Chapter 260: Only My Unique Method Chapter 260: Dispersal

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Protagonist:

Chen Yi

The so-called interrogation took place on the Second Floor.

The Martial Arts Hall's building was quite compact; the space on each floor wasn't large, at most a thousand-odd square meters. Stuffing 500 people in at once meant an average of only two square meters per person.

In early summer, staying in such a room was already stifling enough; with hands hoisted up, it was torture that made one wish to just faint and be done with it. However, whether students, workers, or the Koreans from the Chamber of Commerce, all had quite good physical constitutions; fainting wasn't that simple.

The gentlemen previously hoisted on the Second Floor were seething with resentment, wishing to destroy the whole world to smooth the anger in their hearts. But when they saw the miserable state of the Koreans being interrogated, the hatred in their hearts actually vanished without a trace...

The first to perform the tear-jerking treatment for the crowd was one of the three confirmed Koreans, named Han Zhengmin. This man had a pair of fierce eyes containing a sharp glint, as if he would pull out a blade and hack someone at any moment. But Zhu Guangliang didn't look at his eyes; he merely waved his hand casually, and naturally Cao Zheng stepped forward, swinging the wooden stick to strike.

Thirty strokes ended; the thick jeans had split open several seams, as if torn by a madman. The flesh inside had gone from red to cyan, from cyan to purple, from purple to black, the affected area growing larger and larger, until a whole swollen lump of flesh bulged out of the pants, like incontinence.

Zhu Guangliang asked lazily: "Confess or not?"

Han Zhengmin didn't even know what to confess; he spat a mouthful of saliva and drooped his head from exhaustion. Beating the same body part, never mind the injury, the pain multiplied. At first the stick struck muscle; later the buttocks swelled, and the stick struck the swollen spot, then continued striking the swollen spot. This suffering wasn't like bone-deep drilling pain; it was more like receiving 100 muscle injections at once, 30 times in a row... He felt he could still endure, but the oily sweat breaking out all over and his convulsing limbs showed his body's pressure was nearing its limit.

"Again. Next." Zhu Guangliang's infinitely bored voice drifted through the Second Floor space; this matter was indeed boring to the extreme.

Cao Zheng spat saliva, pulled the rope hoisting Han Zhengmin to himself, waved his hand for another 30 strokes. No training equipment is as useful as a human sandbag; the former are imitations with similar specs, where are they like a real person? Different people have different muscle distributions and strengths; striking them, even a slight shift in position reveals a difference.

Body Technique truly is vast and profound!

Cao Zheng gripped the stick tightly, surprisingly feeling a sensation of breaking through.

Thirty strokes passed quickly; although Han Zhengmin felt each day like a year, as a regularly trained high-level talent, he happily passed out unconscious. Each stroke's force was even, all striking one localized spot; such rare treatment normal people cannot enjoy.

This side finished; Cao Zheng casually pushed, and Han Zhengmin, like pork hanging on a hook, was pushed to the downstream of the assembly line. He casually grabbed and brought in another Korean, an ordinary white-collar fatty with no deterrence, wearing casual trousers. Since Han Zhengmin's beating, he had been staring wide-eyed, like watching a horror movie — wanting to watch yet not daring to, especially worried about associating it with himself.

When Cao Zheng reached out to grab him, he went crazy with excitement, twisting all over like a sheep being slaughtered.

Cao Zheng didn't care; he casually gave three strokes, flipped him over for three more, one circle later the cotton trousers shattered into scraps, revealing the fatty, trembling red buttocks — red from swelling; the stick striking them would rebound, the tough dermis withstanding at least 20 strokes before decisively rupturing, exposing a patch of bright red flesh, dripping blood water drop by drop.

"Clean it up a bit." Zhu Guangliang admonished him, same old sentence: "Confess or not? Next."

The two words are connected, so it's one sentence. No time given to confess at all; of course, nobody knew what to confess anyway.

The remaining Koreans were naturally scared at a loss; their twisting amplitude was only greater than the white-collar fatty's, not less. Li Feng greatly admired the Hall Master's foresight; if their mouths hadn't been gagged, it would be a chorus of curses right now, a pile of saliva.

Cao Zheng continued working hard, simultaneously sensing his body's surging.

The Koreans resisted and struggled in midair like pigs awaiting slaughter. Whenever someone was pulled down for interrogation, the moment they opened their mouth a string of Chinese or Korean spilled out. Substantially no difference; Zhu Guangliang didn't listen to a word. His purpose in coming had two points: first, clean up the Korean Chamber of Commerce people, force them to agree to Jin Douna's demands quickly; second, kill the chicken to warn the monkeys, let the troublemaking workers and students see what the worst outcome is.

Forty-odd Korean Chamber of Commerce members, each at least one round of 30 strokes, at most three rounds of 90 strokes; one pass totaled 2000 strokes upward. Even Cao Zheng, a Level 5 Student, controlling his force swinging the stick was exhausted enough. He couldn't or didn't want to hand the work to others — students who can strike with desired effect are at least Body Art Level 4 or above; the Martial Arts Hall totals less than 10 people counting generously. Li Changning and the others aren't in Jiangning; the remaining few, Xie Wuyang disdains this, Li Feng even fears seeing blood... the only one left to substitute him was actually just Luoxiong alone.

