Bullying an Old Man

Huh? A deal like this really existed? Lightbulb, Manhole Cover, Night Cat, and Big Bear beamed. They were about to save a lot of money today. Chen Ge hesitated for a second, feeling that picking on an old man was a bit unethical. But since the old man had proposed it himself, he had no reason to refuse, so he nodded in agreement. "Elder, since you speak Chinese, you must know that respecting the elderly and cherishing the young is a traditional virtue of us Chinese. You can use any weapon you like—a knife, a hammer, a club—as long as it isn't a firearm." "Not bad!" Fyodor gave Chen Ge an appreciative look, walked over to a wooden crate by the wall, opened the lid, and pulled out a half-meter-long seamless steel pipe. "Young man, I'm seventy-one this year. Just last year in Eastern Siberia, I took down a brown bear with nothing but a Cossack shashka. You'd better watch yourself." Chen Ge cupped his fist in a traditional martial salute, then dropped into Baji Quan's most imposing opening stance: Death Knocks at the Door. His two fists rose slowly from his waist, one guarding his heart, the other held just below his chin. He ground his feet into the dirt, lowering his center of gravity. His soles rasped across the floor with a sharp hiss, and his entire presence transformed from that of an ordinary man into a battering ram. The philosophy of Baji Quan brooked no wasted motion. Its opening stance declared plain and simple: *I am going to hit you. Are you ready?* It radiated supreme confidence and suffocating pressure. "Please!" Fyodor's chest tightened. His own aura shifted, his gaze turning icy and razor-sharp. His burly frame launched forward like an artillery shell straight toward Chen Ge. Instead of swinging the steel pipe, he thrust it diagonally at Chen Ge's left ribs. Lightbulb and the others instinctively reached toward their waists, their eyes locked on Fyodor. This old man was no pushover! Fyodor truly defied his age. His combat experience was vast; against Big Bear alone in single combat, he would have likely handled it with ease. But he was facing Chen Ge. Just as the steel pipe was about to jab into Chen Ge's left ribs, Chen Ge slipped aside with effortless grace, his hand snapping out like a vise around Fyodor's wrist. Fyodor moved to wrench free, but the grip felt as if a hydraulic clamp had locked around his joint. Excruciating pain forced his fingers open in a reflex, and the steel pipe slipped from his grasp. Chen Ge caught it smoothly in midair and pressed the end against Fyodor's carotid artery. Defeated in a single move—decisive, absolute. It was so fast that Big Bear, Lightbulb, Manhole Cover, and Night Cat barely registered what had happened, momentarily wondering if their eyes were playing tricks on them. The four of them reaffirmed their resolve once more: they had to learn Chinese kung fu, and learn it hard! Chen Ge pulled the steel pipe away, took a step back, and smiled. "Elder, a promise is a promise. Wholesale prices for everything in your shop." Snapping back to his senses, Fyodor rubbed his neck, his eyes burning with intense fascination as he stared at Chen Ge. Fast. Incredibly fast. Was this what Chinese wuxia dramas called *all martial arts under heaven fall before sheer speed*? Moreover, he had felt firsthand that Chen Ge possessed staggering strength—enough to snap his wrist with ease. Massaging the red welt on his wrist, Fyodor asked impatiently, "Is this Chinese kung fu?" Chen Ge had already resolved to weld the label of 'Chinese martial arts master' firmly to his identity, preventing anyone from questioning how he had suddenly grown so formidable. Don't ask. If you must ask, it was just Chinese kung fu being awesome! As for whether Baji Quan was truly that miraculous? Of course it was! If you couldn't achieve anything with it, that was just because you lacked talent and had poor bone structure. Chen Ge, on the other hand, had unblocked his Conception and Governor Vessels—a once-in-a-century martial genius. "Baji Quan! Not the kind used for fitness or performance, but genuine, secret lineage Chinese martial arts." "Baji Quan?" Fyodor's mind shook. He recalled a kung fu master he had befriended during his time working in China between 1979 and 1983, who had practiced Baji Quan. Back then, young and arrogant, Fyodor had believed Chinese martial arts were mere flashy theatrics and challenged the master to a sparring match. The result had been brutal. The master fractured his ribs with an elbow strike and sent him flying three meters away with a shoulder slam. Fyodor had been bedridden for half a month before he could even stand. He never imagined that forty years later, here in Russia, he would encounter another Chinese man practicing Baji Quan—and one so young. "I know this art. 