nyslfriends Chapter 155 Song Gaoguan's Request
Chapter 155 Song Gaoguan's Request
Chapter 156 Song Gaoguan's Request
In March, the French Concession in Tianjin was at its most bustling with Western sights.
The sweet aroma of macarons and the bitter fragrance of coffee mingled under the plane trees on Avenue Joffre, but these past few days, a chilling coldness has been forced into this fragrant breeze, chilling one to the bone.
The top floor of the "Fraternal Love Hospital" run by the French, a special care ward.
In this area, the cost of a bed alone is five silver dollars a day. Ordinary people who pull rickshaws their whole lives can't afford to stay for a single night.
The room was warm and cozy, fueled by a Western-style fireplace, but it couldn't dispel the strong smell of Lysol in the air, nor—a deathly atmosphere.
"Ugh. Ah, it's cold, so cold—"
On the large Simmons mattress, Song Ziqi, like a mangy dog with its spine removed, curled up in the thick velvet quilt, shivering all over.
His once slick and handsome face, which he considered charming, is now gaunt and emaciated.
High cheekbones and deep-set eyes.
Even more horrifying was his skin, which had turned a withered, grayish-brown color, and even his hair was beginning to fall out in clumps.
It's only been a few days?
Only seven days had passed since Lu Cheng struck her in the lower back with his finger at the flour mill.
"Dr. Smith, what's wrong with my son? Aren't you foreign doctors supposed to be able to bring the dead back to life? We've given him so much penicillin, why is he still getting worse?!"
Outside the ward, a middle-aged man wearing an expensive black wool coat and leaning on a cane was roaring at a blond, blue-eyed French doctor with bloodshot eyes.
This middle-aged man had a square face, a mustache, and an imposing presence. His brows exuded the air of a long-time official.
He was Song Ziqi's father, Song Peilun, a high-ranking cabinet official in the Nanjing government who wielded real power.
Upon hearing that his only son had an accident in Tianjin, this high-ranking official Song rushed over by special train overnight, thinking that with the power of Nanjing and the medical skills of foreigners, what injury couldn't be cured?
But the result was like falling into an ice cave for him.
Dr. Smith reluctantly removed his stethoscope and shook his head in broken Chinese.
"Lord Song, I'm very sorry."
"Your son's symptoms defy the norms of modern medicine. We gave him the most comprehensive X-ray examination, drew blood, and even tested his bone marrow—"
"And the result?!" Song Peilun grabbed the doctor's white coat.
"The result was—no poisoning, and no organic trauma."
A flicker of fear crossed Dr. Smith's eyes.
"But his cells were dying at an incredible rate. It was as if—as if an unseen energy was cutting off all life in his body."
"His organs are failing rapidly; at this rate, he has at most three days left. Scientifically, this is an inexplicable miracle, or perhaps—a curse."
"fart,"
Song Peilun shoved the doctor away abruptly, his chest heaving violently.
"What curse? It's that opera singer, that martial artist named Lu Cheng!"
Song Peilun gritted his teeth, his molars grinding together with a rattling sound.
He had investigated before he came and found that his son had been touched on the lower back by a martial arts master.
He initially didn't believe the rumors about "intercepting meridians and striking acupoints" at all, thinking it was just nonsense from martial arts novels.
But now, looking at his son, who was barely recognizable as human on the sickbed, this high-ranking official, who advocated "Western learning as the foundation," finally felt a deep-seated fear.
"Lord Song————"
The adjutant beside him cautiously approached.
"Young master, you've clearly been struck by the most insidious 'Severing Meridians and Draining Blood' technique in internal martial arts."
"This kind of hidden force entering the body is like a maggot clinging to the bone; Western medicine's scalpels and medicines cannot cure it. Only a master practitioner can personally use their transformative power to circulate blood and remove this 'qi nail'."
"If we were in Nanjing, we might be able to find someone through connections, but time is of the essence now—"
Song Peilun's face turned ashen.
As a high-ranking official in Nanjing, would he really have to beg a lowly actor?
"Prepare the car."
Song Peilun stomped his walking stick hard, a murderous glint flashing in his eyes.
"Take the guard platoon and head to the China Grand Theater. I want to see if the sky over Tianjin truly belongs to Chiang Kai-shek or Lu Zhishen!"
Backstage at the Chinese Theatre.
There were no plays performed today, and the theater was still sealed off by the Municipal Council for closure and rectification.
But the back door wasn't locked, and dozens of people from the Qingyun troupe were all holding their breath in the courtyard.
The air was filled with the smell of pine resin and camphor.
Lu Cheng did not go to the front yard; he sat alone in a dressing room at the far end of the backstage area.
The room was somewhat dimly lit.
On a peeling octagonal table, lay the 82-pound Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
Lu Cheng was wearing a plain gray cloth gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He held a piece of coarse cloth soaked in tung oil in his hand, and was wiping it little by little along the cloud pattern on the back of the knife.
"Swish—swish"
The sound of oilcloth rubbing against steel was particularly clear in the backstage area.
