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墨書 Inktalez
I turned my eyes and noticed the Female Competitor was fixing her disheveled hair, while her opponent lay sprawled on the ground!
What the hell! Is this for real? Did it happen that fast? As I marveled at the scene, Jing shook my left arm excitedly and exclaimed, "Wow! Brother Wang! That sister is amazing! She took down a big guy in just a few moves! So cool! I want to learn too!"
I was speechless and turned to my right to look at Old Bi, who was frowning as he watched the Female Competitor. "She really is impressive!" he said.
"What's wrong?"
"The guy seems to be practicing Karate. At the start of the match, he struck a pose, but the girl was too quick; I couldn't see any patterns. She dashed forward in a few quick steps and delivered a straight kick to his chin. The guy stepped back to dodge; she quickly retracted her leg and moved in with a left kick that landed squarely in his abdomen. He retreated again, but she followed up with a high right leg strike. The guy tried to block it with both hands, but then she jumped up, first kicking him in the chest with her left leg, then following up with a kick to his head. She spun mid-air and landed gracefully on the ground, while that guy fell and couldn't get back up!"
Listening to Old Bi's vivid description, I couldn't help but sigh, "Her leg techniques are incredible! So fierce and powerful! Old Bi, you're in trouble."
"Ah, those legs—wow! Those long legs! So fair and beautiful!" Old Bi stared intently, smacking his lips.
"Get lost!"
Soon after, medical staff came to assist the fallen competitor while the referee recorded the winner's name. Then they called for the second pair of competitors to enter the venue. At that moment, I saw Zhu Wu strutting confidently toward the Striking Group. Meanwhile, in the Equipment Group was Shen Han, who appeared honest and straightforward, facing off against a muscular man who stood about six feet tall and wielded a Short Staff that looked like it could be a police baton—dark and possibly made of rubber.
However, Shen Han's weapon seemed a bit odd; it resembled both a gun and a stick but looked shiny and metallic. I guessed it might be made of steel or something similar but was slightly thinner than an ordinary stick. It had a pointed end at one side but none at the other. Was he using spear techniques or staff techniques? I was quite curious; it was my first time encountering someone like me who could handle both.
I really wanted to know the strength of this arrogant Zhu Wu compared to the honest Shen Han. However, I decided to watch Zhu Wu first; someone so boastful must have some skills, right? As for Shen Han, even if he were an expert, such low-key experts usually had their limits. So I focused intently on Zhu Wu's side of the match.
"Beep!" The whistle blew; the match began!
Zhu Wu lunged at his opponent as soon as the whistle sounded, moving like a leopard—his agility defied his large frame! He leaned forward with his center of gravity shifted ahead, throwing a right punch aimed directly at his opponent's head!
The shorter competitor ducked just in time to avoid the punch and darted into Zhu Wu's embrace, likely trying to leverage his height advantage for close combat. Little did he know that Zhu Wu's missed punch was quickly followed by a knee strike aimed at him while simultaneously grabbing both of his shoulders.
The swift movement left the shorter competitor unable to escape; he had no choice but to raise both hands to block Zhu Wu's knee strike. It looked like it hit hard—I saw his hands pushed against his chest and abdomen; it must have hurt. Before he could react further, Zhu Wu transitioned from grabbing to pushing forcefully, sending him backward while his right leg shot out like lightning, delivering a heavy kick to the shorter competitor's lower abdomen! The guy bent over like a shrimp and stumbled back several steps with pain etched on his face. Before he could regain his footing, Zhu Wu took two running steps and leaped high into the air, aiming both fists down toward the shorter competitor's head!
The shorter competitor looked panicked; perhaps he was dazed by this series of fierce attacks. He hurriedly sidestepped just in time as there was a loud crash when Zhu Wu landed heavily on him, pinning down his lower body while delivering powerful punches to his back. The shorter competitor let out a loud cry just as the referee's whistle blew—yes, both sides sounded off simultaneously as both venues quickly determined their winners once again!
What the hell! I felt a wave of frustration wash over me. As I looked towards the venue, I noticed Shen Han slowly turning to walk down, weapon in hand, while his opponent lay on the ground, one hand pressed against his left shoulder.
Medical staff rushed in to attend to the injured. "How did Shen Han win?" I asked around me, but Old Bi shook his head in confusion. He had gone to watch Zhu Wu's match but then tugged at my sleeve and said, "I saw it!"
"You saw how he won?!"
He nodded and gestured animatedly. "I didn't want to watch that guy, so I went to see Shen Han. When the whistle blew, he suddenly darted forward to stab that big guy. The big guy tried to block him; who knew, just as he was about to stab, he pulled back again and then lunged out again. He kept doing that several times until finally, he jabbed right into the big guy's shoulder! Took him down completely!"
