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

There was a moment of silence.

Just a moment.

Immediately, the main hall erupted in chaos.

"Well played!"

"Kill these bastards!"

He Yongfu ripped off his felt hat and slammed it onto the chair, his face turning bright red.

Yao Cai jumped up and pointed at the Japanese side, shouting, "Get out! Get out of Foshan! Get out of China!"

Chen Sheng sat in the chair and burst into laughter, tears welling up in his eyes: "Well done! Better than me!"

The martial arts masters in the hall cheered in unison, the sound so loud that dust fell from the roof tiles.

Yoshinobu Funakoshi's face went from deathly pale to ashen, and then from ashen to flushed red.

He suddenly stood up, slammed his folding fan on the ground with a "bang," and pointed a trembling finger at Chen Hongwu on the stage.

"You! How dare you kill a samurai of my Great Japanese Empire!"

The translator behind him shouted back, his voice shrill, but it couldn't drown out the angry curses inside the hall.

"You're dead!" Yoshinobu Funakoshi's face was contorted with rage, his voice barely audible as he clenched his teeth. "You're all dead!"

The voice just fell.

Suddenly, the sound of synchronized footsteps rang out from outside the door.

Snapped!clap clap clap!

The leather shoes clattered on the cobblestones with a chilling rhythm, like a knife held to everyone's neck. This was followed by the clanging of a gun bolt being pulled back, the metallic clang of metal, cold and piercing.

The angry shouts of the martial arts masters inside the hall came to an abrupt halt.

All eyes turned to the door.

The air felt frozen.

A sinister smile crept across Yoshinobu Funakoshi's lips as he opened his mouth to continue speaking.

Then he saw Chen Hongwu's eyes.

Chen Hongwu took a step forward.

It's just one step.

The ball of his foot landed on the wooden plank of the ring with a dull thud. The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like a hammer blow to everyone's hearts. The dust on the ring was jolted up half an inch before settling back down.

Yoshinobu Funakoshi's smile froze on his face.

He saw Chen Hongwu's spine moving.

It's not the movement of the body, but the movement of Qi. The spine, from the coccyx to the cervical vertebrae, stretches upwards vertebra by vertebra, like a lurking dragon slowly raising its head. The shoulder blades are drawn inwards, the chest is slightly hollowed out, the hands hang naturally, and the ten fingers are slightly bent.

There are no pile frames.

But Yoshinobu Funakoshi felt as if a mountain was pressing down on him, like a tiger staring at his throat from three steps away. His hair stood on end, and the skin on his back tightened in waves.

In traditional Chinese martial arts, there is a concept called "divine will".

In his later years, when Xingyiquan master Guo Yunshen was asked, "What are you thinking about when you practice standing meditation?" Guo Yunshen replied, "I am not thinking about anything, but within a radius of three zhang, not even a fallen leaf can escape my perception."

This isn't some kind of mystical art; it's the result of decades of arduous practice. Every punch and kick, every move, honed through countless trials, imbues the martial art with a deep, bone-chilling intent, and the gaze is like lightning. An ordinary person, caught in this gaze, feels like a rabbit with its spine locked on by a hawk, a chill seeping from every bone.

Taoism emphasizes "opportunity," while martial arts emphasizes "momentum."

Chen Hongwu's aura had completely enveloped Funakoshi Yoshinobu. From his upper eyelids to his dantian, from his shoulder wells to his yongquan acupoint, every vital point felt as if it were being pressed by an invisible sword. The moment he moved, a thunderous force would descend from the sky.

"You said you were going to kill me?"

Chen Hongwu took another step forward.

This step didn't land; it was only half a step. The sole of the foot hovered half an inch above the wooden board, seemingly both real and unreal, as if stepping but not quite, yet everyone felt the entire arena sink an inch.

The coiling energy flowed into the soles of the feet, spreading out like a spider web.

Funakoshi Yoshinobu's gaze met Chen Hongwu's.

Eyes facing each other.

Yoshinobu Funakoshi's fingers clenched in spasm. He had practiced karate for thirty years and had seen countless opponents, but no one had ever made him feel this way.

That is the instinctive fear of prey facing a beast, a fear etched into the bones and irresistible.

Chen Hongwu could kill him in an instant.

In an instant, within arm's reach, everyone became an enemy!

Those guns outside the door couldn't save him.

His lips trembled twice, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and he swallowed back the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

"snort."

The hum was extremely weak, like a leaky bellows.

Yoshinobu Funakoshi turned his face away, unable to meet Chen Hongwu's eyes. He muttered something in Japanese, and the translator behind him paused for a moment, then quickly called out towards the door, "Everyone, step back!"

The footsteps outside the door hesitated for a moment, then retreated.

"Take them with you." Yoshinobu Funakoshi pointed to the two corpses on the ring, his voice hoarse. "Let's go."

Several Japanese men cautiously climbed onto the arena and hurriedly carried the bodies of Miyagi Nagaharu and Ueshiba Morihei off. The blood from the corpses was still warm, dripping onto the blue brick floor and leaving two dark red streaks.

Funakoshi Yoshinobu didn't dare look at Chen Hongwu again, turned around and slunk away towards the door like a rat fleeing in panic.

The footsteps faded into the distance, finally disappearing at the end of the street.

Cheers erupted again inside the hall.

"That felt great! That felt so good!"

