nagpurpolice Chapter 157 The Grandmaster Plays Music, the Overlord Disarms!
Chapter 157 The Grandmaster Plays Music, the Overlord Disarms!
Chapter 158 The Grandmaster Plays Music, the Overlord Disarms!
The night in Tianjin is chilly, with the wind carrying the dampness of the Haihe River, seeping straight into people's collars.
The backstage area of the Chinese Theatre was so silent it resembled a tomb.
The strong stench of blood outside seeped in through the cracks in the door, making it hard to breathe.
All the civil and military scenes had vanished, leaving only the blind Abing, holding a broken erhu, standing there all alone, saying he wanted to use one string to send off Lu Cheng's "Battle of Taiping".
Tragic.
But within this tragic grandeur lies a sense of utter desolation, a feeling of being utterly helpless and desperate.
What a tragic and intense martial arts drama "Battle of Taiping" is!
With thousands of troops and the cries of a city falling and a home destroyed, how could a single, mournful erhu possibly support the indomitable spirit of General Hua Yun?
This is like sending Guan Yu (a famous general in Chinese history) into battle with a needle used for sewing shoe soles; before the battle even begins, his momentum is completely lost.
Lu Cheng did not turn around.
He held the broken white wax rod upside down, wearing a coarse white robe stained red with cinnabar and real blood.
That's enough.
Lu Cheng's voice was soft, yet steady.
These two words are a response to Abing, and also a response to this messed-up world.
He lifted his foot, his black cloth shoes with thick soles about to step onto the heavy curtain leading to the stage.
"Wait a minute."
A clear, elegant voice came from behind the curtain that read "conservative" in the backstage area.
Lu Cheng paused and turned around.
Mei Lanfang, the renowned king of Peking Opera, was standing there quietly.
He had just been watching Qinglian and Hongyu's silent performance of "The Drunken Beauty" from the backstage, and had only just returned to the backstage area.
Boss Mei didn't look at the terrified servants filling the room, nor did he look at the distraught Zhou Daikui.
He looked at Lu Cheng, at the glaring blood-stained clothes, and a hint of emotion flashed in his eyes.
"Master A Bing's strings were played with his heart and soul, and with his integrity."
"But the soul of 'Battle of Taiping' cannot be just flesh and blood; it also needs a skeleton and the thunderous power to deliver the final blow."
As Mei Lanfang spoke, he naturally raised his hand and unbuttoned the buttons of his expensive navy blue serge long gown with dark patterns.
"Mr. Mei, what's going on?" Zhou Daikui asked, his eyes wide, stammering.
Mei Lanfang did not answer.
He took off the long gown worth several tens of silver dollars and casually handed it to Steward Qi behind him, revealing the clean white silk undergarment underneath.
Then, he slowly rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves all the way to his elbows, revealing his fair but muscular forearms.
Under the stunned gaze of everyone in the room.
This woman was extremely particular in her daily life, and only performed as a peerless diva on stage, displaying her charm and tenderness.
He walked straight to the side of the stage, to the seat reserved for the "drummer".
That's the "heart" of the entire troupe, known in the trade as the "drummer," who is the general director of the play.
Mei Lanfang lifted the hem of his undergarment and sat down on the hard wooden bench with an air of authority.
He stretched out his delicate hands, which he had maintained for years and used to make delicate gestures, and steadily picked up the two smooth bamboo drumsticks from the drum stand.
"Smack."
The two drumsticks struck each other lightly in mid-air, producing a crisp sound.
"Boss Lu."
Mei Lanfang raised his head, and his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses revealed a sharpness that was no less than that of a military general.
"I, Mei, have spent my whole life singing female roles and portraying the tender emotions of women. But deep down, there's also a man inside me."
"Today, the performers of both civil and military arts in Tianjin have left, and the rules are in disarray. But the soul of Chinese opera must not be lost."
"You dare to go on stage in your blood-stained clothes to sing 'Flower Clouds,' to pull out the tiger's whiskers of this Japanese."
"I, Mei Lanfang, will today take off this long gown and personally sit in the drummer's seat!"
