Republic of China: From Street Performer to War God in a Chaotic Era

The rules of the military governor's office never emphasize stopping short of a confrontation.

In those chaotic years of war, the Hanyang rifles in the hands of ordinary soldiers were meant to draw blood.

If the recruited martial arts instructors don't even have the guts to draw blood, they should go back to their children as soon as possible.

The arena wasn't made of wood; it was simply a large circle drawn with white lime on the hard, yellow earth.

Four military instructors in woolen overcoats stood around, holding charcoal pencils and rosters.

The first round wasn't too difficult.

But the rules for the second round are shrouded in mystery.

Being knocked out of the circle doesn't necessarily mean elimination; the key factor is the instructor's rating.

As long as you demonstrate your powerful and vigorous skills on stage and reveal your true abilities, even if you ultimately lose, you'll still pass as long as the instructor marks you with an "A" mark.

Conversely, if one is timid and hesitant, even if one wins, one might only get a "C" or "D" grade and still be kicked out.

"Bang."

A man who practiced Tongbei Quan was kicked in the chest and sent flying into a white dust circle. He coughed up blood and couldn't even get up.

Within the circle, Su Ruoxue, dressed in a dark red outfit, resembled a leaping flame.

Her long hair danced in the wind, a fine layer of sweat beaded on her forehead, but her eyes shone brightly.

"What a brilliant Liuhequan technique! This is the fifth one already," someone in the audience exclaimed in a low voice.

Su Ruoxue was finally able to let loose completely today.

She was a once-in-a-century genius of the Liuhe Martial Arts School, and after watching Lu Guan's performance of "The Warrior of Cangzhou" under the overpass, the thin veil of "death wish" in her heart had already been pierced.

"Who's next?" Su Ruoxue flicked the blood off her hand and asked loudly.

"Little brat from the Six Harmonies Martial Arts School, don't be so arrogant. This old man will teach you a lesson."

From the crowd, a middle-aged martial arts master in a blue cloth robe strode into the circle.

This person has prominent temples and thick knuckles like walnuts.

As soon as he stood still, two shallow pits were created in the frozen ground beneath his feet.

"It's Master Zhao from the Iron Leg School in the south of the city. He's a long-established and renowned master of Ming Jin (internal strength) martial arts."

Without wasting words, Master Zhao snorted coldly and pounced on the mountain like an old ape descending from the mountain.

Vigorous and vigorous, with qi and blood flowing like a net.

His legs were like steel whips forged from pig iron, exploding with air as he unleashed a series of double kicks aimed straight at Su Ruoxue's face.

Su Ruoxue dared not be negligent and crossed her arms to block.

With a click.

Su Ruoxue was so shocked by this powerful and experienced force that she staggered back three steps, her arms going numb.

The inner strength and vitality of a veteran martial arts master are far more profound than that of a young person like her who has just entered the Ming Jin realm.

"Girl, go down." Master Zhao pressed his advantage relentlessly, his iron legs following like a shadow, each strike aimed at a vital spot.

Su Ruoxue was forced to the edge of the white and gray circle, with nowhere left to retreat.

In a flash, the image of the tiger-skin shadow puppet in Lu Guan's hand suddenly flashed through her mind.

That Cangzhou warrior, with a bullet hole in his chest, still roared to the sky, fighting to the death without retreating.

"If there's no way to retreat, then we won't retreat."

A sudden surge of ferocity erupted in Su Ruoxue's eyes.

Without dodging or avoiding, she lunged forward to meet Zhao's powerful high kick head-on.

The Six Harmonies Killing Move, the King of Hell's Three-Point Strike.

"That's insane."

Zhao Linchuan, sitting in the audience, exclaimed in shock. This was a suicidal fighting style.

Master Zhao was shocked to find that this delicate girl was willing to risk her life. He subconsciously reduced the force in his leg by a third.

In a battle between masters, even the slightest hint of cowardice can be fatal.

Su Ruoxue took the kick on her shoulder.

With a snap, his left shoulder dislocated.

But her right fist, filled with a fierce will to die, slammed into Master Zhao's chest like a cannonball.

"Bang."

Master Zhao groaned and flew backward like a kite with a broken string, flying out of the white gray circle and crashing heavily into the snow.

The entire room fell silent.

Su Ruoxue clutched her dislocated left shoulder, her face pale, but her back was ramrod straight.

She stood inside the circle, panting heavily, her blood and energy seemingly boiling in a furnace.

Surprisingly, in this desperate struggle, there were faint signs of a transformation, like "skin and membrane turning into leather".

"Good! No retreat, only advance! That's the spirit of a martial artist!" Feng Changshan on the stage slapped the armrest of his armchair and praised loudly.

The four instructors simultaneously drew a heavy "A" after the names of Su Ruoxue and that Master Zhao on the roster.

Su Ruoxue was helped off the field to have her bones set, and the ensuing battles became increasingly brutal.

