parentshiftbook Chapter 101 Fasting and Sacrificing to the Sword, Passing 5 Gates and Slaying 6 Generals, Invoking t
Chapter 101 Fasting and Sacrificing to the Sword, Passing 5 Gates and Slaying 6 Generals, Invoking t
Chapter 102 Fasting and Sacrificing to the Sword, Overcoming Five Barriers and Slaying Six Generals, Invoking the Gods at the Throne of the Martial Saint! (12k Long Chapter)
The Fengtai camp had become an impregnable fortress, filled with swords and spears, exuding a chilling aura of killing intent.
But in the Lu residence on Qianmen Street, life was like a perfectly cooked bowl of Laba porridge.
Sticky, reassuring.
Strangely enough, the winds in Beiping City these past few days seem to have been blowing around the Lu family's house.
It wasn't that there was no wind at all, but rather that the cold wind that swept in from beyond the Great Wall weakened and quietly dissipated as soon as it reached the walls of the Lu residence.
Shunzi really did hang the golden plaque that read "The Light of Chinese Martial Arts" at the main entrance crookedly.
It's higher on the left and lower on the right, leaning to one side, like a drunkard wearing a hat at an angle—it looks awkward no matter how you look at it.
The strange thing is the people passing by.
Whether it was a laborer pedaling a tricycle or a vendor hawking his wares from a basket, no one dared to laugh at him.
On the contrary, I think this is what "style" means.
Some people even sneak around at night just to catch a glimpse of that crooked plaque, as if they could draw courage from that unrestrained spirit to defy this stifling world.
What is style?
Even if I want to, you have to put up with it.
In Beijing, where the shadow of Japanese bayonets grew ever longer, this "willingness" itself was a flag that refused to fall.
The backyard, the study.
The sandalwood incense wafted gently, like silk threads; it was "Hainan agarwood" specially sent by Mr. Le from Tongrentang.
This is a genuine product; even a small amount is worth five dollars.
It doesn't have a pungent smell when lit; instead, it releases a calming, subtle fragrance that seeps into your very bones, calming any restlessness.
Lu Cheng sat behind a large rosewood desk.
He hadn't practiced martial arts, but he already knew the Thirteen Blades of Guan Yu by heart; practicing it again would only cause him some damage.
He didn't even look at the scripts he usually loved; at this moment, any outside stories were just distractions.
He held only an oilstone in his hand, single-mindedly sharpening the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
"Swish—swish"
This knife is the real deal, made of 82 jin (approximately 41 kg) of fine iron.
It is an antique that came from the mansion of a fallen prince from the Qing Dynasty. The blade has a dark bluish glow and layers of forged cloud patterns can be vaguely seen.
The cold glint on the blade seemed to move with the light in the dimly lit study, as if it were alive.
Lu Cheng's "fasting" these past few days has reached its most crucial stage.
He didn't speak; it was as if a gate was locked in his throat, shutting out all human voices.
No guests are received, regardless of whether you are a high-ranking official or a close friend; all are turned away at the door.
Even his gaze became completely restrained.
His eyes, usually sharp as an eagle's, were now half-closed, focused only on the blade, oblivious to everything else.
The person sitting there looked like a clay statue that had been worshipped in a temple for a hundred years.
It lacked any trace of human warmth, but possessed an aura of "divine might" that made one dare not look directly at it.
This is nurturing a "negative influence".
It was the majesty accumulated from subduing demons and eliminating evil that he was gradually drawing out of nothingness and nurturing into his bones, blood, and soul.
Lord Guan is the God of War and also the Demon Subduer.
To perform well in "Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles," mere appearance and skill are not enough; those are just superficial qualities.
One must cultivate that aloofness that regards thousands of troops as mere weeds, and that loyalty that is loyal even when one is in Cao Cao's camp but one's heart is with Han, and that one will go even if there are thousands of enemies, into the very bones of one's being.
It is also called "inviting the gods".
"Master."
Outside the door, Shunzi tiptoed in, afraid of disturbing the "qi" that filled the room.
He was holding a black lacquered tray with a bowl of clear soup noodles on it, the soup so clear you could see the bottom.
Two poached eggs lay alone on top, the egg whites as smooth as jade, the yolks half-cooked, sprinkled with a few specks of bright green scallions, not a drop of oil in sight.
During the fast, one abstains from meat and fish, even avoiding the "meat" in palm oil.
Shunzi gently placed the noodles on a corner of the desk, not daring to speak loudly, and almost reported to the leader in a whisper.
"Those students outside haven't dispersed yet, but they've stopped chanting slogans. They're all sitting there in silence, a dark mass, saying they're 'protecting' you—it's heartbreaking to see."
"Also, that—the Japanese consulate just sent this over."
Shunzi pulled a dark envelope from the inner pocket of his body.
In the center of the envelope were eight ferocious and arrogant characters written in cinnabar.
[It not only distinguishes between superior and inferior, but also determines life and death.]
The handwriting was wild and menacing, each stroke exuding a sinister and ghostly aura.
Lu Cheng's hands didn't stop moving.
"Swish—swish—"
He kept his head down, staring at the blade.
After a long pause, he finally extended two fingers and picked up the envelope.
Without even looking at it, he threw it directly into the charcoal brazier next to him.
"call-"
A burst of flame suddenly shot up, instantly enveloping the envelope and greedily devouring it.
Shunzi was taken aback and subconsciously said, "Sir, aren't you going to look at what's written inside?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to slap himself.
That's an unnecessary question.
Lu Cheng finally raised his head.
Those eyes, which had been half-closed, were now fully open.
Its golden light is restrained and unfathomable.
He extended his index finger, pointed to the Green Dragon Crescent Blade resting on his lap, and then pointed to his heart.