Mei Lanfang gently tapped the center of the single-headed drum with the drumstick in his hand, producing a crisp and resonant "dong" sound.
"I'll play the drumbeats for you in 'Battle of Taiping'."
boom!
Backstage, Shunzi, Lu Feng, Zhou Daikui, and others felt a buzzing in their heads and their scalps tingling instantly.
Mei Lanfang playing the drums?!
If this gets out, the entire Peking Opera industry in the Republic of China will be shaken to its core.
This is like having the current president act as your groom—it's incredible and awe-inspiring.
However, the shock was far from over.
"Ahem—Boss Mei is right. This stage is also a battlefield. We Chinese cannot let others look down on us."
A hoarse sound accompanied by violent coughing came from the back door of the backstage area.
Lu Cheng's eyes flickered slightly, and his [Fiery Eyes] pierced through the darkness, allowing him to see who it was. A surge of warmth welled up in his heart.
"Squeak."
The back door was pushed open, and a cold wind rushed in.
Four elderly figures, supporting each other and walking with faltering steps, entered the backstage area filled with paint and rosin.
Liu Wenhua! Yang Chengfu! Cheng Tinghua! And that old master of Tongbei Quan!
The four martial arts masters from the north, who had been rescued from the Hongkou Water Prison not long ago, were still suffering from internal injuries and were extremely depleted of qi and blood.
Instead of lingering in their villas in the French Concession, they changed into clean coarse cloth gowns and, supporting each other, made their way to the backstage of the Chinese Grand Theater.
"Brother Liu, Old Yang—what brings you here?"
Lu Cheng strode forward, his brows furrowed slightly. "Your bodies—"
"He won't die."
The hot-tempered Mr. Cheng Tinghua pushed away his apprentice's support. Although his face was sallow, his old eyes burned with a fierce fire.
"Brother Lu, you're risking your life for us martial arts practitioners, taking bullets for us."
"If we old bones like us just cower in bed waiting for news, would we still deserve to be called grandmasters? All those decades of boxing skills would be wasted!"
President Liu Wenhua clutched his chest, took a couple of deep breaths, and glanced at the cymbals and large bells scattered all over the backstage area.
Those were left behind by the martial arts instructors who had fled.
Grandpa Liu stepped forward and bent down.
His hands, which could once kill a bull with a single punch but were now trembling, forcefully gripped a large bronze cymbal weighing over ten kilograms.
Clang.
The bronze cymbal made a dull sound when it was picked up.
"Brother Lu—"
Liu Wenhua raised his head and looked at Lu Cheng, who was covered in blood. Tears streamed down his face, but he laughed with unparalleled pride.
"With our old arms and legs, our internal strength has dissipated, and we can no longer compete with those Japanese bastards."
"but----"
Mr. Yang Chengfu also came over and silently picked up a pair of cymbals.
The old master of Tongbeiquan picked up the large gong.
The three renowned Grandmasters of Transformation Realm, at this moment, looked like the most ordinary troupe servants, each holding a martial arts instrument, standing next to Mei Lanfang's single-headed drum.
Liu Wenhua raised the large cymbal with both hands and slammed it down.
"choke."
A deafeningly loud, metallic sound erupted backstage.
"We old bones still have the strength to bang a gong and give Master Lu a shout-out!!!"
The three old men spoke in unison, their voices as clear as metal and stone!
At that moment, all the apprentices of the Qingyun Troupe backstage burst into tears.
Lu Feng bit his lip so hard that he squeezed the knife handle until it was wet, while Shunzi turned his head away and wiped his eyes hard with his sleeve.
The integrity of a scholar, the courage of a warrior.
At this moment, in this cramped and cold place.
The oppressive atmosphere of the theater backstage blended together perfectly.
They had no guns, no cannons.
But they have that indomitable spirit ingrained in their bones and blood for hundreds of years!
Lu Cheng stood there, looking at Mei Lanfang sitting in front of the drum stand, at the four masters holding cymbals and gongs, and at Abing holding an erhu.
He didn't say "thank you".
At times like this, a simple "thank you" is too inadequate.
He simply took a half step back.
