Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"This... Ah? Ah!"

Before the question could be fully uttered, it abruptly twisted into a short and sharp cry of pain!

"Ugh—!"

The young man held the ring, his movements steady, even, and consistently applying downward pressure.

The edge of the ring presses against the thumb, and the pressure increases steadily.

"Hiss... Stop! Stop! Are you crazy?!" The color drained from the man's face instantly. He tried to pull his hand away, but his wrist was as if it were welded shut by an iron clamp, and he couldn't budge it.

He could only use his other hand to scratch the young man's arm, but the arm was as steady as a rock, not even trembling.

The skin and flesh began to be forcibly squeezed inwards and deformed.

The skin became pale and translucent due to excessive stretching, and the veins beneath were clearly visible.

Immediately afterwards, the ring sank deeper, and the skin, unable to withstand the continuous concentrated pressure, began to make a slight tearing sound.

"Aaaaaah—!!!!"

The real, excruciating pain erupted at that moment!

The tough skin was forcibly stretched open by the metal ring, the subcutaneous fat and tissue were violently squeezed to both sides, and the finger bones directly felt the cold metal pressure.

Fresh blood seeped from the gaps in the skin that had been squeezed open at the edge of the ring. It was thin and glaringly red, and soon it painted a sticky red ring between the golden ring and the swollen and deformed skin of the thumb.

The young man's movements remained unhurried and deliberate.

He even slightly adjusted the angle to allow the ring to slide more smoothly towards the base of his thumb.

During this process, the man in the jacket had his thumb forcibly expanded in a way that violated physiological structure, and his knuckles made a "crackling" sound as he struggled to bear the strain.

The skin was completely turned inside out, like an ill-fitting sleeve being violently torn.

The blood flowed even more, dripping through her fingers and splattering into small, dark red dots on the rough cement floor.

A small section of the finger bone was faintly visible through the torn flesh and the rolled-up edge of the ring, white and stained with blood.

The whole process may only take a dozen seconds, but in the man in the jacket's perception, it felt as long as an eternity.

The extreme pain made his vision go black, his ears ring, and the screams in his throat had changed, leaving only hoarse gasps and uncontrollable, beast-like howls.

Sweat poured down his forehead and temples like a waterfall, mingling with tears streaming down his face from the excruciating pain.

"Look how happy you are..." The young man finally loosened his grip on the ring and patted the man in the jacket's tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. "You're even crying."

The men's gold ring was now deeply embedded in the swollen and festering base of the jacket-wearing man's right thumb, firmly wedged into the skin, flesh, and bones, becoming an integral part of his body.

The man in the jacket was completely limp, only managing to stay upright because his wrist was being gripped.

He opened his mouth, but could not utter a complete sound, only broken sobs and gasps for breath. His eyes, as he looked at the young man, were filled with the most primal fear and pleading.

however……

"There are still many happy events to come."

The young man released his wrist—which immediately fell limply, the "golden hoop" on his thumb conspicuous and terrifying—and instead grabbed his left hand.

The young man calmly picked up the second ring.

"No...no...please...spare me...I was wrong..." The man in the jacket finally found his voice and pleaded hoarsely.

He tried to kneel down, but his body was shaking so violently that he could barely control it.

The young man seemed not to hear.

Holding the second ring, the young man repeated the process, slowly slipping it onto the base of the jacket man's left thumb.

"Ughh ...

A new round of torture slowly unfolds once again.

Skin split open, flesh ripped open, blood gushed out, and bone was exposed.

When the second ring was deeply embedded in his left thumb, the man in the jacket was nearly exhausted, his body trembling violently as if he had a seizure, and only weak gasps could be heard from his throat.

The young man then released his left hand.

His gaze swept across the table.

There, one ring remains.

The design is distinctly different, with a delicate band and a small, sparkling diamond set in the face of the ring.

This is a women's ring.

……

At first, the onlookers were bewildered.

The owner of the steamed bun shop had just put a fresh basket of steamed buns on the stove when he heard something amiss outside and peeked out.

The proprietress was wiping the table, her hand frozen in mid-air.

Several cleaners who were nearby, who had just received their pay and were about to leave, suddenly stopped in their tracks.