The blade gleamed with a bluish light in the dim light.
This knife has killed Japanese soldiers and beheaded traitors.
Now, the murderous aura on the blade seems to have been "tamed" and contained by Lu Cheng's gentle and refined internal energy.
It doesn't flaunt its power, yet it can cut a hair in two.
"Bang!"
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door backstage was kicked open violently.
The sound of the door bolt snapping echoed in the empty corridor.
Immediately afterwards, a series of chaotic and heavy thuds of military boots came in.
"Don't move! Stand back! Minister Song of Jinling is handling a case. All irrelevant personnel, get out of the way!"
A dozen elite soldiers, dressed in yellow woolen uniforms and carrying Type 24 rifles, rushed into the backstage area like wolves and tigers.
The dark muzzle of the gun was pointed directly at Shunzi, Lao Guantou, and the others who were tidying up their clothes in the outer room.
Shunzi's eyes widened in anger, and he was about to lash out when he saw the group of soldiers part to the sides.
Song Peilun walked in, wearing a black woolen overcoat and with a somber expression.
He glanced around at the shabby backstage area, a deep sense of disgust flashing in his eyes.
Finally, their gaze settled on the dressing room in the back, with the door half-open.
"Is Lu Cheng inside?" Song Peilun asked coldly.
No one answered him.
Although the apprentices of the Qingyun Class had guns pointed at them, they all stood tall with their necks stiff and their eyes revealed the same wolfishness as Lu Feng.
"Hmph, stubborn as a mule."
Song Peilun snorted coldly, strode to the door of the dressing room, and pushed the door open.
Inside the room, Lu Cheng didn't even raise his head.
He seemed not to hear at all the sound of the bolt being pulled back outside, a sound that would terrify an ordinary person.
The oilcloth in his hand continued to move slowly and steadily along the blade of the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
"Swish"
"You're Lu Cheng?"
Song Peilun stood at the door, not daring to approach rashly.
Although he was furious, he was, after all, a veteran of the officialdom. Looking at the young man sitting in the shadows with an air of profound composure, he felt a sudden unease.
Lu Cheng finally stopped what he was doing.
He draped the cloth stained with tung oil over the knife rack and slowly turned his head.
With a slight movement of his exquisite heart, he saw through the identity and purpose of the newcomer.
"This is the backstage area of the Qingyun Troupe. We don't accept guests without tickets." Lu Cheng's voice was calm and unwavering.
"presumptuous!"
The adjutant behind Song Peilun shouted and drew his pistol, pointing it at Lu Cheng.
"This is Minister Song from Nanjing. You lowly actor, why don't you stand up and answer him!"
Lu Cheng's gaze passed over Song Peilun and gently landed on the adjutant.
Just one glance.
The adjutant felt a buzzing in his head, as if a white-browed, fierce tiger with piercing eyes had roared in his heart.
His hand holding the gun trembled violently, his palm instantly soaked with cold sweat, and he even had the illusion that all the strength to pull the trigger had been drained away.
That was the mental pressure emanating from a Grandmaster of Internal Energy!
Song Peilun also sensed the strange atmosphere. He raised his hand, signaling his adjutant to step back.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his anger, and adopted a superior negotiating posture.
"Boss Lu, let's not beat around the bush."
Song Peilun took a blank check out of his coat pocket and gently placed it on the dressing table next to him.
"My son, Song Ziqi, had some misunderstandings with you at the flour mill. Now he is seriously ill, and Western medicine is helpless. I heard that you, Boss Lu, were the one who did it behind my back."
"This check is for you. As long as you're willing to pull out the hidden energy from my son's body, you can fill in any amount you want."
"In the French Concession of Tianjin, and even in the theaters of North China, with just a word from me, your Qingyun Troupe can do whatever you want."
Slap me, then give me a treat.
This is a tactic that bureaucrats excel at.
In Song Peilun's view, how much money has an opera singer ever seen in his lifetime?
In the face of absolute power and money, that so-called pride of a warrior is nothing but a joke.
However, Lu Cheng didn't even glance at the check.
He extended two slender, white fingers and gently flicked the surface of the Azure Dragon Crescent Moon Invitation.
"Buzz"
The sound of swords clashing echoed throughout the room.
The sound was like autumn wind sweeping through fallen leaves, carrying a sense of desolation.
"Minister Song, you are a high-ranking official, in charge of the Grand Chancellor of the State."
Lu Cheng tilted his head slightly, his eyes half-closed, his expression indescribably calm and aloof.
"But you may not be familiar with the rules and regulations of our opera and Peking opera circles."
"What rules and regulations?" Song Peilun frowned.
"Your son, relying on foreign guns and cannons, colludes with the Japanese to humiliate my compatriots and deceive my disciples."
Lu Cheng's tone was very soft, as if he were reciting a slow passage.
"His illness is incurable by Western medicine, and even a fortune like Qi Dayin can't make up for it. This is called—a life of misfortune."
