Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 4 Boxing Manual

The back room of the "Huichuntang" Trauma Clinic in Tainan City.

"ah--!"

A bloodcurdling scream, like a pig being slaughtered, shattered the tranquility of the early morning.

Erga Zi lay sprawled on a recliner, covered in sweat, his newly reattached right arm in a cast, hanging around his neck.

"Shout! If you can't even handle this little bit of pain, how are you going to work at the docks?"

The old doctor who was setting bones was bald. He was wiping his hands with a hot towel and talking non-stop: "But to be honest, the person who did this is an expert. He separated the tendons and dislocated the bones, and the force penetrated into the gaps between the bones without damaging the major tendons. If he had used just a little more force, your arm would have been useless even if it were set."

Erga Zi gritted his teeth, his face was deathly pale, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"I'm going to kill him... I absolutely have to kill him!"

He didn't sleep a wink all night.

It's not that I don't want to sleep, it's that the pain keeps me awake.

Add to that the anger in my heart.

Last night's fight was a complete disgrace to him in front of his underlings. Seven men ganged up on him, were humiliated like monkeys, and even had their arm broken. If word got out, how could Ergaizi ever lead anyone around here again?

"Boss, that kid's too weird." A henchman next to him rubbed his cheek, which was swollen from being hit by Chen Zhuo with a table leg, and spoke with a lisp, "Should we... take cover for now?"

"Screw you!"

Ergaizi kicked out, but his legs were too weak to move, though his eyes were full of malice. "If I don't vent this anger, how will I, Ergaizi, ever show my face in Hongqiao again? Go, grab those two 'eternally large' ones from under my bed, and go to the public bathhouse to find Second Brother!"

Upon hearing this title, the faces of the henchmen all changed.

"Second Brother Pig? Gangzi? That security officer from the state-owned No. 2 factory? He's the kind of guy who only cares about money, not people..."

"Nonsense! You have to pay to get favors!" Ergazi gritted his teeth and said painfully, "Give him another hundred yuan! Tell Gangzi, don't let his leather uniform fool you, he has to handle this well. This is a tough guy, a real fighter, only he can handle him. Make sure he comes out of retirement, and I'll reward him handsomely afterward!"

……

At the same time.

At a breakfast stall behind Quanyechang.

"Boss, two more baskets of steamed buns, please! With meat!"

Three empty steamer baskets were already stacked in front of Chen Zhuo, but he still felt hungry. It wasn't just an empty stomach; every cell in his body was screaming for energy.

"Young man, eat slowly, don't choke."

The owner, a plump middle-aged woman, joked as she served the steamed buns, "Looks like you haven't eaten for three days this early in the morning."

Chen Zhuo smiled but didn't respond. He grabbed a steaming hot meat bun and swallowed it in a few bites.

Last night's fight, plus the exhaustion of running around all night, had left my body completely drained. The hot meat filling melted in my mouth, sending a warm current through my limbs and bones, and finally calmed down the trembling feeling in my hands.

"belch--"

After letting out a burp, Chen Zhuo wiped his mouth and carefully pocketed the remaining seven cents.

This body is a bottomless pit; I still need to find a way to make money and get some sex. But for now, I need to go back and catch up on some sleep.

When I rode my tricycle back to my lodging, it was just getting light.

In the large courtyard of the HQ district, the sounds of coughing and emptying chamber pots could be heard one after another.

This is a typical Tianjin courtyard house, housing more than twenty families. The courtyard is cluttered with coal briquettes, cabbages, and clothes from all over the world, with nowhere to dry them.

Chen Zhuo pushed his tricycle into the courtyard.

He locked the car against the wall, moving very quietly, afraid of waking anyone. Although the old car was inanimate, it had risked its life alongside him last night, and now it looked a little tired.

He didn't actually get many jobs that night.

After crippling Ergaizi, in order to avoid trouble, he deliberately took a long detour to Quanyechang and waited for work at the entrance of the shopping mall there.

After deducting the money for the meat bun breakfast, he now has 1.7 yuan in his pocket.

One dollar and seven cents.

That's enough to buy six pounds of cornmeal or three pounds of high-gluten flour.

But for someone who practices martial arts, this amount of money is just the cost of two meals of meat.

"I was admiring the mountain view from the city tower when I heard a commotion outside the city..."

Even before entering the room, Zhuge Liang's composure, though somewhat genuine, still shone through.

They've already left it there so early in the morning?

Just then, Grandpa Wang, who lived across the hall, came out to empty a chipped basin. Seeing Chen Zhuo, he squinted and greeted him, "Ahem... Little Chen's back?"

Chen Zhu put on a simple and honest smile, and bent his back accordingly.

"Hey, Uncle Wang, how are you getting up? The weather's nice today."

