Chapter 463: Uncle Long’s Broken Hand! This Movie’s Way Too Hard on the Old Folks! |
Uncle Long didn’t look at his pierced palm.
The smile vanished from his face.
That lifelong aura of a friendly, peaceful market vendor,
was thrown into the muddy water along with the shattered cattail-leaf fan in his hand.
“Master Chen, you went too far.”
Uncle Long’s voice was flat.
He released his grip, letting the fragments of the fan ribs remain embedded in his flesh.
He slowly raised both hands, no longer the ethereal Cloud Hands of a Tai Chi starting posture,
but with palms one in front of the other, cupped inward.
“Hmph.” Ghost Claw Chen’s eyelids twitched. Without a word, he pushed off the ground and lunged forward again.
This time, there was no testing.
His claw aimed straight for Uncle Long’s throat; before his fingertips arrived,
the force wind had already pressed a dent into the skin of Uncle Long’s neck.
“BANG——!!!”
Uncle Long didn’t retreat.
With those bleeding flesh palms,
he firmly caught Ghost Claw Chen’s attack.
The flagstone beneath him couldn’t withstand such level of crushing force; with a “crack,” it exploded into countless fragments.
Uncle Long’s calf suddenly sank three inches into the mud. The camera cut to his calf muscles, bulging with raised veins.
Uncle Long still had Ghost Claw Chen’s wrist locked tight, his ten fingers like hooks.
He was trapping this ferocious beast.
Aunt Feng watched the back of the man struggling desperately in the mud, and went mad.
Her chest heaved violently. She drew in a breath to her Dantian, her ribcage swelling to its limit.
“HAAA——!!!”
A long roar tore through the air.
It wasn’t a woman’s scream, nor an ordinary angry shout.
It was the long-lost technique of the Red Boat troupe—the Ghost-Crying, God-Shrieking Lion’s Roar!
It blasted straight toward Ghost Claw Chen downstairs.
“WUUUM—”
All the sound equipment on set peaked into the red zone.
Old Zhao, the cinematographer closest by, felt his eardrums ache and his head buzz.
Ghost Claw Chen, the first to bear the brunt, staggered violently.
“Pfft.”
The small blood packs prepared in advance by the props team burst.
Two thin lines of blood trickled out from Ghost Claw Chen’s ears.
His hearing was instantly lost, and his balance went momentarily haywire.
“KILL!!”
Aunt Feng’s tiger claws dug solidly into Ghost Claw Chen’s shoulder.
Her finger strength exploded!
Ghost Claw Chen grunted in pain, his face, like old tree bark, twisting into a savage grimace.
The agony awakened the ferocity of this old fiend.
He ignored the wound on his shoulder, and even the double vision before his eyes.
Relying on the muscle instinct honed from a lifetime of fighting in the underworld, he struck back blindly.
That cyan-gray ghost claw, like an iron clamp, accurately and lethally caught Aunt Feng’s left shoulder, which she hadn’t yet withdrawn.
“YOU ASK FOR IT!!”
Ghost Claw Chen roared, his five fingers suddenly clenching with force.
“AHH—!!”
Aunt Feng screamed in agony.
It wasn’t an act.
In pursuit of realism, Ghost Claw Chen’s fingers had pulled their strength, not actually breaking her bones,
but the penetrating force still made Aunt Feng feel like her entire shoulder was about to shatter.
Ghost Claw Chen pulled with the momentum, trying to cripple Aunt Feng’s entire arm.
“LET GO!!”
Uncle Long, standing in the mud pit, glared with eyes so wide they nearly split.
He didn’t bother to steady his breath, didn’t care about his still-bleeding hands,
but violently pulled his legs out of the mud and slammed into him.
Warding, Parrying, Punching!
The most fierce, most domineering move in Tai Chi.
No flair, just the full weight and force of his entire body concentrated into this one punch.
“THUD!”
This punch landed solidly on Ghost Claw Chen’s ribs.