The blade hummed, as if in response.
Shunzi had been following his master for so long, and he understood immediately.
The knife is sharpened to a fine point; it can cut a hair with a single blow.
My mind is made up, as firm as a rock, as steadfast as an ancient pine.
Who cares about any life-or-death agreements, or any conspiracies, schemes, threats, or inducements behind them?
Under Lord Guan's blade, they are all mere chickens and dogs, mere scoundrels selling their heads.
No need to look, it'll only offend your eyes.
No need to reply, it's too much trouble.
When the time comes, on the arena, when the drums and gongs sound, I'll just chop him down with one stroke.
Reason? Life and death?
Those are things left for the living to think about after the killing is over.
At midday, the sun was shining brightly.
-
On the stage in the front yard, however, a somber atmosphere prevailed.
Today we're not rehearsing or practicing our singing; this is a "sacrifice."
According to the old rules passed down from the ancestors of the Peking Opera world, when performing Guan Gong plays, especially those involving real swords and spears and exuding a fierce aura, three sacrifices must be performed before the performance begins.
First, we offer sacrifices to our ancestral master; second, we offer sacrifices to Guan Yu, the God of War; and third, we offer sacrifices to the weapons in our hands.
This is called "inviting the gods, appeasing the gods, and consecrating the statue".
Missing any step could lead to unspeakable troubles, ranging from minor setbacks to serious injuries.
Zhou Daikui was wearing a brand-new royal blue floral robe with a dark black mandarin jacket over it. His hair was slicked back and shiny, and his expression was solemn, even somewhat tragic.
He held the three thick incense sticks steadily in his hands, the smoke rising straight up.
Walking to the center of the stage, an incense table had already been set up, where a seated statue of Guan Yu, over a foot tall, made of sandalwood, was enshrined. Guan Yu stroked his long beard, his expression stern.
Zhou Daikui knelt down respectfully before the statue of the deity.
He bent down, touched his forehead to the ground, and kowtowed three times.
"Honored Master, Honored Lord Guan Sheng."
"Disciple Zhou Daikui, leading the entire Qingyun Troupe, sincerely kowtows today."
"This time I am taking the stage not for fame or fortune, but because the Japanese invaders have gone too far, insulting our national dignity and trampling on our opera."
"Lu Cheng from our Qingyun Troupe accepted this challenge to fight for national martial arts and to bring honor to the Peking Opera world."
"May the ancestral master protect us, may Lord Guan show his divine power."
"May Chengzi be invulnerable to swords and spears, and may he achieve a resounding victory."
"Suppress the evil forces and uphold our national prestige."
As he finished speaking, Zhou Daikui's eyes were already red.
He wasn't someone who fell in love easily, but these words had been bottled up in his heart for far too long.
Below the stage, all the dozens of people in Qingyun's troupe, from the main performers to the extras, from the hairdressers to the cooks, knelt on the ground.
No one whispered to each other, and no one looked around.
Even the usually most mischievous little bean was kneeling upright, his face tense, and his lips pressed into a line.
Lu Feng knelt at the very front of everyone, closest to the incense table.
He held the Green Dragon Crescent Blade steadily with both hands outstretched.
The red silk on the hilt of the knife hung down, brushing against his arm.
This wolf cub has changed drastically lately.
The wildness in his body was forcibly restrained through Lu Cheng's deliberate training.
He looked at the sword in his hand, which was about to accompany his master into battle, his eyes burning with fervor.
Just then.
The thick cotton curtain of the moon gate leading from the backyard to the front yard was gently lifted by a steady hand.
Lu Cheng came out.
He had changed his clothes.
She wore a dark green soft cushion made of silk, with cloud patterns faintly embroidered on it in gold thread.
Inside, she wore a snow-white undergarment, with meticulous attention to detail at the collar and cuffs.
He was wearing thick-soled official boots.
She hadn't applied makeup; her face was clean and her hair was simply tied in a bun.
But as soon as he came out, it was as if the courtyard was suddenly emptied of all sound.
The feeling was strange and hard to describe.
He was still the same Lu Cheng, with no change in his eyebrows, eyes, nose, or lips.
But the moment everyone in the courtyard met his gaze, their hearts felt as if they were being squeezed by a hand, and their breath caught in their throats.
What surged up immediately was an urge to worship.
It was as if the person who walked out was not the Boss Lu who lived with them day and night, who could talk, laugh, and curse, but a deity who had just stepped down from the shrine of an ancient temple and emerged from the long dust of history and the awe-inspiring legends of loyalty and righteousness.
Carrying the indelible scent of incense and the eternal spirit of heroes.
Lu Cheng walked to the front of the stage, first making eye contact with Zhou Daikui, and then nodded slightly.
Zhou Daikui felt a surge of warmth in his heart and nodded emphatically in response.
Then, Lu Cheng turned to Lu Feng and extended his right hand.
Lu Feng took a deep breath, raised the broadsword in his hand high, and presented it.
Lu Cheng gripped the middle of the hilt with one hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the 82-pound iron broadsword was lifted as easily as a lamp wick. Then, with the blade pointing downwards, he gently paused.
"when!"
As the knife cut through the blue bricks, spiderweb-like cracks appeared instantly.
He looked around at everyone, his gaze sweeping across each person's face.
He did not speak.
He simply nodded slightly.
But the moment he nodded, the tension in everyone's hearts inexplicably eased.
My heart, which had been hanging in mid-air, fell back to solid ground with a thud.
I feel at ease now.
It's like drinking a bowl of chilled plum juice on a sweltering summer day; it soothes all your internal organs.
This is the backbone.
Even if the sky falls, as long as this pillar is still there, I feel that we can still hold on.