He clasped his hands together, holding the broken white waxwood staff without the spearhead between his arms, and bowed deeply, deeply, to this unprecedented and unparalleled "civil and military arena."
"Thank you for your help, seniors."
Lu Cheng straightened up, the warmth in his eyes instantly fading.
Instead, a terrifying killing intent, interwoven with the true essence of the White Tiger and the righteous energy of Zhong Kui, was enough to tear apart the gloomy sky.
He turned around and strode toward the heavy curtain.
"Let's begin!"
Lu Cheng shouted.
"Thump!"
Mei Lanfang slammed the drumstick in his hand heavily into the center of the single-headed drum.
This sound was no longer the gentle beauty of a female role, but rather carried a resolute and ruthless edge.
"So cool! So cool!!!"
The four masters, including Liu Wenhua and Yang Chengfu, used the last bit of their remaining energy to fiercely strike the large cymbals and bronze cymbals in their hands.
Abing's erhu, like a wild horse breaking free, neighed and charged into the tempestuous rhythm.
This is definitely not the kind of perfectly fitted, rhythmic accompaniment found in traditional Peking Opera.
The accompaniment is too intense, too chaotic, too wild.
It has no rules of courtly music; it only has the tragic grandeur of iron horses and icy rivers entering one's dreams, only the anger and roar of this beautiful land being trampled by foreign enemies.
Front desk.
In the audience, more than two thousand people were plunged into deep despair.
The unaccompanied performance of "The Drunken Beauty" was stunning, and it used "softness" to suppress the "strength" of the Japanese style.
0
But this is, after all, a chaotic world.
Softness can overcome hardness, but it cannot kill or repel an enemy.
Looking at the arrogant Japanese ronin on the stage, brandishing their bloodstained samurai swords, and at the sneering foreigners and traitors in the second-floor private rooms.
-
Everyone had a burning desire inside, but then a bucket of ice water was poured over them, leaving them feeling utterly chilled.
"It's over, the Qingyun Troupe can't perform their martial arts routine anymore—"
"Even the musicians were scared away. Even if Master Lu has extraordinary abilities, how can he possibly perform a full-blown martial arts routine all by himself?"
Just when the entire venue was filled with sighs and the atmosphere was extremely oppressive.
"Thump! Clang! Just—!!!"
A sudden, deafening sound of gongs and drums erupted from the deathly silence of the backstage area.
The sound was too loud and too urgent.
The vibrations were so strong that the teacups on the front tables rattled and the dome of the entire Chinese Theatre seemed to tremble.
"What...what kind of drumbeat is this?"
In a private room on the second floor, Hashimoto, the head of the Special Higher Police Section, who had been gloating, suddenly shook the sake cup in his hand.
He frowned and looked at the tightly closed side curtain.
"This is not the accompaniment to a play, this is—the war drums of an advance."
"With a whoosh, a large red curtain was violently torn open to both sides."
A blinding white light instantly captured everyone's attention.
Lu Cheng has made his appearance.
The entire audience fell into a deathly silence the moment they saw Lu Cheng's attire.
There was no glittering golden armor, no imposing purple-gold crown, and no long pheasant tail feathers that symbolized the status of a general.
He was wearing only a very rough white cotton robe.
The chest and hem of the robe were splattered with large, shocking patches of red.
That wasn't embroidery; it was a glaring bloodstain made from a mixture of inferior cinnabar and what was possibly either chicken blood or human blood.
With his hair disheveled and holding a broken spearhead made of ash wood upside down, he walked step by step from the shadows into the spotlight in the center of the stage.
This isn't a place for performing opera.
This is clearly a loyal minister and his illegitimate son who has just experienced the fall of the city and the destruction of his family, fought to the last moment amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, covered in blood, exhausted and dying, yet still fighting to the death!
"hiss""
More than two thousand spectators gasped in shock.
This costume is so tragic, so realistic.
It was so real that those who were just watching indifferently suddenly felt as if their hearts were being gripped tightly by a bloody hand.
The exquisite mind sees that the five aggregates are all empty.