"You damn Japanese, get out of Foshan!"

Chen Sheng sat in the chair, his chest still aching, but he smiled nonetheless.

He was laughing when he coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth again. Li Su quickly pressed down on his shoulder: "Senior brother, don't get agitated."

Chen Sheng waved his hand, turned his gaze to Chen Hongwu on the arena, and slowly said four words: "The younger generation is truly formidable."

Chen Hongwu stepped off the arena, the bloodstains on his gray robe already dried. His face was calm and his breathing even, showing no sign of having just experienced a life-or-death battle.

Qian Weifang walked over, cupped his hands in thanks, and said, "Master Chen, you've won back our reputation today. No need for words of thanks; please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything in the future!"

Chen Hongwu nodded slightly without saying a word.

With the matter settled, Hong Sheng Restaurant immediately arranged a banquet. Chen Sheng gave the order that none of the martial arts masters present were allowed to leave; they were all to stay and eat at the banquet.

Foshan people have a tradition of "winning a match means a feast." This custom dates back to the Xianfeng era. When Wong Fei-hung's father, Wong Kei-ying, won the match, a continuous feast was held at the Hung Sing Restaurant. Tables were set up from the main hall all the way to the street, and everyone, whether they knew each other or not, was a guest.

In the main hall, the tables, chairs and benches were moved to both sides, and long benches were placed, with six octagonal tables lined up in a row.

Blue and white porcelain bowls, bamboo chopsticks, and tin wine pots were set out. On the rough porcelain plates were poached chicken, roast goose, steamed grass carp, taro with braised pork, and Hong Sheng Restaurant’s own brewed rice wine. The wine jars were covered with red cloth, and when the cloth was lifted, the whole room was filled with fragrance.

In Foshan, banquets are always served on large platters, with generous portions, hot dishes, and strong liquor.

Especially those who practice martial arts, they have an enormous appetite. Not to mention eating a whole cow a day, eating ten or eight kilograms a day is no problem.

As the host, Chen Sheng stood up, holding a glass of wine, and bowed to everyone: "Today's events are all thanks to Master Chen for standing up for our Hong Sheng Restaurant. This glass is a toast to Master Chen!"

Everyone raised their glasses and stood up.

Chen Hongwu picked up the teacup in front of him and smiled slightly: "Let's use tea instead of wine."

Someone nearby frowned.

A lean, middle-aged martial arts master walked over carrying a wine jug, smiling broadly, and said, "Master Chen, on such a joyous day, what's wrong with having a drink?"

This man's surname is Ma, and his name is Ma Sanbao. He runs a small martial arts school in Foshan. He has some skill in martial arts and loves to talk.

Chen Hongwu glanced at him: "Wine is a poison that burns through the intestines, and lust is a steel knife that scrapes the bones. If a martial artist gets involved with these two things, his skills will regress by three years."

Grandmaster Li Shuwen of Bajiquan never drank alcohol or indulged in women throughout his life. When asked why, he said, "I earned this skill with my life. One sip of alcohol can ruin ten years of hard work." Wu Xiufeng also warned his disciples, "Those who practice Bajiquan cannot develop true skill from alcohol."

Ma Sanbao's smile froze, and he awkwardly raised his glass and drank it down before turning back to his seat.

People nearby whispered, "That Master Chen is really disrespectful." "He's skilled, so what's wrong with being a little arrogant?" "That's not how it works. How many of us martial artists don't drink?"

Chen Sheng quickly came to the rescue: "Tea is good, tea is good! No wonder Master Chen has mastered such skill at such a young age!"

Chen Hongwu returned the cup of tea and sat back down.

"Brother Chen," Ip Man leaned closer and lowered his voice, "Do you think the Japanese will keep their promise?"

Upon hearing this, Chen Sheng sneered, "What promise?"

Ip Man said, "Didn't we agree that if you lose, you'd get out of Foshan?"

"You wish," Yao Cai said, picking up a piece of roast goose and mumbling, "Don't you know what kind of people the Japanese are? If they were trustworthy, they shouldn't have started the war in 1894."

Li Su also shook his head: "Besides, didn't they say they wanted to challenge Master Wong Fei-hung? Master Wong isn't in Foshan right now, so this matter isn't over yet."

Chen Hongwu didn't speak, but picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip.

The banquet continued, with toasts clinking and laughter filling the air.

People kept bringing wine to toast Chen Hongwu, but he always returned the toast with tea instead.

Just then, a person stepped out from the crowd.

The man was in his thirties, wearing a blue cloth long gown. He was neither tall nor strong, and his appearance was so ordinary that he would be easily lost in a crowd.

His gait was unremarkable, showing no trace of martial arts training. He carried a tin wine pot and a blue-and-white porcelain wine cup as he approached Chen Hongwu.

Pour a full cup.

He raised both hands and drank it all in one gulp.

"Master Chen, this toast is for you."

He poured another full cup.

"This cup is a toast to you on behalf of the people of Foshan."

Pour another cup full.

"This toast is for you, by myself."

After three cups of wine, his face remained completely unchanged, leaving those around him stunned.

Others offer a toast and leave, but this person offers three toasts. What does that mean?

The man put down his glass, looked up, and smiled.

Then he said something that shocked everyone in the room.

"Master Chen, to be honest, I came here today to kill you."