Song Peilun's face was ashen, and he gripped his walking stick tightly with both hands.
"What do you mean? Are you determined to oppose me? Do you believe that with one order from me, none of you in this team will be able to leave this room?"
"Click."
The soldiers outside the door straightened their rifles.
The atmosphere instantly plummeted to freezing point.
Lu Cheng smiled.
There was no fear in that smile; instead, it conveyed a sense of mockery.
He slowly stood up and grasped the handle of the eighty-two-pound Azure Dragon Invitation with one hand.
"boom!"
An invisible wave of energy erupted from his body, causing his moon-white robe to flutter wildly.
He didn't adopt any aggressive stance, but his entire being was like a peerless, deadly weapon already unsheathed.
"Minister Song."
Lu Cheng stared at Song Peilun's eyes, which were slightly constricted by fear, and recited a line from a play, word by word.
"If the King of Hell decrees death at midnight, who dares to keep someone alive until dawn?"
"I can't cure this disease."
"If you want to get treatment, you have to go to the City God Temple."
The City God Temple is a place for the dead!
"You—you—"
Song Peilun was trembling with rage, pointing his finger at Lu Cheng's nose, "You're asking for it!"
"You can try shooting."
Lu Cheng took half a step forward.
It was only half a step.
"when!"
The invitation letter, written on the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, landed heavily on the blue brick floor.
The floor instantly cracked like a spider web.
"But before you fire, I guarantee this invitation will first cut off your head."
1
"Within seven steps, the gun is fast."
"But this house is only five steps away."
"Minister Song, do you dare gamble your precious life on whether my invitation will be granted soon?"
Song Peilun froze.
He looked into Lu Cheng's golden eyes and at the large invitation that radiated a chilling blue light.
He dared not gamble.
He is a high-ranking official, he has endless wealth and honor, how could he exchange his life for that of a nobody who doesn't even care about his own?
"Excellent—excellent, Master Lu!"
Song Peilun gritted his teeth, grabbed the blank check, and tore it to shreds.
"You're refusing a toast only to drink a forfeit. I'll see if you can even keep up this autumn gala performance."
We'll see.
Song Peilun turned around almost as if fleeing and strode out of the dressing room.
"withdraw!"
The soldiers outside felt as if they had been granted a pardon. They quickly put away their guns and followed the disheveled Minister Song as they retreated awkwardly from the backstage of the China Grand Theater.
They came like wolves and tigers, and left like stray dogs.
Watching them leave, Shunzi and his apprentices burst into a suppressed cheer.
"Master, you were so awesome just now!" Little Bean jumped up and down excitedly.
Lu Cheng withdrew the invitation, his expression showing little joy.
He knew that although he had suppressed the arrogance of the Jinling side, this venomous snake would never give up easily.
It was a foregone conclusion that Song Ziqi would become a cripple, but the storm that was about to break was only just beginning.
The headquarters of the Black Dragon Society in the Japanese Concession.
Funagi sat cross-legged in front of the courtyard of Zhashanshui, holding prayer beads in his hand, dreaming of his subordinates' report about Song Peilun's humiliation backstage at Qingyun Troupe.
His blind eyes moved slightly, and a cold smile curled at his lips.
"Heh, the infighting among the Chinese is far from being this exciting."
"That idiot Song Peilun thinks he can subdue a Grandmaster of Internal Energy with his power? It's laughable."
The newly appointed head of the Special Higher Police Section, Hashimoto, knelt respectfully with his head bowed.
"Professor Funakoshi, since even the Jinling side has failed to subdue him, how should we respond to the 'Ming Porcelain Yudaozhao Art Exchange Conference'? What if he acts aggressively again on stage—"
"He can't act violently anymore."
Funagi stopped fiddling with the prayer beads, his knuckles turning white.
"Strike the snake at its vital spot. To kill someone, you don't necessarily need to use a trap."
"Isn't Lu Cheng most concerned about the stage, most concerned about his title of 'King of Peking Opera'?"
"I want to make him utterly disgraced and a laughingstock in front of reporters from Tianjin and even the world!"
"Hashimoto".
"Hai!"
"Chinese opera emphasizes singing, recitation, acting, and acrobatics, and even more so, the accompaniment of the 'four-beat rhythm,' which is the accompaniment for the performance. Without gongs and drums, without the erhu (a two-stringed bowed instrument), how can the performers do somersaults and start their performances?"
Funakoshi's smile grew increasingly cruel.
"Go. Utilize all our undercover agents in Zijinwei."
"To the Chinese musicians who were hired to accompany the grand performance, whether they were drummers, violinists, or gong players—"
"Here's a generous gift."
"Tell them that if anyone dares to go on stage to accompany Lu Cheng, not only will they not see the sun rise behind them, but their families will also be drowned in the Haihe River."
"I want Lu Cheng and Ming Zi to stand there all alone on the stage, facing thousands of audience members, without even a single drumbeat."
"This is called 'cutting off the fuel supply from under the cauldron'."
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