Chapter 350

The next day, at the crack of dawn, I, Pangzi, and Yuan Qiu packed our luggage, planning to take a vehicle to Shenzhen's Shekou pier, then transfer to a ferry to Aomen.

Shenzhen is not far from Hong Kong and Aomen; taking a ferry to either place is only a one- to two-hour journey. However, the span across Shenzhen's districts is considerable—traveling from one district to another, if not driving oneself, takes even longer than the trip from Shenzhen to Hong Kong and Aomen.

Besides me, Pangzi, and Yuan Qiu, this trip also included Murong Jia Jia, Little Fat, and Grandma Hong.

Along the way, Yuan Qiu either read or fell asleep with his head back, while I and Pangzi studied Huaguang's martial arts.

Only then did I understand why Pangzi got so excited at the chance to go far away—because he had been terribly abused by Grandfather Yang Seven.

Before Pangzi even became a disciple, Grandfather Yang Seven passed on a Daoist Sect secret acupuncture technique to him. However, the teaching process was horrendous; to make Pangzi recognize the acupoints, Grandfather Yang Seven actually had Pangzi serve as his own guinea pig. As for those points—comfort naturally comes with pain—so that Pangzi would know the consequences of needling the wrong point, Grandfather Yang Seven truly put in a lot of 'bitter effort'.

After Pangzi poured out his bitterness to me, he then leisurely explained the martial arts he had learned; as brothers, we spoke without reservation. His candid account opened my eyes.

I had always thought Huaguang's martial arts consisted only of a few point-striking and mysterious striking techniques, but after Pangzi's popularization, I realized I had been wrong—mistaken like a frog in a well.

Huaguang's martial arts have long been the paragon of folk law teachings, sharing a remarkable similarity with the Jiangxi folk tradition of the Five Hundred Cash. Besides Five Thunder Point Strike and Divine Strike, there are also Secret Strike, Reverse Staff Strike, Shadow Strike, Rooting, and the Thousand Catties methods…

Compared to point striking and mysterious striking, the Secret Strike method is even more fierce, called the hidden hand of martial arts; its cruelty makes one's scalp tingle. Five Thunder Point Strike is executed with the hands, while Secret Strike is carried out with the feet—silent and undetectable, leaving one defenseless. In the Jiangxi Five Hundred Cash tradition, this technique is called Yin Five Thunder.

This technique far surpasses mysterious striking; the practitioner walks past you silently, without moving a hand, and you inexplicably fall victim to a yin attack, collapsing dead at home. Yet this method is not easily employed and is extremely difficult to master. In this day and age, those who know this Secret Strike hidden hand can be counted on one hand, and they are all very old, unwilling to lightly engage in combat, let alone strike to harm.

Staff Strike: one draws floral characters on the staff; any weapon that clashes with it shatters. This method shone brightly in the Boxer Rebellion at the end of the Qing dynasty, but it was only useful in the era of cold weapons; in the age of foreign guns and cannons, it is rather useless.

Shadow Strike, as the name suggests, involves drawing floral characters on the hand and directing it at a shadow; it too is a silent hidden hand. Rooting, also called Body-Fixing, when struck on a vehicle's body causes the engine to stall immediately; in the countryside it is often used to immobilize chickens and ducks, tested on animals, and of course it can also be used to fix ghosts.

Besides these, there are also long-range martial arts that are equally sharp. However, one must not assume that because martial arts are so fierce they can be used to harm people at will. The taboos are significant; people often say the greater the ability, the greater the responsibility, and the karmic burden grows accordingly—this is certainly not baseless.

If a disciple wishes to use martial arts to punish evildoers, they must first cast divination before the altar to seek the patriarch's permission. Only if the patriarch agrees may they employ martial arts against evildoers. If the patriarch disagrees and the disciple nevertheless forces the technique, they will immediately incur the Five Faults and Three Deficiencies, harming both others and themselves.

"By the way, Pangzi, what did the yin master who possessed Grandfather Yang Seven last night say? Why does he say you are both Buddha and Asura?" After exchanging our martial arts insights, I couldn't help but recall the two sentences the yin master left us last night.

Although I don't fully understand this sentence, taken literally it feels like an ominous prophecy. Since returning last night, it has weighed on my mind, making me feel gloomy all night.