Lu Cheng stood in the center of the stage. He didn't look at the more than two thousand audience members below the stage, nor at the sneering foreigners and Japanese on the second floor.
At this moment, he had completely forgotten that he was Lu Cheng.
He is Hua Yun.
He was a general of the Ming Dynasty who defended Taiping City to the death, a loyal soul who watched helplessly as the city fell and the people were slaughtered, yet was powerless to save it.
"Beat the drums away"
Lu Cheng did not walk the traditional catwalk; he stumbled a step, as if the white waxwood pole was the only thing he could rely on to support his body.
He raised his head slightly, closed his eyes, and slowly uttered these four words.
The moment he opened his mouth, all the knowledgeable opera enthusiasts in the audience felt their scalps tingle and their hair stand on end.
That sound.
This was not the same high-pitched, passionate martial arts voice that Lu Cheng used to have.
The voice was hoarse and dry, carrying a sense of desolation, as if the throat had been worn raw by wind and sand and the heart's blood had been drained.
This is the long-lost "Decaying Sound"!
It was the famous opera singer "Crazy Tan," whose voice had been poisoned and lost, who painstakingly taught Lu Cheng his swan song, word by word, in front of a noodle and tea stall in the freezing cold.
"This—this is the stale tone of the Southern school? How could a Northern general who sings martial arts opera produce such a heart-wrenching Southern-style lament?!"
An old actor on the second floor stood up excitedly, gripping the railing tightly with both hands.
Lu Cheng ignored the shock from the audience.
He walked around the stage with difficulty, dragging the broken gun along.
Every movement exudes a sense of sluggishness, as if one is struggling to stay upright despite being exhausted.
His eyes slowly opened.
Those once gleaming, golden eyes were now bloodshot, their gaze cloudy, yet filled with grief and indignation.
"A lament for a hero—fallen into a trap after losing power."
This line, sung with a plaintive and sorrowful tone, was truly moving.
Accompanied by the seemingly heart-wrenching erhu accompaniment of Abing backstage, the air in the entire theater became thick and heavy.
"Even the greatest generals are not immune to death on the battlefield."
Lu Cheng suddenly slammed the white waxwood stick down.
"when!"
A muffled thud.
He raised his face, painted with the makeup of an old man, with bloodshot lines at the corners of his eyes, and stared intently at the private room in the center of the second floor, which was adorned with the Japanese flag.
This isn't Chen Youliang from an opera; this is clearly someone pointing a finger at the Japanese and cursing them!
"good!!!"
Someone in the audience let out a scream that sounded like a sob.
Immediately afterwards, more than two thousand people seemed to have their deepest fire ignited.
"Sing well, even a great general may die on the battlefield, but one should die with dignity."
In the private room on the second floor, Kazuo Funakoshi's blind white eyes began to tremble violently at that moment.
Although he cannot see, he can "hear".
He could hear the change in the air's energy, and he could hear the previously scattered and numb hearts of the more than two thousand Chinese in the theater gradually coalescing and burning within the sound of the song.
"not good----"
With his dry, bark-like hands, Funakoshi Kazuo suddenly crushed a Buddhist rosary in his hand.
"He is building momentum."
"He's using this play to unite the hearts and minds of the people in this land!"
Even for a Grandmaster of Transformation Realm, no matter how strong one's personal martial arts are, there will eventually be a limit.
But if tens of thousands of people are united in their hatred of the enemy, that kind of "momentum" formed by the convergence of people's hearts is the most terrifying and unstoppable force.
Lu Cheng is using this stage to summon the souls of these apathetic citizens.
"We can't let him continue singing."
Funakoshi Kazuo suddenly stood up, his black kimono billowing even without wind.
His face, covered with age spots, revealed a solemn and murderous look.
"If he can bring this play to a perfect conclusion, and thoroughly imprint the spirit of 'dying on the battlefield, never surrendering' into the very bones of these Chinese people, then the rule of the Great Japanese Empire in North China will never have a peaceful day!"
"We must interrupt him immediately and destroy him!"
Funakoshi Kazuo shoved away Hashimoto, the Special Higher Police chief who was trying to help him up.
