Chinese Martial Arts: My Super Beast Clone

The moment those words were spoken in the courtyard, the enthusiastic shouts that filled the air seemed to be cleaved in two by a knife, vanishing completely in an instant.

Lu Zhengchuan's expression remained unchanged. He slowly tucked the brass pipe he was holding back into the cloth belt at his waist, and his originally peaceful aura immediately became heavy.

"Open the middle door," Lu Zhengchuan said.

The crowd spontaneously parted to make way. Lu Zhengchuan strode forward, leading his twenty-odd disciples toward the front courtyard.

Lin Hai walked through the crowd, and at that moment, both Zhao Peng and Sun Datou's breathing became heavy. This feeling of being directly confronted and challenged at the entrance was something they never experienced before.

The main entrance of the Fuhu Martial Arts School consists of two heavy, vermilion-lacquered wooden doors. Normally, the school is accessed through the side doors on either side. The main door is only opened during festivals to worship the founder or to welcome highly respected seniors in the martial arts world.

Several disciples ran forward and pulled off the thick bolts. With a dull creak of the wooden axles, the two large doors were forcefully pushed open.

As soon as the door opened, the outside view was revealed without any obstruction.

A dozen or so Japanese ronin dressed in loose black samurai robes were blocking the steps at the entrance of the martial arts school. They wore wooden clogs and had samurai swords tucked into their belts.

The street vendors and passersby who used to be scattered all around now kept their distance, standing dozens of steps away and peering in this direction.

Among the Black Dragon Society members, the leader stood at the very front. He was in his forties, not very tall, and wore a black Taoist robe with a samurai sword at his waist. His hair was shaved very short, his face was lean, his cheekbones were high, and his eyes were narrow. He was smiling as he looked into the room.

Behind him stood twelve people, all wearing black short jackets, ranging in age from twenty to thirty.

Lu Zhengchuan's gaze swept over the Japanese ronin, finally landing on the face of the leader.

The man spoke first; his Mandarin was very standard, but the last syllable had a strange, drawn-out tone.

"I have long admired the reputation of Fuhu Martial Arts School. I apologize for the intrusion and disturbance caused today."

As he spoke, he took out a red visiting card from his pocket, held it out with both hands, and bowed slightly.

"My name is Fujii Seiichi, and I have come to seek guidance from Master Lu."

He said the word "please advise" with a smile on his lips.

But the eyes of the people standing behind him showed no sign of politeness.

Lu Zhengchuan did not reach out to take the visiting card.

He stood there and stared at Seiichi Fujii for a few seconds.

"Killing seventeen of my compatriots in my foreign city is already extremely rude. But to challenge us and then send a formal invitation..." Lu Zhengchuan sneered. "You Japanese... you really are interesting."

Seiichi Fujii's smile remained unchanged.

"Master Lu is joking. In martial arts competitions, a death contract is signed, and the outcome is left to fate. This is the old rule of your country's martial arts world. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, but we have never broken the rules."

Lu Zhengchuan sneered.

"OK."

He turned to Chen Wu and said, "Accept the invitation."

Chen Wu stepped forward and accepted the visiting card expressionlessly.

"Since you've come to our door with such unwelcome guests, I, Lu Zhengchuan, am not one to hold back. Let's see what we've got. My Fuhu Martial Arts School has plenty of space, everyone, please come in!"

Lu Zhengchuan's voice was calm and even, but when he said the words "unwelcome guest," his tone became three degrees heavier.

Fujii Seiichi didn't seem to mind and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you for your kindness, Master Lu."

He led the Japanese ronin behind him through the gates of the Fuhu Martial Arts School.

Just then, a voice came from the crowd of onlookers outside.

"Master Lu, please wait!"

Everyone turned to look and saw a strong, muscular man leading a dozen or so young men, striding towards them.

The visitor was Huo Zhenshan from the Jingwu Association.

Huo Zhenshan clasped his hands in a respectful gesture towards Lu Zhengchuan.

"Master Lu, the Black Dragon Society is running rampant in our Yangcheng. We, as compatriots, are of one heart and one mind. The Jingwu Association is willing to lend a helping hand to the Fuhu Martial Arts School!"

The disciples in the courtyard perked up. The Jingwu Association carried considerable weight in the martial arts world of Yangcheng, and Huo Zhenshan was a master of the late Ming Jin stage; the people he brought were certainly no less formidable.

Lu Zhengchuan's face showed little joy. He had spent half his life seeking stability, and he founded the Fuhu Martial Arts School to steadily pass on the boxing techniques passed down from his master, rather than getting involved in the Jingwu Association, a major conflict that could lead to the destruction of his family at any time.

But at this moment, with a formidable enemy at hand, Huo Zhenshan led his Jingwu Association disciples to the street to lend a hand. This was a matter of camaraderie within the martial arts community, and there was no reason to turn them away.

"Brother Huo, you're too kind. Please come in."

Fujii Seiichi's face was gloomy, but he just sneered, raised his hand and waved, leading the Black Dragon Society members in single file.

The front yard of the Fuhu Martial Arts School was extremely spacious. The sandbags, stone weights, and wooden dummy that were usually used to train strength had all been moved by the disciples to the base of the wall, leaving a large open space in the middle of the yard.

Fujii Seiichi stood to the side, looking at Lu Zhengchuan: "Master Lu, we are fighting against each other at the Qi Refining Realm. Deaths and injuries are irrelevant. If someone is killed, it is because they are not skilled enough. They cannot blame others."

As soon as he finished speaking, a burly man stepped out from the Black Dragon Society's ranks. This man was unusually tall for a Japanese person, nearly 1.8 meters tall, and wore a black sleeveless short jacket. His exposed arms and thighs were unusually thick.

"Black Dragon Society, Takeda Yu." The burly man announced his name in broken Chinese, then clapped his fists together in front of his chest with a dull thud.

Lu Zhengchuan tightened his grip on the brass pipe. He turned to look at his disciples behind him, his gaze landing on a man who looked to be around thirty years old.

"Zhang Meng, you go first."

Zhang Meng was a senior disciple of the Fuhu Martial Arts School. He had broken through the third stage of the Foundation Establishment realm several years ago, and his Fuhu Fist technique was now highly refined, with his fist strength reaching nearly a thousand jin. Among the disciples in the Strength Refinement realm, he was definitely one of the top experts.

"Yes, Master!" Zhang Meng strode into the arena, assumed the starting stance of the Tiger-Taming Stance, and stared intently at Takeda Yu.

Without further ado, Zhang Meng pushed off with his foot, his entire body like a tiger descending a mountain, instantly closing in on Takeda Yu.

"call!"

Zhang Meng threw a right punch, the muscles in his entire arm clenching tightly, the force of the punch whistling as it hurtled straight towards Takeda Yu's face. This punch was powerful and heavy, carrying the force of a thousand pounds without reservation.

Takeda Yu neither dodged nor flinched, but raised his thick left arm and blocked it horizontally in front of him.

"Bang!"

As their fists met, Zhang Meng felt as if his fist had struck an iron plate, the force of the impact causing a sharp pain in his knuckles.

In that instant, Takeda Yu's body underwent a bizarre change. The muscles in his legs and right arm contracted inward simultaneously, as if some internal mechanism was being compressed. A teeth-grinding "creak" sound came from his joints.

Bones like iron, joints like springs.

This is precisely the cruel modification that the Japanese made to their bodies using weaponry technology, which actually made their joints achieve the effect that traditional martial artists could only achieve by standing in a stance for several years.