Pangzi stretched, shrugged, and said with a grin: "Who knows? Maybe that yin master saw I was a Buddha child and left me this line."

Pangzi's words startled me greatly,

"You… you said you are a Buddha child's fate?" I asked in astonishment.

Pangzi nodded and said naturally: "Yes, although my father forbade me from telling anyone since I was young, I think it's fine. After all, you and I are both childlike beings."

"Holy shit, why didn't you tell me earlier?" I glared at him angrily; this is totally unfair. We're both childlike, so why does he know my secret while I know nothing about him?

"You never asked?" Pangzi replied innocently, instantly leaving me choked up, almost coughing on my own saliva.

That's right, I never asked him……

Time slipped away in idle chatter, and our group arrived at Shenzhen's Shekou pier; after getting off the vehicle, the three of us transferred to a ferry bound for Aomen.

Yuan Qiu briefly told us what was going on, saying our main purpose this trip was to set up the yang residence layout for the boss named Chen Zheng; we needn't worry about anything else, as someone will naturally meet us in Aomen.

The ferry docked at Aomen's gate; after disembarking, the water-fearing Pangzi staggered, almost vomiting from seasickness.

Not far away stood a black Audi sedan; after Yuan Qiu got off the ferry, he waved at a figure beside the car.

He was a middle-aged man about forty years old; what stood out was his jaw, thick with bristly stubble like a forest of spears, protruding like the quills of a hedgehog. When he smiled, he gave a very rugged impression.

Yuan Qiu called this middle-aged man Uncle Zhang; from their conversation it was clear that Uncle Zhang and Yuan Qiu were close friends, and for this Aomen trip, Uncle Zhang served as the intermediary introducing Yuan Qiu to Chen Zheng.

In the Audi, Yuan Qiu asked the driver, Uncle Zhang: "Uncle Zhang, shall we go see Brother Zheng now?"

While driving, Uncle Zhang generally shook his head and said: "Although I've mixed in some seniority in Dongling, I still lack the standing to speak before Brother Zheng. I'm taking you now to see someone who will then take you to see Brother Zheng."

Worried that Yuan Qiu might lack confidence, he added: "Don't worry, I've taken care of most things. As long as the feng shui master you bring is reliable, securing Sheng He is a sure thing."

To keep us from getting bored, Uncle Zhang chatted while driving, introducing us to Aomen's local customs and sentiments.

When we went to Aomen at that time, it had not yet been returned and was still under Portuguese rule. Two languages were prevalent there: Cantonese vernacular and Portuguese. Speakers of Mandarin were few; if you knew neither language, communication in Aomen would be difficult.

In Aomen, what is most famous is gambling. Big and small casinos, lottery stalls, countless in number—gambling is legal here, making it a paradise for all gamblers.

Under the influence of this black industry chain, another profession arose: gangster societies.

Since it's a casino, there must be floor supervisors; most of Aomen's casinos are overseen by certain societies—besides local triads, Hong Kong's Triads are also mixed in. They were introduced by Aomen's first gambling king, He……

And Dongling is one of Aomen's two major native societies; Chen Zheng is its leader.

Uncle Zhang, fearing we'd be bored, besides describing local customs, also told us Chen Zheng's story.

This is a gangster who debuted at sixteen, also a native of Guangdong. At sixteen, he alone annihilated a small Guangdong gang, an impressive feat; when he fled to Aomen, he still had several lives on his hands. Later, the former Dongling chief, Murong Dong, took notice and adopted him as a sworn son. Following Murong Dong on three incursions into Vietnam, he returned unscathed.

Later, during the struggle for territory between Thai gangs and Aomen's native gangs, he shone brightly, leading Dongling's heavenly-lettered troops to wipe out Thailand's number-one gang in a single night, pushing the society from Aomen to Thailand; the society's commander-in-chief had to yield, personally coming to negotiate, swearing that as long as Chen Zheng remained in Aomen for a single day, his gang would never set foot in Aomen again.

The youthful hero thus became famous overnight; relying on his haohao merits and extraordinary wisdom, after the old dragon chief passed away, Chen Zheng took over as Aomen's new dragon head.