"Not bad my foot, your rheumatism has flared up again," Grandpa Wang muttered. "You haven't been back all night? You're really pushing yourself, in this freezing weather. Go back inside and rest."

"Okay, take your time."

Chen Zhuo agreed and turned to walk towards the backyard.

This large courtyard houses more than twenty families, most of whom have children. Only Old Man Wang is an elderly man living alone, without any children or relatives, and in poor health. Only Lin Xiaoman, who lives next door, takes care of him.

As soon as I reached the door, I saw a girl wearing blue overalls and with two braids struggling to carry a bucket of water toward me.

The bucket was too big, and the girl was thin; she swayed with every step, spilling water all over the ground.

She is Lin Xiaoman.

The female worker at the textile factory was a kind-hearted person who often helped Grandpa Wang. Sometimes, when she saw that Chen Zhuo came home late, she would also ask him a few words.

"I'll do it."

Chen Zhuo strode over and, before Lin Xiaoman could react, took the heavy tin bucket from her with one hand.

The hand was rough and strong, with black grease still clinging to the knuckles.

Lin Xiaoman was startled. When she looked up and saw Chen Zhuo, a hint of surprise appeared on her rosy little face, which was red from the cold.

"Brother Chen? You're back now?"

"Yeah, there's a lot of work at night." Chen Zhuo carried the bucket of water, walking steadily without the water in the bucket even swaying.

"Uncle Wang doesn't look well today, he's coughing a lot," Lin Xiaoman said softly as she followed behind. "I just brought him some cornmeal porridge."

"Really? I'll take a look later," Chen Zhuo replied casually.

"Haven't eaten yet?" Lin Xiaoman asked again. "I steamed some cornbread in the pot, shall I get you two?"

Chen Zhuo carried the bucket to Lin Xiaoman's door and put it down.

He turned to look at Lin Xiaoman. This girl was kind-hearted, but she lived a frugal life. Although the textile factory was a large state-owned enterprise, she was an apprentice, earning only eighteen yuan a month. She also had to support her sick mother and occasionally help out Grandpa Wang.

"No need, I've already eaten out." Chen Zhuo waved his hand politely. "Alright, come inside quickly, don't catch a cold."

After saying that, he didn't linger and turned to go into his little hut.

Closing the door shuts out the outside world's hustle and bustle.

The room was simple. There was a table with teacups and a teapot, a few odds and ends in the corner, pots and pans, a stove, a wooden bed with a thin sheet and a tattered cotton quilt.

Chen Zhuo sighed, then, as if remembering something, hurriedly walked to the bedside, bent down, and pulled out an oil paper package from the crack in the bricks under the bed.

Open it, and inside is a yellowed, thread-bound book.

The book cover had three words written on it:

"The Art of Form and Meaning".

As his fingers traced the rough book cover, Chen Zhuo's gaze became somewhat complicated.

"It's fate."

He sighed, a self-deprecating smile curving his lips.

In his past life, he was a descendant of the Xingyi School. Unfortunately, he was born into a modern society where guns and laws coexist, and traditional martial arts were in decline. His family's skills had long been lost, leaving only a few formulas and fancy moves. Although he could still make a living in the internet age with these fancy moves, he had been obsessed with martial arts for half his life and was always troubled by the fact that he could not find the right path to master it.

Unexpectedly, after a hangover, he woke up back in the 1980s and was reborn in the body of a tricycle driver with the same name and surname, who was also a successor of Xingyi School.

He was born twice, and both times he entered the realm of form and meaning.

Perhaps this is destiny.

Unfortunately, the original owner of this body had a really miserable life.

The master of this body was a stubborn old-school boxer. He adhered to the rigid rule of "the poor study literature, the rich study martial arts, and neither sell his skills nor his body" his whole life. He would rather starve with his apprentices than bow down to the powerful and wealthy, and he forbade his apprentices to use their kung fu to make a living through shady means.

The results of it?

My master contracted lung disease, but he had no money for treatment and coughed himself to death.

The original owner was also a blindly filial son. In order to buy a thin coffin for his master, he pawned all the slightly valuable things in his house and even incurred a lot of debt. Despite having the ability to kill, he was bound by his master's last words, "Never bully the weak," and could only end up driving a tricycle at the train station to make a living, living like a stray dog.

"What an idiot."

Chen Zhuo shook his head.

It's unclear whether they're cursing the original owner of this body or the deceased master.

However, now that he has taken over this body and assumed this karma, some things must be done according to his rules.

Rules are dead, people are alive.

A living person can't let themselves die from holding their pee, and they certainly can't let those treacherous bastards laugh at them.

He opened the boxing manual and his gaze fell on a line of small print on the title page.

"Clean house."