"Tanker."
Lu Cheng finally spoke.
Zhou Daikui immediately bowed: "Chengzi, you speak."
"Let's go to the overpass tomorrow."
Lu Cheng stared straight ahead.
"We're not taking a car."
"what?"
Zhou Daikui was taken aback and said subconsciously.
"Not taking a carriage? That bridge is five or six miles from here, winding through streets and alleys. We'd have to carry all these trunks, equipment, weapons—"
"Let's walk there."
Lu Cheng interrupted him, his tone indifferent.
"I will take it one step at a time, walking towards that goal."
"The old hutongs and bluestone slabs of Beijing, the gazes of the neighbors along the way, the hearts and spirits of the people along the route,"
"Every step was taken one at a time, firmly planted, and fully absorbed."
"To unite into a single force."
"An aura that even gods and demons would avoid, and that no one could withstand."
"Take him to the overpass,"
In his eyes, the restrained golden light seemed to flicker for a moment.
"Crush those Japanese devils to death."
On the third day of the third month, Xuanyuan was born.
The old almanac says this is an auspicious day, suitable for offering sacrifices, traveling, and making decisions.
A rare "peach blossom snow" had just fallen in Beiping. The snowflakes contained pink peach blossom stamens, and they melted as soon as they hit the ground, leaving the ground muddy and the air damp and cold.
Along with it came a unique aroma, a mixture of coal smoke, fried noodles with soybean paste, and early spring willow buds.
This is the unique atmosphere of life in Beiping, and the only solace for ordinary people in this chaotic world.
Qianmen Street, Lu Residence.
The pair of white marble lions at the main gate were gleaming from yesterday's snowmelt.
-
Old Zhang, the gatekeeper, was holding a purple clay teapot and chatting with a few rickshaw pullers who were squatting under the wall in the sun.
"If you ask me, this time, our Master Lu has invited the spirit of Guan Yu, the God of War, to possess him. He has truly descended to earth."
Old Zhang lowered his voice.
"You know what? Last night, in the middle of the night, I got up to pee and clearly heard a buzzing, dragon-like sound coming from the backyard. It wasn't loud, but it went straight into my ears, and it sent shivers down my spine."
"That's the Green Dragon Crescent Blade. Sensing the baleful aura, it made a sound in its sheath on its own. This precious blade is spiritual."
"Come on, old Zhang,"
A younger driver pulled off the white towel around his neck, wiped away non-existent sweat, and sneered.
"Go ahead and blow as much as you want; that's just the sound of the wind blowing through the chimney."
"You don't know anything!"
Old Zhang grew anxious, his eyes widening, "You little brat, that's—"
"But then again,"
Another, older coachman interrupted the argument, took a puff of his pipe, squinted at the tightly closed gate of the Lu residence, and said quietly.
"Today is the actual day of that China-Japan Friendship Martial Arts and Opera Exchange Conference."
"I pulled up a seat and crossed the overpass, and wow, what a sight that was! I heard that tickets on the black market were going for five silver dollars each, and that was just for standing room only."
Whether they can squeeze in or not is another matter.
"We poor rickshaw pullers and manual laborers don't have the luxury of seeing such things, nor do we have the spare money."
"Watching a play?"
Old Zhang turned around, rolled his eyes, leaned closer, and lowered his voice even further.
"Guys, what they're performing on stage today isn't your average 'The Meeting at the Ancient City' or 'Huarong Road,' it's real fighting, it's going to get bloodshed. It's a life-or-death gamble!"
"We're betting on Master Lu's life, the reputation of our Qingyun Troupe, and even more so—the very spirit of us Chinese people."
"Can we hold our breath and stand tall under the blades of these Japanese devils?"
"Do you think this is like watching a play?"
As they were talking, they could faintly hear footsteps coming from the courtyard.
"Squeak"
The heavy, black lacquered door was slowly pulled open from the inside.
There was none of the usual boisterous laughter and chatter when the opera troupe set off, no shouts of "All ready! Get dressed! Be careful with the trunks!" and even the footsteps were deliberately kept extremely quiet.
Shunzi was the first to step out the door.
Today he was also wearing a brand new black leotard, with a two-finger-wide red silk belt around his waist and thin-soled boots.
He moved with lightning speed, first glancing at the crowd outside the door.
Immediately afterwards, Lu Feng, Xiao Douzi, and the young apprentices of the Qingyun Class filed out one after another.
They were all dressed in the same black clothes with red belts, their expressions solemn, and their lips tightly closed.
They carried the camphor wood opera boxes, sealed tightly and affixed with "Qingyun Troupe" seals, in pairs, their steps steady and silent.
In the middle of the group, only one person was walking.
Lu Cheng.
He walked in the very center of the group, neither in front nor behind.
She wore a large, dark green silk cloak that moved slightly without wind.
Beneath the cloak, a corner of a dragon-patterned battle robe, densely embroidered with gold thread, was faintly visible, its scales and claws fluttering.
She wore no helmet or crown, and her jet-black hair was neatly combed, tied loosely at the back of her head with a simple red ribbon.
And his face—
That was a bare face, untouched by any makeup, its skin pale from days of fasting.
But those eyes were half-open, half-closed, with a downward gaze, looking down at the nose, the nose looking at the heart.
Most striking of all was the Green Dragon Crescent Blade he held upside down in his right hand.
The sword was twelve feet long, and at this moment the tip was tightly wrapped in thick red silk.
Even so, it couldn't hide the chill.
Eighty-two catties.
Even a strong, ordinary man would find it difficult to swing his arms.
Lu Cheng simply carried it by his side with one hand, dragging it behind him.
The heavy hilt dragged along the damp flagstones with his steps.