Rest himself and let Luoxiong go up; such a thing, Cao Zheng would never do. So he could only mechanically swing the stick, then swap for a new one when it broke midway.

When beating people also becomes a bitter chore, it shows life is still happy.

Cao Zheng could only comfort himself so.

Around 10 PM that night, Liu Chengyou agreed to Jin Douna's demands, basically announcing mutual understanding between both sides. But after he sent people to retrieve the Chamber members, his angry emotions nearly made him issue a kill order!

Too bullying.

In the photos, he saw cyan-swollen buttocks, cyan-swollen backs, cyan-swollen thighs, and even more excessive: shattered buttocks, shattered backs, shattered thighs...

Cruel!

Savage!

When Liu Chengyou thought of these words, his whole body broke out in goosebumps. He couldn't help asking the female secretary beside him: "That Chen Yi, is he an Aristocratic Scion?"

"China's Chen Family."

Liu Chengyou "oh"ed, but resolved never to go to Jiangning again. Secret Organization however powerful, just dispatches a few assassins, a few dozen assassins' ability; but these forces, in a heavily guarded city, can hardly exert their due power. Further, even if exerted, losses would be huge. 1968, North Korea's armed Agents assassinating South Korean President Park Chung-hee is the best example. A centralized state's cultivated elites, after meticulous deployment and targeted training, assassinating a South Korean President lacking vigilance, result: all fell before the Qingwatai gates, 31 dead 30, only one became a hero...

"File it away. Withdraw the Chamber people."

"No retaliation?" The female secretary asked habitually.

Liu Chengyou raised his hand in a slap, raging: "Is that for you to ask?"

The secretary fell to the ground; the snow-white upper thigh roots were exposed, matched with black stockings below the knees, instantly attracting Liu Chengyou's breathing to become like an ox.

Mind cleared for two seconds; Liu Chengyou shed his clothes in three moves and pounced on top.

"I still have report forms to send off."

"Send in the afternoon, there's time."

For the students and workers bound on the Second Floor, the Wednesday after the rain was the most thrilling Wednesday they had spent.

Someone like Liu Chengyou who has seen the world, facing photos would be furious; workers who haven't seen the world facing the real scene, some vomited from fear.

The Martial Arts Hall has always advocated corporal punishment; from the first day of joining, students face various corporal punishment possibilities. Not every student has been beaten, but those not beaten have at least seen beatings.

Zhu Guangliang's interrogation, in essence, was just a farce of beating, only on a larger scale, more terrifying in image.

But it was enough.

Forty-odd foreign friends in a row, continuous half-day 2000-odd strokes; without Chen Yi emphasizing again, students and workers could understand Chen Yi's firm confidence.

The Martial Arts Hall isn't a private enterprise; the Hall Master isn't a Factory Director; striking has no effect; the bottom only has the fate of being bullied... Old Huang cursed a sentence, thinking, this damn thing isn't just a township enterprise?

But the 5 strokes each suffered earlier were real; now looking, 30 strokes, even 60 strokes don't kill. Everyone has reason to believe Chen Yi won't let them off so easily.

"Gift to friendly states, not to house slaves." Everyone understands, everyone fears.

Chen Yi's first sentence upon entering increased their dread further: "Each person 5 strokes first, as an appetizer."

Cao Zheng didn't say a word, just rushed up, striking in fancy styles all the way.

"Not bad." Chen Yi praised; he also saw it — this Cao Zheng rascal is actually approaching Body Technique Level 6, comparable to his own talent back when he had unlimited Divine Oil.

After a chorus of misery, Chen Yi waited for everyone to recover, then said: "Gathering to brawl in the Martial Arts Hall is absolutely not allowed. Now you have two choices: first, leave the Martial Arts Hall, sign a guarantee letter; second, stay in the Martial Arts Hall, 100 strokes each, can be paid in installments, minimum 50% down. Oh, students not belonging to the Martial Arts Hall, you saw the Koreans' situation earlier; you only take 30 strokes and scram, and also write a guarantee letter."

After speaking, Liu Xinyu, Jin Douna, and Luoxiong began asking each person separately whether they were willing to stay in the Martial Arts Hall or take a beating and leave.

The vast majority would choose to leave; a hundred strokes of the cane would kill a man even if split up, and moreover many had grown fearful of the Martial Arts Hall.

In the final count, only 12 students and 4 staff were willing to stay at the Martial Arts Hall. After Liu Xinyu tallied the account, she said quietly: "There are 17 people from Outside who refuse to write a guarantee letter, clamoring to sue us. They want to see you speak."

"Won't see them." Chen Yi kept his head lowered, blew on his fingernail, and said: "Ask once more whether they'll write the guarantee letter; otherwise give each of them 50 strokes first, then send them all to Zhu Guangliang."

"Send them to him?"

"Mix it together with the Korean Chamber of Commerce affair — yesterday they made trouble at the airport, these people are also making trouble, who can tell clearly what's going on." Chen Yi bared his teeth and added: "Consider it a benefit fee for Zhu Guangliang."

A family able to pay 100,000 yuan for a priority admission right is certainly a wealthy family; but a family that spends money just to get into a Martial Arts Hall is certainly a family without power, and in the end to retrieve their people they'll most likely have to pay up.

……(Unfinished, if you want to know after this, please log in www. qidian. com, chapter more, support author, support official version!)