I couldn't help but laugh. "It's a stab, not a poke!" After that, I fell into deep thought. If what Jing said was true, then Shen Han had been using feints to toy with his opponent before landing a real strike. Generally, one wouldn't do this unless there was a significant skill gap. Shen Han truly believed in himself! With both speed and strength, it seemed he was a formidable opponent.
I hadn't expected the opening matches to be so thrilling—four matches with four quick victories. The referee exchanged glances with others, and even the leaders on stage began whispering among themselves; a few of them who had clearly just woken up were now visibly excited.
Watching Shen Han silently walk towards the edge of the arena with his weapon in hand stirred something within me—a rush of adrenaline made me eager to face him in battle and see who was stronger.
Just then, I heard Jing mumble, "How come he didn't bring that long stick when he checked in?"
Her words struck a chord with me, but it slipped away quickly as Old Bi asked me, "What do you think of Zhu Wu?"
"Strong and fast; the key is he's ruthless and doesn't hold back! Old Bi, honestly, you might have a tough time."
Old Bi fell silent for a moment before saying, "My kung fu isn't as good as his; it seems all I can do is try my best."
"Don't be too hard on yourself; there are many unpredictable factors," I reassured Old Bi lightly by patting his shoulder and pointed towards the center of the arena where I saw the Cultural Instructor stepping up. He was walking towards the venue with two slender steel rods in hand—sharp at both ends. Jing gasped beside me and asked, "What is that?"
I squinted for a better look and gasped along with Old Bi. "Emei Dagger?!"
I recognized this weapon from a martial arts performance I had seen long ago. A girl had used these daggers; I vaguely remembered them being called Emei Needles—named after Mount Emei for their dual-pointed design—about 20 centimeters long with a tapered shape that was thick in the middle and thin at both ends. The tips were slightly flattened into a diamond shape with sharp points and had a circular ring welded in the middle. When used, each hand would hold one dagger with the ring fitted onto the middle finger of each hand, allowing for wrist flicks and finger movements to confuse opponents while combining various stances and movements for an unpredictable attack.
I was stunned; the Cultural Instructor—a big bearded man—was using these? Back during military training, I always thought he was someone who preferred long weapons; who would have thought he'd use such delicate tools?
Old Bi and I exchanged glances and could no longer focus on the Striking Group match; we were both fixated on the Cultural Instructor. He quietly bent slightly at the waist, stepped forward with his left leg while pushing off with his right leg. His left hand held one dagger horizontally against his thigh while his right hand held another dagger upright behind him as he calmly stared at his opponent.
At that moment, I heard the referee call out, "Competitors Wen Qingqing and Zhang Zhi prepare!"
I struggled to keep from laughing. Wen Qingqing, what a delicate name. With the Emei Dagger, it truly fits, haha. I glanced over at Old Bi, who was also chuckling.
The opponent across from us, Zhang Zhi, wielded a sword, a traditional Chinese weapon. The blade seemed a bit wider than usual, but there was a red tassel hanging from the hilt. My first impression was that he definitely couldn't match the Cultural Instructor. Someone who genuinely applies Kung Fu in martial arts wouldn't bother with such embellishments. In other words, this Brother likely performed more often than he engaged in real combat.
The whistle blew, and the Cultural Instructor moved in an instant!
I watched as he pushed off with his right leg and charged toward his opponent. The Emei Dagger in his right hand whipped out from behind his back. Yes, it was a swift motion! The Emei Dagger spun rapidly in his hand, appearing as a flash of white light that sliced toward his opponent. It seemed like this was the first time the opponent had encountered such an unusual weapon; he hesitated slightly, torn between blocking and attempting to cut through. In that moment of uncertainty, the Emei Dagger pierced right through!
In a panic, the opponent crossed his sword in front of him. There was a clang as the Cultural Instructor's right-hand Emei Dagger struck against the blade. But then I noticed his left-hand Emei Dagger was already spinning again. I couldn't tell if it was intentional or not; perhaps the Cultural Instructor had made a hole in it because it emitted a sharp whirring sound as it spun!
The Cultural Instructor's left-hand Emei Dagger lunged toward the opponent's sword-wielding right hand while his right-hand Emei Dagger plunged downward toward the opponent's chest and abdomen—an inch short could mean danger! The opponent was flustered and retreating, completely on the defensive.
Wen Qingqing—oh no, I should just call him the Cultural Instructor—was relentless. The two Emei Daggers danced in his hands, continuously stabbing at his opponent. Both daggers had pointed tips; if one strike missed, he would quickly redirect and stab again. If it weren't for the broad blade of the sword, I bet the opponent would have been pierced multiple times by now.
The Cultural Instructor moved across the stage with such agility that he seemed to become a shadow. Suddenly, I felt like I had seen this fighting style somewhere before; the Cultural Instructor's movements were eerily familiar. I must have seen them before—where could it have been? I pondered deeply.
(To be continued; tomorrow will be even more exciting!)
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