From a tuberculosis patient to a martial arts master

It didn't even take the time it takes to eat a meal.

The bamboo sticks in the divination tube were almost gone as they were replenished with each round of announcements.

"The 56th divination slip: Zhu Hong!"

Suddenly, a loud voice from the clerk came from behind.

Upon hearing this, Zhu Hong's eyes flashed with a sharp light. "If we don't come soon, it'll be too late." He then moved towards the martial arts stage.

Almost simultaneously, hundreds of eyes focused on them.

The young man was unremarkable in appearance, dressed only in a plain blue cloth jacket that had faded slightly from washing. Among the group of martial arts performers, he stood out as shabby and conspicuous. What was even more disheartening was that he had chosen the Taizu Long Fist, a style widely considered the most difficult to excel at and almost reduced to a "health exercise."

In this way, one can stand out in front of everyone:

It's as difficult as climbing to heaven.

Unless it's another Chi Yejun.

Thinking this way, they had already sentenced the boy to death.

"Sigh, it seems impossible to get over it."

"It's all a waste of effort."

Seeing this, Zhao Biao couldn't help but sneer, crossing his arms and waiting for the joke to unfold. Jiang Chengzhi's face was full of undisguised mockery and amusement; he had even rehearsed his humiliating words several times in his mind.

Zhu Hongcai ignored what others thought, focusing his mind and adjusting himself to his best state.

"Please demonstrate your martial arts skills."

The clerk's voice rang out.

Zhu Hong's eyes sharpened, and he began with a gesture—"Opening the door to welcome guests."

He slowly extended his arms, as if pushing open a heavy door; the movement was slow, yet contained hidden strength. His waist and hips twisted gently, the force originating from his heels, traveling up his spine segment by segment, like spring water flowing over a dam, all the way to his fingertips.

This move looked unremarkable, but someone in the audience let out a soft "Eh?"

Looking in the direction of the sound, it was Wang Zhenshan, who cared a lot about him.

Second move:

"Progress is being made but the foundation is being laid."

Zhu Hong stepped forward steadily with his left foot, bending his knee to stabilize his body perfectly, and slowly lowered his right fist from his chest.

Third move:

"A single whip probing the sea".

His right arm lashed out like a whip, drawing an arc, and where his arm passed, it seemed as if a long whip was truly tearing through the air.

Fourth move:

"Wild Horse Parts Its Mane" – arms outstretched, waist and hips twisted, the whole person like a slowly drawn bow.

Fifth move, sixth move...

The fist techniques unfolded gradually, each move unhurried and balanced.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

All eyes were on Zhu Hong.

He fought so slowly, so slowly it was frustrating, so slowly it made you want to help him. Every move was like copying an ancient painting, every step he took was so precise it was as if it had been measured.

"This... this is what you call boxing?" someone muttered under their breath. "It's all soft and weak, with no power at all."

"Haha! Isn't that right?"

Another person chimed in, "I told you before, this person won't go far."

"..."

As he spoke, Zhu Hong had already practiced the tenth move, "Turning Back and Chopping Palm".

He twisted his waist and brought his right palm down like a knife.

This move was finally a bit faster; as the edge of the palm passed through, the air was torn apart, producing a soft "hissing" sound.

Then:

In the eleventh move, "Embracing the Tiger Returning to the Mountain," Zhu Hong wraps his arms around the tiger as if embracing a giant object.

This move should have been fierce and unparalleled, but he held it extremely lightly and gently, as if he were holding a real tiger in his arms, afraid of startling it or hurting it.

The twelfth move, "Embracing the Moon and Sealing the Gate".

He stood with his feet together, arms drawn in front of his chest, palms facing each other, and slowly pressed down. The subtle fluctuations of qi and blood that had been flowing through his body receded like the tide, completely submerged.

To conclude.

"call……"

Zhu Hong slowly opened his eyes, a glint of light flashing in them.

The punches were exceptionally smooth today, as if they had undergone a qualitative change after yesterday's rest.

"Is this...is it over?"

Finally, someone couldn't help but mutter something under their breath.

"We've finished playing, but why do I feel like we haven't had enough?" another person chimed in, sounding puzzled.

The side of the platform where the head constable of the Sixth Division is located.

Wang Zhenshan's eyes were sharp as he stared at Zhu Hong, who had finished his stance on the stage, a hint of undisguised admiration flashing in his eyes.

Having practiced martial arts for many years and handled countless cases, I have seen countless martial artists practice this most widely circulated Taizu Changquan (Emperor Taizu's Long Fist), including many veteran martial arts masters who have been immersed in it for decades. However, very few can bring out the "charm" of this set of fists.

That wasn't about the strength of the force, nor the speed, but rather a kind of:

"combine".

The move and the form must be in harmony; the form and the momentum must be in harmony; the momentum and the intention must be in harmony.

He glanced sideways at his colleagues. Chief Constable Qingshan was stroking his sparse beard, his eyes flickering. Wei Qingyuan's face was ashen, revealing neither joy nor anger. The other constables were either whispering amongst themselves or deep in thought.

They were clearly "shocked" by Zhu Hong's unusual drill.

"Gentlemen, how would you evaluate this?"

Chief Constable Wang Zhenshan broke the silence first, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

"The technique is flawless." A dark-skinned constable hesitated before speaking, "It's a bit slow, but the stance is excellent, and the power is contained within." He paused, his tone adding a touch of admiration:

"In my opinion, it deserves a top-tier rating."

"Not bad." The other, slightly older constable, nodded slowly.

"This kid's punches look slow, but in fact every step is methodical and every move is measured. They are by no means fancy moves; they are undoubtedly top-notch."

"So that means..."

Wang Zhenshan's lips curled up almost imperceptibly, his mind already made up: "Then shall I pronounce the verdict in public?"

"Can!"

No objection.

Everyone nodded in agreement, their opinions now in agreement.

"Zhu Hong!"

Seeing this, Wang Zhenshan cleared his throat, faced the audience, and loudly announced his verdict: "The performance of the Twelve Forms of Taizu Long Fist was accurate, the power was internalized, the intent of the fist was harmonious and ancient, and the spirit was complete and the energy was abundant. After our joint discussion, we hereby rate it as—"

"Superior quality".

The words had barely left his lips when, like a boulder thrown into a lake, they instantly stirred up a thousand waves.

"Another top-tier one? And it's Taizu Changquan!"

"When did that weak and feeble fist technique become so easy? Or am I just seeing things?"

"There's something fishy going on... There must be something fishy going on..."

Previously, Chi Yejun won the "top" rating with his exquisite performance and the "flowing backwards" technique. Although everyone was envious and jealous, they reluctantly accepted it.

But this poor young man already gave it to him...

On what grounds?

What the hell!

A martial art considered a "health-preserving fist" that had been ignored in countless martial arts competitions, surprisingly produced two "top performers" in this competition.

Could it be that:

Have the tastes of today's head constables changed?

I just love watching soft, gentle music.