"Hashimoto, this is no longer an ordinary martial arts competition; this is a battle for the fate of the nation."
"This kid's skills are beyond your comprehension. If you let him keep singing, your Special Higher Police Section won't be leaving this room today."
That's all.
This is one of the three grandmasters of Japanese martial arts, an old monster who is over seventy years old.
They disregarded all status and rules.
His figure swayed.
"boom!"
The thick, carved wooden railings of the second-floor private room were shattered by his seemingly thin body.
Amidst the flying sawdust, Funakoshi Kazuo, like a giant black crow, leaped from the second-floor box and hurtled towards Lu Cheng in the center of the stage.
"Baka yarou".
"Since you sing of Hua Yun, I, this old man, will today be the one to capture you—Chen Youliang!"
As Mrs. Funakoshi floated in mid-air, her aged, hoarse voice resounded like thunder throughout the entire theater.
He did not use a knife.
For a Grandmaster of Transformation Force, the physical body is the strongest weapon.
Using the force of gravity falling from the sky, he kicked out a series of kicks in the air.
The ultimate technique of karate — [Swallow Flight: Consecutive Kills]!
The air was instantly blasted away by his terrifying leg strength, producing a piercing sonic boom that aimed straight for Lu Cheng's head and heart.
"The Japanese are unruly and plotted against Master Lu."
The audience below the stage was shocked and roared in anger.
But the speed of the fall was too fast, so fast that it was difficult for the naked eye of an ordinary person to detect, and there was simply no time to rescue.
Shunzi and Lu Feng, backstage, were furious and wanted to rush onto the stage, but they were held firmly in place by the terrifying pressure of the internal energy, unable to move.
however.
At that critical moment, a life-or-death situation as if Mount Tai were pressing down on us.
Lu Cheng, however, showed no sign of panic.
His eyes, which held the sorrow of "Qingfeng Pavilion" and the tragedy of "Battle of Taiping," suddenly looked up.
Both "eagle eyes" and "avoiding misfortune" are operating at full power at this moment.
In Lu Cheng's eyes, Funakoshi Kazuo's lightning-fast leg movements were slowed down and dissected.
He clearly saw the transformative power contained within that leg strength, like a river bursting its banks.
"Old dog, you finally couldn't hold back anymore."
A cold smile appeared on Lu Cheng's lips.
This is the moment he's been waiting for!
If this old monster continues to hide in the private room, he will have to worry about harming innocent people.
Now that he himself has jumped onto this stage, this place has become a battlefield where life and death are indiscriminate.
Lu Cheng did not dodge.
In the play "Battle of Taiping", Hua Yun is captured but refuses to kneel even in the face of death.
If he had taken even half a step back, the "spirit" of the play would have been lost.
Lu Cheng took a deep breath.
"Gugua—!!"
A cry like that of an ancient behemoth reverberated wildly deep within Lu Cheng's abdomen.
[The King's Armor Removal]!
The system-rewarded life-or-death skill was activated at this moment.
The already terrifying century-old hidden energy within Lu Cheng's body exploded like a powder keg ignited in an instant.
reverse!
boiling!
combustion!
His heart rate instantly soared to a level that was beyond the reach of ordinary people, like a war drum that had been shattered.
His blood-stained white robe ripped apart inch by inch under the impact of the violent energy.
His well-built upper body, sculpted like white jade yet brimming with explosive power, was revealed.
Triple combat power!
Based on the original Grandmaster level, the skill level has increased threefold again.
At this moment, Lu Cheng's physical strength, speed, and perception have reached an unbelievable level, almost like that of a "god".
"Since you call yourself Chen Youliang—"
Lu Cheng raised his head and looked at Funakoshi Kazuo, who was standing close at hand, his eyes shining like pillars of gold.
"Then let me, Hua, test your mettle, you traitor!"
Instead of retreating, he advanced.
He stomped his right foot heavily on the solid wood floor of the stage.
"BOOM—!!"
That stage was made of century-old elm wood.
With Lu Cheng's stomp, the wooden planks within a ten-foot radius of him instantly turned to dust.
A huge crater appeared on the platform, and sawdust shot into the sky like a tornado.