Surprisingly, it didn't make any annoying "sizzling" friction sound.
The knife tip seemed to have eyes, always just barely gliding over the cracks in the stone slab.
This is not only an amazing arm strength, but also an exquisite control over power, reaching a state of perfection.
He never parted with his knife, and never spoke a word.
This is "silent meditation," and it's also about nourishing the last breath of "spirit."
"Master Lu!"
The rickshaw pullers, idlers, early-rising vendors, and even a few pedestrians who were drawn to the somber atmosphere gathered at the entrance were all greatly shocked when they saw Lu Cheng's "astonishing" attire and demeanor.
Some people instinctively wanted to step forward and clasp their hands in salute, some wanted to shout "Master Lu is mighty!", and some wanted to say "Take care".
"Sh-!!!"
Shunzi, who was walking at the front, suddenly turned around, faced the crowd, raised an index finger, and put it to his lips.
"Keep quiet."
"My master is invoking the gods," this is the most crucial moment. This breath, this spirit, must not falter, must not falter.
That shout instantly silenced all the commotion.
Those open mouths and half-raised hands all froze.
They stopped trying to express anything and simply retreated spontaneously to the sides of the street.
Despite being packed tightly together, they managed to create a passage that was at least two zhang wide in the middle of the long street.
The news spread very quickly.
As soon as the procession reached the first intersection, police officers dispatched by the police station arrived, panting, to maintain order and disperse any potential congestion.
Before they had gone two blocks, even the military police from Marshal Ma's mansion were mobilized.
Each of them carried a rifle, their faces hardened, and they set up a cordon on both sides of the street, keeping the onlookers on the outer edge.
But even without them, no one would dare to act recklessly at this time.
People watched them go in silence.
That feeling wasn't like a famous actor from a theatrical troupe rushing to perform at one show.
It's more like—a deity awakening from a dusty temple.
Dragging his blood-soaked divine weapon, he stepped by step toward the lair of demons, to carry out the divine punishment of slaying demons and eliminating evil, and purifying the heavens.
"They're here! They're here!"
Ahead, at the intersection of Zhushikou Street, someone shouted.
The long-waiting crowd surged forward with a roar.
Hundreds of heads turned in unison toward the source of the long street, and hundreds of eyes searched eagerly.
At the end of the long street, a huge apricot-yellow flag came into view first, fluttering in the wind.
The flag is a full ten feet square, with an apricot-yellow background, symbolizing loyalty and royal legitimacy.
On the flag, four large characters in clerical script are embroidered with bold, vibrant ink, using strokes that penetrate the fabric.
Serve the country with utmost loyalty!
The brushstrokes are powerful and majestic.
This flag was embroidered by passionate students from Yenching University, Tsinghua University, and other schools in Beiping. After hearing that Lu Cheng had accepted the challenge, they rushed around overnight, raised money to buy cloth, and asked an old embroiderer to lead the female students to embroider it stitch by stitch, working through two whole nights.
It contains not only silk threads, but also the passion of young people and the integrity of scholars.
The flag bearer is Lu Feng.
The boy changed into a more streamlined black tight-fitting short outfit, with a red belt around his waist and fast boots on his feet.
He held the heavy flag, which was much taller than him, firmly in both hands, his arm muscles bulging, and he walked with a powerful stride.
Three steps behind him was Lu Cheng.
One man, one knife, his steps heavy and deliberate.
The hem of the cloak swayed slightly with each step, like a dragon in motion.
Further on are the disciples of the Simin Martial Arts Club and the Iron Fist Gym.
Even the old man, whom Lu Cheng had saved that day, was dressed in new clothes and carrying his old erhu, mingling in the group.
It stretched out in a mighty, silent line, heading straight for the overpass!
Overpass, theater.
This place was originally a well-known theater called "Guanghelou" in the late Qing Dynasty. After changing hands several times, it was bought by a businessman with foreign background.
It was renovated to resemble a Western theater, with a stage featuring an arched proscenium and grape trellises. It had two floors and could accommodate nearly three thousand people, making it a large venue in Beiping.
Today, the three blocks surrounding this theater are under lockdown.
It wasn't an ordinary police patrol, but a joint checkpoint set up by soldiers from the most elite guard battalion under Commander Zhang and the military police dispatched by the Japanese North China Garrison Army.
The soldiers on both sides stood a few steps apart, each holding a gun, wary of each other.
Above the main entrance of the theater hangs a huge white banner with striking black characters on it.
[Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere: China-Japan Martial Arts and Opera Goodwill Exchange Conference]
The red cloth trimmed the edges, making it look like a wedding decoration.
The words on the cloth, however, cut like a dull knife, piercing the eyes and hearts of every Chinese person who looked up at them.
Backstage.
The area was divided into east and west halves by a heavy curtain, creating an atmosphere even more oppressive than the streets outside.
To the east is the Japanese delegation's exclusive rest area, which is spacious and clearly meticulously arranged.
The floor was covered with tatami mats that smelled of grass, and a delicate bamboo curtain with an exquisite cherry blossom pattern hung at the entrance.
The faint sounds of hushed Japanese conversation could be heard inside, delivered in an arrogant tone.
In the very center of the rest area, Chiba Ken sat kneeling upright.
He was wearing a dark blue kimono with a wide black sash around his waist.
On the low table in front of him lay his sword—the famous sword "Muramasa".
The scabbard was jet black and had no decorations whatsoever.
Chiba was wiping the already gleaming blade with a silk handkerchief.
His eyes were as sinister as a hawk's, and the corners of his mouth were turned down.
He whispered in a voice that only a few close confidants could hear.