Ghost Claw Chen grunted, and his entire body was sent flying backward with the help of wirework.
“CRASH—BOOM!!”
Ghost Claw Chen crashed into the herbal tea shop beside them.
The miniature explosive charges planted in advance detonated.
Wooden pillars broke, roof tiles flew everywhere, and the entire shop collapsed amidst smoke, dust, and rain,
burying Ghost Claw Chen under a pile of rubble.
The rain fell even harder.
Uncle Long panted heavily, his chest heaving violently. His Tang suit had been torn into strips hanging on his body.
He supported the tottering Aunt Feng. The two old people stood in the mud, in complete disarray.
There was none of the ethereal grace of a martial arts film; only the savage brutality left after a beast’s fight.
“CUT!!!”
Jiang Wen didn’t shout stop.
He was behind the monitor, clutching the loudspeaker with both hands.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the explosive breaking point, suppressed to its limit.
The camera cut sharply to a corner of the alleyway.
There, a figure was curled up.
Jiang Ci.
Or rather, A Jie.
Watching this scene, his whole body was trembling.
The suffocating, drowning sense of powerlessness finally broke through his reason.
“AHH—!!!”
A Jie let out a roar.
He grabbed the blood-stained brick from the ground and charged forward without a care.
“LET THEM GO!!”
He was ready to fight for his life.
He was ready to bite that old bastard to death.
But then.
“WUUUM—”
A massive wave of air (the wirework team pulled hard) slammed into him head-on.
It was the residual force of the wind from the battle of the three masters.
Like a withered leaf, without even the right to approach the fighting circle,
A Jie was directly thrown to the ground by this wave of air.
“SPLASH.”
He fell heavily into the muddy water, rolling several times.
The brick flew out of his hand and shattered in the distance.
He struggled to get up, but his legs were weak.
Too strong.
It was a battle between gods; mortals didn’t even have the right to intervene.
He could only watch helplessly, watching like a useless piece of trash.
“Cough… cough, cough…”
A series of coughs came from the rubble.
A withered hand pushed aside the wooden beam pressing down on it.
Ghost Claw Chen stood up.
His black robe was already in tatters, a gash on his forehead from the roof tiles.
Blood flowed into his eyes, making his face look like an evil ghost crawling out of hell.
Clutching his broken ribs, a grin spread across his mouth, a smile that sent chills down the spine.
He was excited.
This old madman had been beaten into excitement.
“Good… very good.”
Ghost Claw Chen spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, and a fierce red light flared in his murky eyes.
He no longer put on any pretenses of being a grandmaster, nor bothered with any defense.
Step by step, stepping on the broken tiles, he walked toward that old couple.
The killing intent was sharp, the oppressive pressure tangible.
“Old woman… step back.”
Uncle Long sensed the aura of death.
He pushed Aunt Feng aside with one hand, using a soft force that sent her three meters away.
And he himself, standing with his defense wide open, blocked this path of no return.
“OLD MAN!!” Aunt Feng screamed in terror.
Ghost Claw Chen laughed.
He ignored Aunt Feng, who was trying to pounce on him from the side, and even deliberately took a side kick from her.
“BANG!”
His figure only swayed slightly; borrowing this momentum, his speed only increased.
He had only one target—Uncle Long’s chest.
This was a killing blow.
“DIE.”
Ghost Claw Chen’s voice was hoarse like grinding sand.
That ghost claw, covered in splinters and blood, drew a grim black line through the air.
His five fingers came together like a sharp knife, aiming straight for Uncle Long’s heart!
In that moment, the raindrops seemed to hang still in the air.
Jiang Ci lay prone in the mud pit, reaching out his hand, trying to grab, but only catching a handful of sludge.
He watched helplessly as that life-taking ghost claw was less than an inch from Uncle Long’s chest.
Uncle Long didn’t dodge.
On his blood- and ash-smeared face, a faint smile of relief suddenly appeared.
That was the final dignity of a Red Boat Disciple facing death.