Using Tech to Pose as Sword Saints? Two Punches Will Send Your Oil Gushing!
Water vapor flowed down the transparent pipe.
Sing Sing unscrewed the valve on the lifebuoy, grabbed Christina by the collar like a chick, and climbed up the slippery glass tube.
"I'm serious, Director Zhou..."
Christina, watching the pool of blood recede into the distance, couldn't help but ask a thought-provoking question:
"Is there some kind of glue stuck to the soles of your feet?"
"What kind of banned glue? How rude of you!"
Sing Sing snorted, "That's called being down-to-earth! How can you work diligently at the grassroots level if you can't even connect with the people?"
"Young people shouldn't spend all their time trying to overturn the theory of physics; they should think more about how to solve the employment problem!"
Christina's legs were dangling in mid-air; she was completely numb.
Ever since I met this guy surnamed Zhou, the laws of physics have never been normal.
Lao Zhou was very curious about the building.
Each floor offered a different view, and this novelty rekindled his long-dormant desire to explore.
Soon, Sing Sing, having reached the top platform, found the exit.
The two of them crawled inside one after the other, and the scene before them changed again.
Vermilion wooden pillars stood in the four corners, and cursive script scrolls and leather-covered drums hung on the walls.
In the very center stands an octagonal arena.
"Wait... just how many floors does this illegal building have? After the aquarium arcade, how did the scene suddenly jump to a period drama set?!"
"This is called a diversified work environment."
Sing Sing took out his cigarette case, tapped out a cigarette, lit it, and squinted as he looked around.
"But these foreign devils really have no taste. Look at how they painted this red paint, it's all bumpy and uneven. Even Li the Cripple from the east end of the village puts more effort into his paper-making than this."
After he finished speaking, the sound of wooden clogs clicking on the floor echoed through the hall.
Two tall, slender figures emerged from the shadows and stepped onto the arena.
Both men had shaved heads resembling those of samurai and wore loose-fitting, dark black kimonos.
Two sheathed katanas were tucked diagonally at his waist, and his hands lacked the texture of skin, appearing to be pieced together from some kind of alloy.
Above the dome, a familiar voice rang out, and the commander roared with satisfaction:
"Stephen Chow! You think you can climb all the way to the top with your shabby, low-class farming skills?!"
"Standing before you is a top-tier swordsman we acquired at great expense in Osaka!"
"Their nerve centers are infused with the death-defying instincts of seventeen sword masters, coupled with military-grade hydraulic prosthetics; they could cleave even a steel plate in two! I'd like to see how long your peasant tricks can last!"
"Hahaha... You think you're so tough? I'd like to see if your fancy moves can last three seconds against the Sword Saint!"
The swordsman on the left side of the ring raised his index finger, beckoned to Sing Sing, and uttered in broken, indistinct Chinese:
"Damn... sick man."
"All show and no substance, cut off... your head, and use it as a wine jug."
Sing Sing wasn't annoyed at all. He slowly finished his cigarette, spat the butt out, and stomped it out on the ground.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket, took it off, and casually handed it to the girl next to him.
The next second, his figure vanished into thin air.
With a soft creak, Sing Sing, wearing a wet white shirt and black vest, landed steadily on the ring.
Bend your knees slightly, lower your center of gravity, place your left hand loosely on your waist, and raise your right hand.
His thumb brushed past the tip of his nose, letting out a long howl. "Cao Dahua!!"
The Japan swordsman on the left was enraged, and his crimson prosthetic eye flashed with a bloody light.
"Nisunai!"
The long sword was drawn from its sheath, gleaming with a cold light as it slashed down from the sky—a powerful Splitting Mount Hua in two.
The downward airflow had already lifted the wet hair on Lao Zhou's forehead backward.
Sing Sing's eyes narrowed slightly, his right hand formed a palm, and his forearm floated lightly upwards.
Wing Chun, hands shrug.
The arm was positioned just millimeters below the force bearing of the opponent's wrist.
The long sword was forcibly held in mid-air, and no matter how loudly the motor in the mechanical wrist screamed, it could not be pushed down any further.
The red light in the swordsman's eyes flickered erratically, and the computing chip in his brain was unable to process the situation at hand.
How could a mere flesh and blood body withstand a hydraulic chopping force exceeding two tons?
He simply couldn't understand it.
"Raising your hand that high, with your armpits completely exposed, didn't your master teach you how to control your strength when practicing swordsmanship?"
Sing Sing gave a cold laugh and took half a step forward, gathering power in his right fist from his waist.
Inch power, Half-Step Crushing Fist!
The explosive power was unleashed to its fullest extent in a short distance, and the force of the punch even made the Japan swordsman's cheeks tremble.
Thump!!
The punch landed squarely on the swordsman's nose, causing it to cave in instantly. Shattered sensors and engine oil gushed out from his nostrils.
The powerful impact pierced through the back of his head. The swordsman, nearly crippled by the punch, staggered back several steps until he crashed into a thick hemp rope, bouncing twice before barely regaining his footing.
"Baka!!"
The crisis is not over.
The second swordsman on the right, who had been holding back, had already finished charging up his attack.
Taking advantage of the moment before Old Zhou could regain his strength, he gripped the long-handled katana with both hands, crouched low to the ground, and swiftly closed in, slashing horizontally towards Old Zhou's waist.
"Another sneak attack?"
With a light step, Sing Sing glided lightly towards the edge of the arena, his right hand reaching out towards the mahogany weapon rack standing in the corner.
With a flick of his finger, a white waxwood staff, used for martial arts practice, fell into his palm.
With a flick of his wrist, Old Zhou sent his staff dancing through the air, leaving a trail of mournful shadows.
Sing Sing used the Eight Trigrams Wandering Body Step, his movements unpredictable, and he swayed to the side of the first swordsman who had just regained his balance.
"The first move of the Dog-Beating Staff Technique: Beat Two Dogs!"
Bang!
The white waxwood staff struck the swordsman's forehead squarely with its force.
The metal skull collided violently with the hardwood, even momentarily halting the swordsman's brain's processing power.
He swayed and spun around in place for half a circle.
"Baka! I'll cut you to pieces!!"
Seeing his companion suffer a setback, the swordsman on the right flew into a rage.
Faced with this frenzied and vicious series of slashes, Sing Sing's staff left behind an unusually agile afterimage.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every time the Blade strikes, the tip of the staff always miraculously lands on the side of the blade in a blind spot.
Lao Zhou casually parried the deadly Blade, his face filled with disdain and contempt.
"The weight is on the heels, and the knife swings rely entirely on the brute force of the robotic arm."
"Your heels are unsteady, you're just relying on the motor in your arm to pull you along. You dare call yourself a swordsman with this kind of skill? Even Auntie Wang, who cuts radishes at the back gate of the market, has better knife skills than you!"
A rapid, incessant stream of chatter reached the ears of both the swordsman and the commander, who was listening from a distance.
Verbal humiliation is more destructive than physical assault.
Enduring extreme verbal humiliation, the two self-proclaimed noble and dignified Japan assassins were driven to the brink of despair by their anger.
"Warning! Core temperature overload! Forced termination of safety protocols!"
The two swordsmen's movement speed more than doubled when overclocked.
Two cold, long blades, one on the left and one on the right, blocked all of Sing Sing's blind spots, and came straight at him in a cross-shaped attack!