"Gentlemen, today, on this stage most cherished by these Chinese, we will use the blood of their revered master to wash away the past shame of the Chiba School and to commemorate the flourishing of the military fortunes of our Great Japanese Empire!"
"Lu Cheng's head will be my best trophy."
On the other side of the curtain, backstage on the west side, was where the Qingyun Troupe was located.
This place has been deliberately decorated as a solemn and dignified shrine.
On the central wall hangs a huge, meticulously painted portrait of Guan Yu.
She had phoenix eyes, silkworm eyebrows, and a face as red as a jujube.
With a flowing beard, he wielded a Green Dragon Crescent Blade, exuding an imposing aura without anger.
An altar with offerings of three kinds of animals was set up in front of the portrait.
Zhou Daikui lit the thick incense sticks himself, the smoke rising straight up and filling the entire backstage area, suppressing the smell of dust.
Lu Cheng sat upright in a hardwood armchair beside the incense table, still maintaining the posture of "sitting in the palace to cultivate one's spirit".
With his eyes slightly closed, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade rested horizontally on his knees, his right hand lightly pressing the hilt.
He remained silent.
The specially invited "makeup artist," Master Huang, was holding his breath, carrying out the final and most important step—face painting.
Master Huang was an old man from the Ruyi Pavilion in the palace. He had served princes and nobles of the Qing Dynasty and retired after the establishment of the Republic of China.
If Zhou Daikui hadn't gone to great lengths to persuade him, he would never have come out of retirement so easily.
He also put aside all distracting thoughts, holding an extremely fine wolf hair brush, the tip of which was dipped in specially made oil paint, and carefully outlined Lu Cheng's face stroke by stroke.
Start with the brow bone, and draw those two slanted, majestic silkworm-shaped eyebrows that fly straight into the temples.
Then comes the eyeliner, which accentuates the charm of the phoenix eyes.
His eyes were upturned, exuding an air of authority without anger.
Next comes the main color of the face, which is lightly dyed layer by layer with a special red color until it presents a face as red as a date, with loyalty, sincerity and divinity.
Finally, the lip line and nasolabial folds —
With each stroke of his pen, Lu Cheng's "humanity" faded a little, while his "divine aura" grew stronger.
That kind of majesty, that kind of imposing aura that commands respect without anger, gradually spread as the mask took shape.
The apprentices around him, including the troupe leader Zhou Daikui, stood on both sides, not daring to breathe.
This is called "serving the lead actor" or "protecting the Dharma".
"Report—"
Old Zhang, the gatekeeper, ran in, sweating profusely, but Shunzi covered his mouth and dragged him to a corner.
"Keep your voice down, do you want to die?" Shunzi sneered.
Old Zhang was so frightened that he trembled and lowered his voice, which sounded like he was about to cry.
"Master Shun, something terrible has happened!"
"Outside—Commander Zhang is here, along with that Japanese consul."
"They—they brought a lot of reporters, and foreigners too."
"Commander Zhang specifically requested to see Master Lu, saying that he wanted Master Lu to come out and greet him," supposedly to show goodwill.
"What?!"
Shunzi's eyes widened, and his temper flared up instantly.
"meet?"
"Master is currently 'sitting in the palace,' nourishing his spirit."
"Going out to greet those traitorous dogs at this time? That would be breaking the rules, slapping Lord Guan's face to the ground!"
"But----"
Old Zhang was so anxious he kept stamping his feet. "Commander Zhang said that if Master Lu doesn't give us face, it would be damaging diplomatic relations," so he—he ordered the stage to be dismantled.
7
Shunzi gritted his teeth and placed his hand on the hilt of the knife.
"He dares!"
"Damn it, I might as well fight them to the death."
Just as Shunzi was about to rush out.
"when."
A sound like metal striking stone came from the armchair.
It was Lu Cheng's finger that lightly tapped the hilt of the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
Shunzi froze, immediately stopped, and turned to look at his master.
At this moment, Master Huang had just finished the last stroke.
Lu Cheng slowly opened his eyes.
That instant.
Shunzi seemed to see a bolt of lightning flash across the dimly lit backstage area.
In those phoenix eyes, there was no anger, no anxiety, only a kind of aloofness that disregarded the common people.
That was the gaze of God.
Lu Cheng remained silent.
He simply raised his hand slightly, pointed to the doorway, and then pointed to the knife in his hand.
Shunzi has been with Lu Cheng for so long, there's a tacit understanding between them.
He understood.
I completely understand it.
Master means...
not see.
ignore.
Not welcome.
No matter who comes—a warlord with military power, an arrogant Japanese pirate, a sensationalist reporter, or even the Emperor himself—
They'll have to wait for me outside.
Waiting for this show to begin.
Waiting for this knife to be drawn.
Waiting for this blood—
Let's see the results first!
Tianqiao Theater, front desk.
It was already packed with people; there were so many people hanging from the chandeliers that it seemed like there were two people hanging from them.
The air was thick with the smells of sweat, tobacco, and a restless, gunpowder-like odor.
In the very center of the front row sat Division Commander Zhang.
Today he was dressed in a smart military uniform, his chest covered with medals of unknown origin, a cigar between his fingers, and chatting and laughing with a Japanese man with a mustache next to him.
That Japanese man was Sato, the military attaché at the Japanese legation.
However, the atmosphere was completely different in the private room on the other side of the aisle, separated from Commander Zhang's room.
-
General Ma Linyuan, dressed in casual clothes and wearing a black sable coat, sat there with an imposing air.
Standing behind him was none other than the "Independent Brigade Big Sword Team," whose leader was Lu Cheng in name only.
Dozens of strong men, carrying large, menacing swords, stared fiercely at Commander Zhang and the Japanese opposite them.
