Chapter 462: The Cattail-Leaf Fan Versus the Ghost Claw, the Veteran Actor's Real Skill! |
Three days later.
The rain in Kapok Alley finally stopped.
The atmosphere on the film set was even more solemn than when Ghost Claw Chen had gone on his slaughter spree three days earlier.
Jiang Ci, playing A Jie, sat on the broken steps of the tofu stall at the alley entrance.
He didn't move; he held the crumpled half-cigarette that the stuntman Fa Shu had given him that day between his lips, unlit, just like that.
From deep within the alley came faint noises.
Ghost Claw Chen had arrived.
He still wore that black long gown, but now he carried a string of glossy rosewood prayer beads.
He leisurely twirled the prayer beads while stepping over the paper money softened by the rain.
"Action!"
Jiang Wen's voice spread across the set through the walkie-talkie, low and hoarse.
In the alley, the neighbors and background actors who had been cleaning up the mess and sobbing,
saw Master Chen's figure and retreated in terror, shrinking into their shops and peeking out from the cracks of their doors.
Ghost Claw Chen stood in the center of the alley, looked around at the wreckage, and sneered.
"Anyone left breathing?"
His voice was quiet, yet chilled to the bone.
"Ghost Claw Chen, all that killing intent will shorten your life."
A slow, unhurried voice came from the unassuming herbal tea shop at the alley mouth.
The camera shifted.
Uncle Long wore a faded gray Tang suit and rocked that battered cattail-leaf fan as he stepped out from behind the curtain bearing the sign "Clears Heat and Reduces Fire."
His face still bore a smile, but that smile did not reach his eyes.
Right after that—
"Pa!"
A crisp rustle of fabric came from the second-floor balcony.
Aunt Feng was taking in the laundry.
She gave a Cantonese opera costume that had just dried a violent shake,
and the sound made the rainwater pooled beneath the eaves cascade down in a single splash.
"Blood in this alley hasn't dried yet, and Master Chen's already rushing to stain it red?" Aunt Feng's voice was sharp.
Husband and wife, one above and one below.
The two of them simply blocked Ghost Claw Chen's path.
They were Kapok Alley's final trump card.
Ghost Claw Chen lifted his head; his cloudy eyes lingered on Aunt Feng for a moment, then fell back to Uncle Long.
The folds on his face deepened with a more mocking smile.
"Oh? So it's a pair of ill-fated lovers?" He licked his cracked lips. "Leftovers of the Red Boat troupe, hiding here selling herbal tea and working as cooks? What, the backbone you had decades ago—fed to the dogs?"
Uncle Long's smile did not change, and he slowed the fan's sway even more.
"Backbone is for standing tall as a person, not for killing people."
Uncle Long said, "Master Chen, this is Kapok Alley, not your slaughterhouse. Turn back."
"Too much useless talk."
Ghost Claw Chen's patience reached its limit.
Without any warning, he flexed his toes on the slick flagstone and surged forward like a specter.
The black gown left a trailing afterimage in the air.
His target was Uncle Long's face!
Before the claw even arrived, the fierce force wind already tousled the white hair on Uncle Long's forehead.
Uncle Long remained calm.
He did not retreat, he did not even shift his stance.
His wrist merely sank, and that seemingly fragile battered cattail-leaf fan met the indestructible claw with a light parry.
When the fan's surface contacted the claw, it oddly softened and dropped,
then, following Master Chen's force, traced a small arc.
"Vhh—"
A faint tremor vibrated through the air.
The claw that could splinter redwood and snap steel blades was diverted by that light, fluttering fan by a hairsbreadth.
The claw wind skimmed past Uncle Long's ear, carving five deep gouges into the wooden post of the herbal tea shop behind him!
Four ounces moves a thousand pounds!
But before Ghost Claw Chen could change tactics, a rapid gust descended from above.
Aunt Feng leaped from the second-floor balcony.
She stretched midair without using any wirework, and before landing executed a flip, fluid as flowing clouds.
Her hands crossed into a crane-bill formation, thrusting straight at the Baihui point atop Ghost Claw Chen's head!
Tiger-and-Crane Dual Form!
Pressed from front and back, Ghost Claw Chen did not panic; instead, he grew savage and snarled like a beast.
He abandoned his attack on Uncle Long, twisted his waist sharply, his arm muscles bulged, and without dodging countered with an upward backhand punch.
"Bang!"
The fist and the crane-bill collided solidly midair.
Aunt Feng used the momentum to flip in the air and landed steadily three meters away, toes touching down soundlessly.
Even Ghost Claw Chen was shaken by the blow, cracking the paving stone beneath his feet and staggering slightly.
The three of them became a tangled combat trio.
Behind the monitor, Jiang Wen's eyes burned.
This was the fight scene he wanted!
Uncle Long's Tai Chi circular turns looked slow, but his footwork always avoided all vital points within a hair's breadth.
The fan in his hand became countless whirlpools, constantly dissipating Ghost Claw Chen's killing moves.
Aunt Feng's Tiger-and-Crane Dual Form blended hardness and softness; at times she fell like a ferocious tiger with grand, sweeping strikes, at times she was like a crane spreading wings, lithe and graceful.
Each attack landed precisely at the nodes where Ghost Claw Chen exerted force, forcing him to never fully unleash his power.
The camera cut sharply to Jiang Ci, hiding in a corner.
A Jie.
He crouched behind the ruined wall, watching it all.
He watched Uncle Long, who always smilingly gave him an extra piece of braised pork,
use a battered cattail-leaf fan to hold back a claw that could kill.
He watched Aunt Feng, who called him scrawny monkey yet secretly slipped him ginger milk pudding,
use hands that should be kneading dough to fight the old devil with her life.
They were fighting desperately for this alley.
They were also fighting for him, this useless "little kid."
A Jie's hands clenched around the bricks before him.
He wanted to rush forward.
But he knew if he did, he'd only be a burden.
That bone-deep helplessness and hatred gnawed at his heart.
The battle suddenly changed!
After a string of fierce attacks were neutralized, Ghost Claw Chen's patience exhausted completely.
The red light in his eyes flared, and he let out a roar not quite human.
"Playing god and ghosts!"
He abandoned all complex techniques; his joints snapped like exploding beans in a series of crisp cracks,
and his aura surged threefold.
This time, his target was no longer Uncle Long's vital points.
It was that cattail-leaf fan that irritated him the most!
The ghost claw struck like lightning, fingers spread wide,
no longer to grab, but to stab! Pierce! Rip!
Uncle Long's expression hardened; clearly he hadn't expected his opponent to suddenly become so unreasonable. He tried to change tactics, but was half a beat too slow.
"Shraa—!!"
A ripping, cloth-tearing crack rang out.
The fan that had accompanied Uncle Long for decades was torn into countless shreds.
Then Ghost Claw Chen's five fingers curled into hooks and clamped onto the rosewood ribs of the fan!
"Crack!!"
The ribs snapped with the sound of breaking timber!
The splintered wood spines, combined with the force from Master Chen's fingertips,
were driven deep into the palm of Uncle Long's hand as he still gripped the fan handle!
"Ssht!"
Blood trickled through the gaps between his fingers, drop by drop, spattering onto the flagstones.