby delete the video—judging from their fearful yet respectful expressions, probably no one would dare disobey.

However... that's all there is to it.

Those two slaps were so loud and decisive, and the sensory stimulation they provided was too direct.

The dozens of people in line were not the only ones who noticed the situation.

Behind the glass window of the convenience store across the street, under the awnings of several food stalls, and even on the open-air balcony of the second-floor cafe further away, people were still holding up their phones, pointing in his direction.

What could he do? Could he possibly go after them one by one and "ask" them to delete it? That would just make it an even more ridiculous farce.

A wry, helpless smile flashed across his lips, only to be quietly replaced by another emotion.

He stood there, the afternoon sun outlining his tall, straight figure—his features even sharper because of his recent move.

He wasn't genuinely annoyed by the possibility of the video being circulated; instead, deep down, he felt a suppressed, subtle yet real sense of exhilaration, like a new sprout breaking through the soil, quietly unfolding.

He certainly doesn't like trouble, nor does he want to become an internet celebrity. But he has a clear conscience about what he did today, and even... feels quite good about it.

The way the old man's arrogance was extinguished by a slap, those two crisp slaps, not only shattered the face of this disrespectful elder, but also seemed to break some invisible shackles on his own body.

He was actually quite pleased with himself and wasn't particularly resistant to this unexpected "attention"—no, you could even say he was satisfied with this little bit of "fame".

Punishing evil and promoting good, and seeking justice and revenge—these are aspirations deeply ingrained in our blood.

If you forcibly suppress this joy and feel regret or try to cover it up against your will, then that would probably be considered... a lack of clarity of thought.

3. The escape rhythm begins at 7,000 words.

15 minute later.

Xingcheng City, Furong District, XX Road Express Bus Station.

The on-duty emergency team received a report from the 911 emergency call center: An elderly man in your jurisdiction was slapped twice during a verbal altercation. The elderly man is now waiting on XX Road. Please go there to handle the situation.

The on-duty team, accompanied by an assistant, drove to the location reported by the police station. They didn't even need to ask questions as usual; they found the person who reported the case at a glance: the old man's cheeks were swollen beyond recognition.

The fast-track team, accompanied by an assistant, went over to exchange a few words. Whether it was because his teeth had been loosened or because he had difficulty speaking, the old man stammered and could not explain the details clearly.

Such incidents are quite common, and the express team is used to them. At the request of the person who reported the incident, they took the old man with them and drove to the steamed bun shop where the incident occurred.

Less than ten minutes had passed since the old man reported the incident, but he walked two whole streets after leaving the steamed bun shop before finally reporting it. By then, more than half an hour had passed since the incident, and the witnesses the old man had mentioned had almost all left the scene.

However, this didn't stump the fast class. The fast class member nodded, and the assistant class member behind him stepped forward and asked the employees of the steamed bun shop to provide the surveillance video from that time.

The employee looked at the boss, who seemed reluctant. His wife pulled him along, and he slowly operated the computer to find the surveillance video from that time.

Now everything is clear:

A simplified account of the incident from the perspective of the accelerated class:

An elderly man cut in line and got into an argument with a young man behind him.

The two old men pretended to back down, but in reality bought a lot of things, which aroused public anger.

3. A young man wearing glasses intervened and forcibly dragged the old man out of the group.

The old man became agitated and started hurling insults. The young man calmly and intermittently slapped the old man twice across the face, the force of the slaps visibly heavy.

The five young men pressed the old man for answers, and he eventually admitted defeat, apologized to the people in line, and left.

The video is clear, and the audio is barely discernible.

The sequence of events is clear: it's a relatively simple public security case.

Kuai Ban quickly made a judgment in his mind: it was definitely wrong for the young man to take action, but there was a reason for it. The old man provoked and insulted him first, and the young man's actions were very measured. Apart from a swollen face, no more serious injuries were caused.

"Can you recognize who this person is? Does he live nearby? Or is he a stranger?" Kuai Ban asked the steamed bun shop owner, pointing to Zhang Qiliang in the surveillance footage.

The shop owner frowned, looked at it again and again, and shook his head: "Never seen it before, must be a new customer."

This is also expected.

The fast-track officer nodded. In this situation, they could only follow procedures. First, they would take the old man back to the yamen to register him, and then see if they could mediate or further investigate the young man.

The registration process was uneventful, and the old man quickly received the most common result of reporting to the authorities: go home and wait for notification.

Perhaps because he had been eating rice for so many years, the old man was naturally unwilling to accept this result. Meanwhile, during this long period of time, the old man's daughter had also arrived at the expedited police station. The two of them pestered the expedited police officer on duty, demanding a case filing receipt, requesting an examination of injuries and detention, taking photos for record-keeping, and complaining about the attitude.

Well, in a developed region, a case filing receipt might actually have some impact on the performance evaluation of the relevant government office and its staff. But as a legal backwater in the entire Great Yang Dynasty, would the Xingcheng Express Office care about such things?

The reason for not accepting the case is quite simple: they're just too lazy to fill out those troublesome forms and deal with the subsequent paperwork.

After some explanation, whether true or false, seeing that the father and daughter were still relentless, the sycophant next to the yamen runner came to their rescue: "If you keep arguing, we'll file a case against you too. Cutting in line is considered disturbing public order. Believe me or not, you'll be charged with the crime of provoking trouble!"

So, Old Sun and his daughter left the express yamen in a huff.

The constables naturally went about their business, and this trivial matter was quickly forgotten by everyone.

That's right, it's just a small, trivial matter. Not to mention that the old man was in the wrong to begin with, given his unreasonable attitude just now, whoever has the patience to serve him can serve him!

It wasn't until late afternoon that the Publicity Department of the Xingcheng City Express Shift Furong Office, which is the head office of the XX Road Express Shift, called: "Please handle the assault incident at the XX Road steamed bun shop this morning as soon as possible."

The voice on the phone was quite stern.