Fourth concubine Yao Hong sat next to Marshal Ma, clutching a handkerchief in her hand, her palms sweaty, her eyes fixed on the stage, forgetting even to breathe.
On one side of the stage, Chiba Ken had already arrived first.
He was kneeling on the tatami mat, resting with his eyes closed.
His heart was not as calm as it appeared on the surface.
The news of the fight at the Simin Martial Arts Club last night was kept completely under wraps.
All he knew was that Master Yagyu Seiun had returned defeated, or rather, fled in a sorry state.
It is said that they encountered two legendary old monsters from the Chinese martial arts world.
Sun Lutang, known as "The Best Hand in the World," and Shang Yunxiang, known as "Iron-Legged Buddha."
As for how Wanyan Lie died and how the group of black-clad ninjas were wiped out, Yagyu Shizuku remained tight-lipped.
Without saying a word, they took a ship back to Japan that very night.
This led Chiba to make a huge misjudgment.
He thought it was the older generation of Chinese masters who had made the move.
Later, even Commander Zhang thought so, that Lu Cheng was able to kill Wanyan Lie purely by chance.
In the martial arts world, it is an ironclad rule that a martial arts master cannot defeat a grandmaster. Even the most skilled martial artist in his youth could not break through this barrier.
Lu Cheng is just a mere actor, so why should he be an exception?
"Hmph, the Chinese martial arts masters who rely on internal strength dare not show themselves openly, so they can only send this actor to take the fall?"
Chiba Zan sneered.
He made thorough preparations this time.
Behind him were several men dressed in hunting robes and wearing tall hats, who were the "Onmyoji" specially dispatched by the Black Dragon Society.
These individuals are highly skilled in illusions, mind-controlling smoke, and psychological manipulation.
The five of them working together are enough to deal with any master of internal energy.
"Lu Cheng, regardless of whether you are a genius or not."
"Today, before my blade and the 'divine arts' of these Onmyoji, you have only one path: death."
"Um?"
"Mr. Zhang, this Mr. Lu is quite arrogant."
Sato glanced at his watch and spoke in broken Chinese, his tone revealing his dissatisfaction.
"Our samurai of the Great Japanese Empire have been waiting for a long time, yet he hasn't even shown his face. This is disrespectful to the Great Japanese Empire."
"Hey, Mr. Sato, famous actors are all a bit temperamental."
Commander Zhang chuckled, but in his heart he cursed Lu Cheng's ancestors for eighteen generations.
Damn it, they're so ungrateful.
I personally sent you out to greet me, and you dare to play dead?
Fine, you just wait. Once you're on stage, I'll see how you die!
Having heard so much "common sense" from the outside world these past few days, his anxious heart gradually settled back into his stomach, and his posture straightened a bit.
Everyone says that Lu Cheng's highest achievement is only the Great Perfection of Dark Strength; the Grandmaster realm? Don't even think about it.
Grandmasters in their early twenties are just myths made up by storytellers.
Even the "dodge bullets on the stage" incident that caused such a stir recently seems to have been nothing more than taking advantage of the proximity.
Within seven steps, a fist can disarm a spear; any agile martial artist with internal strength could do it.
But if Lu Chengzhen was only a hidden expert—without the ability to anticipate the enemy's moves like a cicada sensing the autumn wind before it blows—how could he possibly have passed through the Fengtai camp's firepower network unscathed?
As the thought crossed his mind, he let out a soft snort, as if laughing at someone else, or perhaps at himself.
I was so scared by this baseless rumor that I couldn't sleep for days. What a waste of my energy.
Just then, Ma Dashuai suddenly let out a cold snort, so loud that half the venue could hear it.
"Hey Zhang, you're used to being a lackey of the Japanese. Instructor Lu is just resting," that's the rule of the play.
"What, you don't even have this much patience, yet you try to set up a challenge?"
Division Commander Zhang's face darkened, and he was about to retort when he heard Sato snort coldly and wave his hand.
"Fine, since Lu Sang refuses to come out, let's begin. We won't wait any longer."
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
A dull thud of taiko drums sounded, carrying an eerie, ghostly aura.
On stage, the lights dimmed.
The first to come up were not Chiba Zan, but those Onmyoji dressed in hunting robes.
Holding folding fans and ringing bells, they chanted incantations as they circled the stage, scattering white paper scraps.
A strange fragrance began to fill the stage.
This is a "purification ceremony," and also a formation arrangement.
Immediately afterwards, Chiba Zan stepped out.
He was wearing a black monzuki haori hakama, which is a Japanese formal dress.
He was holding the Muramasa demon sword in his arms, and wearing the Hannya mask on his face.
He stood in the center of the stage, and the chilling murderous aura he exuded sent shivers down the spines of the audience in the front rows.
Chiba's voice came through the mask, sounding somewhat muffled.
"You sick man of China, come out and face your death."
That shout, delivered with internal force, reverberated throughout the arena. It was a challenge, and also an insult.
If Lu Cheng doesn't show up now, then the reputation of "the light of Chinese martial arts" will be completely ruined.
Just then.
"Malaysia—!!"
A long howl, like rolling spring thunder, suddenly exploded from the depths of the backstage area.
Even the Onmyoji who were performing the ritual were shaken and staggered.
"Cangcai Cangcai!!"
Immediately afterwards, a rapid, high-pitched, and even somewhat violent sound of gongs and drums rang out from the side of the stage.
That was Ah Bing's "Rapid Wind" gong, played with all his might, accompanied by Shunzi and Xiaodouzi's deafeningly loud gong, instantly drowning out the Japanese taiko drums, as if a thousand troops had broken through the eerie ghost realm.
"Splash!"
The large red curtain embroidered with the words "General's Departure" on the side was suddenly lifted open.