In Aomen. Perhaps some may not know who the governor is, but everyone knows Chen Zheng. He is one of Aomen's underground legends, fist‑suppressing the Portuguese Casino, mighty in Aomen. He is the victor in the dy (deadly combat) boxing match, bearing the title of first boxing champion. In that dy tournament, twelve fighters who had earned the boxing champion title entered, yet all without exception were defeated by Chen Zheng.

People gave this youthful hero an honorific title, Southern Heavenly King. Standing alongside the Northern Tiger Roaring Heaven of the Ferocious Tiger Gang, they are famed as the two great legends of Aomen's underworld.

Before this, I had never thought highly of him. To a gangster, from childhood education he is simply a synonym for darkness; anyone associated with him is no good. Even if Uncle Zhang's account was vivid, deep down I still felt no fondness for him.

However, when Uncle Zhang led us out of the vehicle and into Aomen's Gate Front Street, seeing this incident, I finally realized how Chen Zheng differed.

On the street I saw several thugs arguing together, even pulling out knives ready to fight; two patrol officers at the alley corner witnessed it all, yet they pretended not to see anything and did not intervene.

On the contrary, a vegetable seller dared to shout loudly at those two groups.

"Go fight wherever you like, don't block my business here!"

I was quite astonished, because in my impression ordinary vendors usually avoid such ruffian thugs; how could someone be so addle‑brained as to dare scold them?

As I imagined, one of the thugs seized the old vegetable seller and pointed at him, asking: "You motherfucker, aren't you tired of living?"

Just as I felt anxious for the old man, he calmly said: "I'm kindly reminding you—this street is under Brother Zheng's control. Don't forget the rules he set: no selling dumplings here, and no causing trouble."

What happened next left me bewildered. Those who had just drawn watermelon knives on the two gangs, upon hearing the vegetable seller's words, all sheathed their blades.

One of them muttered to his companion: "Let's just go; Brother Zheng's words are no joke—we can't afford to offend him."

A dispute was halted by a single sentence—astonishing enough to almost make my jaw drop.

Later I learned that Chen Zheng is not only a legend of Aomen's underworld but also an anomaly among gangsters. In the streets he controls, there is absolutely no drugs, no vice, only gambling—no one dares sell narcotic pills, no one dares open venues forcing women into prostitution, and no one dares cause trouble. Some say the streets under Chen Zheng's management are cleaner than clear water; to residents he feels less like a gangster and more like a police officer who eradicates violence and ensures peace.

In the middle of the street, Uncle Zhang ran into an acquaintance—a collector of protection fees sent by the society's headquarters. The street vendors not only happily handed over money, but also invited him to come in for a meal.

Later, when a septuagenarian grandmother appeared, the old woman trembled as she pulled a few crumpled notes from her pocket. The protection‑fee collector not only refused to take them, but instead took a few bills from the fees he had collected and pressed them into her hand.

"I told you, Auntie Zhang, Brother Zheng and our protection‑fee team have said we can't take money from elderly folks like you—next time you see me, bring out a stack of cash! I know from the talk that I'll be scolded again. Here, take this scattered paper from Zhang, wrap it up, know that your livelihood is good to me, and also you have a few grandsons who need to study—take this for emergency use."

Translation: "Auntie Zhang, Brother Zheng has ordered us, those who collect protection money, that we absolutely cannot take money from you old folks. So the next time you see me coming, you must definitely not take out money, otherwise if the higher-ups find out they'll scold me to death. Here's some loose change; take it first. I know your business hasn't been good lately, and you have several grandsons who need to go to school, so you old folks take this to tide over."

I admit, I truly opened my eyes; it's the first time I've seen someone give protection money so happily. It's also the first time I've seen someone who collects protection money actually take out money to help people.

"Hehe, kid, you've really opened your eyes, huh!" Uncle Zhang pushed the dazed me and Pangzi.

I, Pangzi, and Yuan Qiu all nodded in unison; indeed, we had opened our eyes. If this were in the mainland, this would basically be impossible.

Uncle Zhang chuckled: "This is Brother Zheng's charm, something ordinary people cannot understand."

At the same time, my curiosity about Chen Zheng, the master of Dongling, grew stronger and stronger.