Countless people lost their hands and feet, and the Changqing Temple drill ground was almost stained red with blood.

Just then, an arrogant figure leaped from the Iron Sand Gate camp into the circle.

This man was in his early twenties, wearing a black fox fur vest, and his hands were bluish-black.

He was He Fei, the most outstanding prodigy of the Iron Sand Sect in this generation, and one of the people who had mocked Lu Guan the most fiercely outside the gate.

He Fei was incredibly arrogant as soon as he stepped onto the stage.

His Iron Palm technique had already reached the minor level of Ming Jin; ordinary martial artists would be injured or broken if they were grazed or touched by him.

In the short time it takes to burn half an incense stick, he crippled three skilled fighters.

He was ruthless, aiming to cripple with every move, which angered the surrounding martial arts schools, who dared not speak out.

"Who else?" He Fei stood in the middle of the field, his arrogance fully exposed.

His gaze swept across the crowd, finally passing over the ordinary formations and fixing on Lu Guan, who stood in the special formation with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his tattered cotton-padded jacket.

On what grounds?

He Fei had practiced Iron Palm for over a decade, his hands bleeding and mangled from being plunged into scalding iron sand, only to achieve his current level of skill. Yet here he was, fighting tooth and nail for a spot like a monkey.

And why is that low-class actor named Lu Guan exempt from the assessment and allowed to stand comfortably?

Based on the vague and ethereal boxing intent that Inspector Feng spoke of?

He is not satisfied.

"I heard that Master Lu of the Fuju Martial Arts School has comprehended a martial arts essence that is rare to see in a hundred years, and has been treated as an honored guest by Lord Feng."

He Fei grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth.

He suddenly raised his hand and pointed at Lu Guan, his voice echoing in the empty training ground.

"I am He Fei from the Iron Sand Sect. I am unskilled and would like to learn a few moves from Master Lu. I wonder if Master Lu would dare to step down and give me his guidance?"

"Or are you saying that your shadow puppet tricks only fool mindless water monkeys at night, and you dare not show their true power in broad daylight?"

These words caused an uproar in the room.

"Has He Fei gone mad? How dare he publicly provoke the person recommended by Inspector Feng?"

"The Iron Sand Sect has always been arrogant, and He Fei is a martial arts fanatic. It's obvious he's not convinced."

On the reviewing stand, the captain examiner frowned and was about to speak up to stop him, but Feng Changshan raised his hand to stop him.

Feng Changshan sat in the armchair, his eyes fixed on Lu Guan, a smile playing on his lips.

He valued Lu Guan's recommendation, but he also wanted to take this opportunity to see how genuine the boy's so-called martial arts skills were in broad daylight, under the watchful eyes of everyone.

"Young people are hot-tempered and want to have a friendly competition, no problem."

Feng Changshan spoke calmly.

As soon as the supervisor spoke, all eyes were immediately focused on Lu Guan.

Lu Guan stood quietly in the elite formation, the cold wind blowing the faded corner of his clothes.

He showed no anger, nor even any extra expression; he simply and slowly pulled his hands out of his sleeves.

There's an old saying in the shadow puppetry: "The eyelids don't move, but the heart does; with every step and tremor, the whole puppet comes alive."

Lu Guan took a step forward.

despair.

despair.

He walked slowly, but every step he took seemed to touch the hearts of everyone present.

It was a strange footwork, with the soles of the feet never leaving the ground, moving glidingly and ghostly.

Stepping into the white and gray circle, Lu Guan slightly raised his eyes, looking at He Fei opposite him, who was like an angry bull, his tone as still as a stagnant pool.

"If you want to see the essence of the fist, I'll show you."

"Arrogant."

He Fei was thoroughly enraged by Lu Guan's nonchalant attitude.

He roared, and his inner strength exploded, his dark blue palms rubbing together in the air, creating a burnt smell.

"Die."

The frozen ground beneath He Fei's feet cracked.

He was like a black bear, with an overwhelming momentum, and struck Lu Guan's forehead with an Iron Sand Chopping Palm.

If this palm strike lands squarely, the stone tablet will split in two.

Too fast, too intense.

Su Ruoxue, sitting in the audience, couldn't help but grip the hilt of her knife tightly, her heart pounding in her throat.

However, Lu Guan did not back down at all.

Just as He Fei's palms were about to strike him, he inhaled sharply, and the tendons in his spine snapped like a fully drawn ox horn.

Roar.

The moment the punch was thrown, the boy in the tattered cotton-padded jacket disappeared from He Fei's sight.

Instead, there was a huge, blood-soaked tiger with piercing eyes and a white forehead.

The tiger, with a fierce will to die that would make a thousand armies flee in terror, opened its blood-red maw and pounced on him from the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood.

The Eight Extremes Single-Style Killing Move, reaching its pinnacle... like a fierce tiger climbing a mountain.