When the first ring was slipped onto the jacket-wearing man's thumb, most people hadn't fully realized what was happening.

I just felt that this "young cadre from above" was behaving strangely, and the man in the jacket's exaggerated cries and struggles seemed a bit... affected, didn't they?

"Oh dear, what's going on here?" a sanitation worker in his fifties muttered under his breath, his wrinkled face revealing a hint of amusement.

He recognized the man in the jacket. Last year, due to a "territorial adjustment," the trash cans in his area were stuck and hadn't been replaced, accumulating foul-smelling water all summer.

The air suddenly went still only after the first truly distorted scream rang out and blood seeped from the edge of the ring.

The steamer lid in the owner's hand clattered softly against the edge of the stove. The proprietress slowly lowered her hand from wiping the table, her fingers unconsciously gripping the rag. The cleaning staff exchanged glances, no one spoke, but something was quickly conveyed in their eyes.

It's satisfying.

Although the bloody mess was a bit creepy, seeing that usually serious guy, who always talked about "rules" and "evaluations," now with his face contorted and snot and tears streaming down his face, a long-suppressed sense of pleasure quietly welled up beneath that creepy appearance.

When I started slipping the second ring onto my other hand, that subtle, surging pleasure was suppressed by the more direct physiological stimulation.

"Squeak..."

The subtle sound of flesh being slowly stretched apart was amplified in the silence of the early morning.

The sound of blood dripping onto the ground, plop, plop.

The steamed bun shop owner's Adam's apple bobbed, and he silently turned his head away slightly, but couldn't help glancing at it out of the corner of his eye.

The proprietress had turned completely away from the street and was vigorously wiping the already gleaming countertop, though her hands were trembling slightly.

The expressions on the faces of the sanitation workers were much more complex.

Several of the older ones had their lips pressed together until they turned white, and there was obvious fear in their eyes. They began to quietly move backward.

The younger ones stared wide-eyed, their eyes wide with horror and a cruel curiosity.

The old worker, who had gotten his hands stuck in the trash can, was now gripping the broom handle tightly. He first looked at the screaming man in the jacket, then at the frighteningly calm young man, and finally looked down at the cracks under his fingernails.

Occasionally, one or two passersby would see the crowd gathered in the distance and the eerie silence, instinctively sense the danger, immediately lower their heads, and avoid the area.

The morning light bathed the streets completely, and the steaming heat from the steamed bun shop rose gently in the light, mingling with a faint smell of blood, creating an extremely bizarre scene of everyday life.

……

After carefully placing the three rings and the gold watch—well, its final position was on the middle of the jacket-wearing man's upper arm, the process was equally slow and steady—Zhang Qiliang finally completely released this pest that had delivered itself to his doorstep.

Walking back to the folding table, Zhang Qiliang picked up the black plastic bag that had become much lighter, looked inside, and then glanced across the street.

Some sanitation workers who had received the news or seen the crowd gathering rushed to the vicinity, but they dared not approach. They stood dozens of meters away, looking in this direction with suspicion and uncertainty. There were about ten of them.

Zhang Qiliang no longer uses bags to carry money.

He took out all the remaining cash inside, held a thick wad in his hand, and, relying on his extraordinary memory and observation skills, walked towards his fellow workers.

Approaching an elderly woman hiding behind a camphor tree, clutching a long-handled tweezers, Zhang Qiliang pulled out two red banknotes and handed them over with both hands.

"You've worked hard." His voice was as calm as before, and he even had a gentle smile on his face.

The old woman shuddered in fright, staring at him with terrified eyes. She then glanced quickly at the distorted figure on the ground in the distance, her hands trembling, too afraid to take it.

"Thank you for your hard work," Zhang Qiliang said again, handing the money forward by half a cent, stopping it steadily within the old lady's reach.

The old woman finally reached out her hand tremblingly, her fingertips quickly touching the edge of the banknote. She grabbed it and clenched it tightly in her palm. Then she immediately lowered her head, not daring to look at Zhang Qiliang again. Her body remained frozen in place, unsure whether to leave or stay.

Zhang Qiliang has moved on to his next goal.

A middle-aged man squatting next to a cleaning tricycle.

Similarly, two banknotes were handed over with both hands: "Thank you for your hard work."