Everyone felt a sudden redness before their eyes.
A red figure, like a raging fire, burst out from the side curtain.
No, it's not 沖.
It is — "Trip".
That was the unique "tangma" movement of Peking Opera martial arts actors, but Lu Cheng performed it so well that it was as if he were really riding a Red Hare, with the wind at his feet and mysterious footwork. It had both the beauty of opera and the killing intent of martial arts.
His face was flushed, his eyebrows were thick and arched, his phoenix eyes were slightly narrowed, and his long beard was flowing.
The dark green soft cushion shimmered with a golden light under the lamp.
Especially the Green Dragon Crescent Blade in his hand.
He carried the real weapon, weighing eighty-two pounds, with one hand, blade facing outwards, dragging it behind him.
The knife tip sliced across the floor without making a harsh scraping sound, but rather a buzzing vibration.
"Lord Guan, it's Lord Guan!"
The people in the audience went crazy.
This appearance, this demeanor, this isn't acting at all.
This is clearly Guan Yu, the God of War, descending to earth!
However, just as Lu Cheng rushed out from behind the curtain and before he could even stand still...
"Let's do it."
A cold glint flashed in Chiba's eyes, and he let out a low shout.
The four Onmyoji who had been lying in ambush suddenly waved their folding fans.
"Hu Yi—"
A plume of white smoke, mixed with hallucinogenic powder, exploded on the stage, instantly surrounding Lu Cheng.
At the same time, the four Onmyoji moved strangely, emitting piercing howls, and frantically shaking the summoning bells in their hands.
The ear-piercing sound filled the ears, and hallucinations abounded.
This is a deadly move targeting the mind.
If an ordinary martial artist were to be suffocated by this smoke and disturbed by this demonic sound, even if their skills were superb, they would instantly lose their senses and become easy prey for others.
Chiba Zan's hand was already gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to deliver a fatal blow at any moment.
"Hmph, what martial artist? In the face of divine magic, they are nothing but ants!" Chiba Zan sneered inwardly.
But he was wrong.
That's completely wrong.
In the smoke, Lu Cheng's figure only paused slightly.
In the depths of his mind, a white tiger raised its head and roared, shaking the bright moon, and the demonic sounds that filled the sky were torn to shreds by this roar.
next second.
His eyes suddenly opened.
Two beams of golden light, seemingly solid, pierced through the thick fog and shot straight out.
"A mere trick, yet you dare to show off your amateur skills before Master Guan?!"
The image of Zhong Kui catching ghosts suddenly jolted in Lu Cheng's mind.
A surge of righteous energy rose into the sky.
In Lu Cheng's eyes, those so-called illusions and ghosts were nothing more than a few monkeys jumping around.
The Green Dragon Crescent Blade in Lu Cheng's hand moved.
Ignoring Chiba Slash in the distance, he used the Ghost Shadow Step, his entire body moving like a dragon, instantly cutting into the formation of the four Onmyoji.
"You cunning thief—Show me your blade!!"
Before the first Onmyoji could react, he saw a green figure flash by.
"puff!"
A flash of light.
Before the Onmyoji could even scream, his head flew into the air, the summoning bell in his hand still ringing, and he lay in a pool of blood.
"Dongling Pass, Kong Xiu, execute him!"
Lu Cheng roared, his steps unwavering, his sword thrust undiminished.
This isn't just being trapped; it's like a tiger entering a flock of sheep!
The second Onmyoji was terrified and tried to throw a poison smoke bomb.
But Lu Cheng's broadsword had already arrived.
It wasn't a chop, it was a slap.
The massive blade slammed into the man's chest.
"Bang!"
The Onmyoji was like a kite with a broken string, sent flying off the stage and crashing into Commander Zhang's tea table, spitting out blood.
"At Luoyang Pass, Han Fu is dead."
The third, the fourth —
Lu Cheng weaved through the smoke, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade seemingly coming to life in his hands; every strike he made claimed a life.
Lu Cheng turned "Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles" into a chaotic battlefield.
In just a few breaths.
The smoke dissipated.
On the stage, only four corpses and a pool of blood remained.
Lu Cheng stood proudly amidst the pool of blood, holding a knife in one hand. His long beard moved without wind, and his phoenix eyes blazed with murderous intent, his divine might as well as a prison.
This scene stunned everyone present.
Even Chiba Zan gripped the hilt of his sword, his body stiff, cold sweat dripping down his mask.
"What?!"
He had planned everything, but he hadn't expected Lu Cheng's mental cultivation to be so terrifying. Not only did Lu Cheng ignore the illusion, but he was also able to kill four people in an instant.
A sense of dread crept into the very marrow of Chiba-giri, following the hilt of the sword.
escape?
The thought had barely formed when he extinguished it.
He was the face of the Great Japanese Empire; the consul sat below the stage, and the Black Dragon Society was behind him.
If we back down today, we'll only end up committing seppuku to atone for our sins.
"You—you—"
Chiba's voice was trembling.
Lu Cheng didn't look at the corpse, but slowly turned around and pointed the still-dripping blade at Thousand Leaf Slash.
"He passed five checkpoints and defeated six generals, regarding a million soldiers as nothing."
"These few wandering ghosts blocking the way have already been sacrificed to my Azure Dragon Blade."
2
"Cai Yang! We meet again in the ancient city today—"
"Hurry up and surrender—your life!!"
Lu Cheng stopped in the center of the stage, making a "reining in" gesture.
"Buzz—!!"
A dragon's roar.
The eighty-two-pound Green Dragon Crescent Blade flashed a three-meter-long semi-circular gleam in his hand.
"Bang!!"
The blade landed heavily in the center of the stage, just three feet in front of Chiba Zan.
The thick wooden floor was smashed right through by that one blow.
Wood chips flew everywhere, and air gusts rolled in.
Chiba's expression changed, and he instinctively took a step back, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Lu Cheng tilted his head slightly, stroked his beard with his left hand, and held a knife in his right. His phoenix eyes were half-open, revealing an arrogant disdain for all living beings.
"Unfortunately, my Green Dragon Crescent Blade has beheaded you, you rat."
This line of dialogue was delivered using dantian energy, combined with the vibrations of the [Tiger and Leopard Thunder Sound].
"puff!"
The Japanese musicians on stage who were close by and responsible for playing the drums were so shocked by the shout that they felt a tightness in their chests. One of them even coughed up blood from his nose and collapsed to the ground.
This is called — a sound attack.
When kung fu is mastered to the point of perfection, even the voice becomes a weapon.
"Baka!"
Chiba Zan flew into a rage, his face contorted violently beneath the mask. Lu Cheng dared to fight and sing on the arena.
This is not only a trampling of Bushido, but also the most thorough contempt for him personally.
Even if the opponent is stronger than oneself, such humiliation must never be tolerated.
"Let's fight! For the Great Japanese Empire!!"
He roared wildly, facing death with a fierce determination, and without another word, he drew his Muramasa sword.
The blade flashed like blood, and a chilling aura filled the air.
Chiba-zaki grips the handle with both hands and raises it high above his head.
Japanese Kendo — Jigen-ryu!
This is a madman sword technique that only attacks and never defends, seeking only a single, decisive blow.
Its essence lies in the fact that the first strike must completely cleave the opponent, weapon and all, in two.
"Sa!!!"
Chiba Zhan let out a strange cry, charging straight at Lu Cheng with an indomitable and tragic momentum.
That strike was as swift as a startled swan.
The air seemed to be sliced apart, whistling through it.
The audience members below the stage covered their eyes in fright.
however.
Facing this fatal blow.
Lu Cheng — didn't move an inch.
He remained in that sideways, stroking his beard, as if he hadn't seen Chiba Slash charging towards him at all.
Just as the blade was only three inches from his head, and the chilling aura of the blade had already severed a red tassel on his helmet.
Lu Cheng's eyes snapped open.
[Sharp Eyes], fully activated!
[True Intent of the White Tiger], erupt!
Zhong Kui, the demon slayer, manifests his divine power!
"roll."
Lu Cheng's lips moved slightly.
Without warning, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade in his hand moved.
It's not blocking. It's not setting up.
Instead, it's a form of flirting.
From the bottom up, flirt with them!
This strike defied all the laws of physics; using his movement technique, he was like a green dragon emerging from the ground, striking first despite being behind.
"when!!!"
A deafening roar.
Chiba's Muramasa, the famous sword known for its ability to cut through iron like mud, was sent flying by this single swipe.
It really flew.
The man and his knife were sent flying by Lu Cheng's terrifying "collision force".
Chiba Zan felt a sharp pain in his tiger's mouth, and his arms instantly went numb. He somersaulted in the air and landed awkwardly three meters away.
With a loud thud, he crashed heavily to the edge of the stage, his face mask shattering to reveal a blood-soaked and terrified face.
one move.
Just one move.
This Japanese master, who claimed to be able to sweep through the martial arts world of Beiping, was beaten out like a dead dog.
"Whoosh—!!!"
The audience went wild.
"good!!!"
"Lord Guan has appeared!"
"Well done! Kill those little Japanese devils!"
But Lu Cheng did not stop.
He carried his sword and walked step by step toward Chiba-zan.
The heavy footsteps on the wooden planks sounded like a countdown to death.
"What—what do you want to do?"
Chiba Zan struggled to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his chest as if his bones were shattering, and a thick, metallic taste of blood rose in his throat.
As he watched Lu Cheng approach step by step, his last bit of will finally broke.
Bushido and imperial glory are nothing in the face of life and death.
"I am—a samurai of the Great Japanese Empire,"
He forced out a hoarse voice, his eyes filled with fear, "You—you can't kill me."
He screamed in fear and looked down at Sato and Commander Zhang.
"Help me, Zhang Sang, help me!!"
Division Commander Zhang's face turned ashen, and he was about to stand up and stop him.
On the stage, Lu Cheng stopped in his tracks.
He looked at Chiba Zan and finally spoke again.
"Hey—!!"
"You Japanese slaves!"
Those who violate our mountains and rivers, invade our territory—no matter how far away, will be punished!
"Today, I, Guan, will borrow your head—"
"Sacrifice the flag!!"
Before the words had even faded, the knife was already drawn.
The Green Dragon Crescent Blade slashed through the air, its gleaming blade flashing a chilling light under the lamp.
"No—!!!" Chiba's eyes widened in despair as he roared.
"Pfft—!"
The knife fell, and the sound ceased.
A huge human head rolled down the stage and landed right at Commander Zhang's feet.
Those eyes were still wide open, staring unhappily in death.
Blood splattered on the stage, staining the banner that read "China-Japan Friendship" red.
The entire venue fell into a deathly silence.
Immediately following was a surge of fierce and heroic energy that pierced the clouds.
Lu Cheng stood in the center of the platform, holding a knife in one hand.
He didn't look at the corpse, but instead raised his head, his phoenix eyes slightly narrowed, and looked in a certain direction on the second floor.
There was no one there.
But Lu Cheng knew that countless eyes were watching from there.
There were Chinese, Japanese, warlords, and ordinary people.
His slash.
It wasn't just the head of a Japanese ronin that was severed.
It also severed the servile mentality and the slavishness that permeated Beiping City, the kind of blind worship of foreign things.
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