"Thank...thank you..." The man's voice was hoarse. He took the money faster than the old woman, but the fear in his eyes was just as intense.

"It should be everyone thanking you."

In this way, Zhang Qiliang walked up to each of his fellow workers who were watching from afar, ignoring the fear and complex emotions on their faces, and accurately handed them the condolence money.

Sometimes, when the other party is frightened and backs away, he stops and waits until the other party calms down a bit, or until a slightly bolder coworker whispers a reminder, before completing the handover.

When the last young cleaner hiding beside the newsstand also received two red bills, Zhang Qiliang still had four bills left in his hand.

He turned around and looked at the community supermarket across the street.

The supermarket manager, or maybe even the owner, had clearly witnessed everything that had just happened. When he saw Zhang Qiliang approaching, his body tensed up noticeably.

Zhang Qiliang stopped in front of him and handed over four hundred-yuan bills: "Can this buy a few cases of water?"

"No...no need to be so polite, you...you can just take it, it's on me..."

"Then ten packs will do."

As he spoke, Zhang Qiliang stuffed the banknotes into his hand and walked towards the van with its tailgate open. Inside, there were stacks of cases of mineral water, packaged in the common 24-bottle pack.

Zhang Qiliang bent down slightly and stretched out his hands.

With a scoop of his left hand, the five buckets of water were neatly stacked together.

With the same scoop of his right hand, he lifted five more scoops.

Each bucket of water weighs about 13 kilograms, so ten buckets would weigh 130 kilograms. Even a strong man would find it extremely difficult to lift such a heavy bucket with both hands, let alone maintain the balance of the stacked buckets.

But Zhang Qiliang's movements were so fluid that it was as if he were simply picking up two empty cardboard boxes.

With both hands outstretched, each holding five stacked bottles of mineral water, the container remained perfectly still, barely even shaking.

The stacked water tanks almost completely obscured half of his body, and from the side, he looked like a small, mobile hill made of transparent plastic and blue labels.

Turning around, Zhang Qiliang gave a slight nod to the dumbfounded supermarket manager and strolled leisurely towards the other end of the street.

……

At the end of the street, next to a government vehicle that had just stopped, three constables who had come to the scene after receiving a report from nearby residents about a “fight and armed assault” were frozen by the car door.

They recognized the figure carrying water even before the cleaners—the photo and features from the internal emergency bulletin were already etched into their minds.

"Is it him?" The younger hanger-on's voice was hoarse, his hand on his waist, but he didn't dare to pull out the stick.

"It should be." The older fast-paced man's Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes fixed on the back of the figure carrying "Shuishan," then he quickly glanced at the figure on the ground in the distance that was still twitching slightly, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"How to do?"

“…Of course, we reported it.” The older sergeant squeezed out the words through clenched teeth, his other hand reaching for the walkie-talkie on his shoulder, his fingers stiff.

"Not going?" the hanger-on asked hesitantly.

"Go by yourself!"

"Does it bother you if citizens get up early for a stroll?"

Across the street, an ordinary citizen, out for a leisurely stroll, held a total of 260 pounds of weight with his hands hanging down, yet his back was ramrod straight, his breathing steady and normal. Each step he took was so light that it was as if he were walking on a thick carpet, not cement.

The stacked water tanks undulated rhythmically with each step, yet remained remarkably stable, without a single bottle making a splashing sound.

The sycophant shut his mouth, his face turning pale.

The three of them stood frozen beside the car, watching helplessly as their friend calmly turned into a small alley ahead and disappeared from sight.

Only after the figure completely disappeared did the older member of the militia let out a long sigh of relief and press the talk button on the walkie-talkie.

"Command center, this is the intersection of Zhongshan Road and Jiefang Lane. Reporting to the scene... a suspected target has been spotted. Repeat, a suspected target has been spotted. There is a male victim at the scene, seriously injured and requiring emergency medical attention. The target has left, heading east into an unnamed alley. Requesting backup and notifying an ambulance..."

32. A Self-Narration by the Chief Clerk of the City Repair Office

The instructions came quickly through the walkie-talkie: "Observe the scene, secure evidence, find witnesses to understand the situation, maintain order, and avoid causing chaos."