'With Taiji, civil scholars bring peace to the realm; with Baji, martial warriors stabilize the cosmos.' That Baji Quan, right?" Chen Ge was somewhat surprised that Fyodor even knew that saying. "Yes, that very Baji. But what I practice is different from the common version; it is a secret lineage thought to have been lost for two hundred years." *Lost for two hundred years?* *A secret lineage?* It sounded mystical and overwhelmingly potent, instantly evoking images of supreme martial arts. Fyodor's curiosity surged, but he forced himself not to pry further, knowing that Chinese martial artists never revealed their secret methods to outsiders. Still, eager to gauge just how formidable this young Chinese man was, he tested the waters: "With your skill, you must already be a grandmaster?" *A grandmaster?* Hearing a title lifted straight out of novels and television shows, Chen Ge's thoughts stalled for a moment, his brain struggling to keep up. Had this old man watched too many Chinese wuxia dramas, or did grandmasters actually exist in the world? If they did, how powerful were they? If his own abilities were mapped to the tiers of traditional martial arts novels, would he qualify as a Huajin Grandmaster? While his thoughts drifted, Chen Ge maintained an enigmatic expression, giving no direct answer and leaving Fyodor to guess. "My apologies, but that's not something I can disclose." Fyodor felt a twinge of disappointment, though he took no offense, being quite familiar with Chinese culture. Wise people in China always concealed their edge. A gentleman kept his talents tucked away, waiting for the right moment to act; fools brandished their blades, while the truly wise hid their sharpness. He smiled, extended his right hand toward Chen Ge, and introduced himself in earnest: "You can call me Thunderstone. Aside from running this hardware store, I also run a bit of a logistics business. If you ever need to ship anything, you can come to me. Other than China, I can deliver anywhere across the globe." That remark reminded Chen Ge of an advertisement by a Russian firearms company claiming they could deliver to any dry land on Earth—accompanied by a map where China had been erased and replaced with open ocean. Chen Ge shook his hand, feeling thick, abrasive calluses forged by years of gripping firearms. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thunderstone. My callsign is Sledgehammer!" Lightbulb stepped up and reached out. "Hello, Mr. Thunderstone. Callsign Lightbulb." Manhole Cover, Night Cat, and Big Bear followed in turn to shake Thunderstone's hand. The atmosphere grew warm and easy, like old friends reuniting. Thunderstone was a man of his word. He generously declared that every item in his store would be sold to Chen Ge's squad at wholesale cost, in whatever quantities they wished. The entrance to the shop turned out to be located beneath Gorbachev's kennel—something the five brothers could never have guessed in a million years. A smug grin curled Thunderstone's lips as he reached into the dog crate and yanked a cord. The rusted steel floor beneath the kennel slowly rose and slid sideways, revealing a one-meter-square basement hatch. Gorbachev sat nearby on his haunches, his large eyes stealing nervous glances at Chen Ge, still terrified. Thunderstone turned back to look at the bewildered squad and let out a hearty laugh. "Sledgehammer, I bet you never guessed the entrance would be right here, eh?" Chen Ge nodded. "I definitely didn't. I can't wait to see your shop, Mr. Thunderstone." "Haha, then follow me. I guarantee you won't be disappointed." Thunderstone waved them forward and led the way down an iron staircase into the subterranean chamber. "This air raid shelter was dug during World War II. It's three hundred and ten square meters, twelve meters underground, with a ceiling height of four meters..." Thunderstone gave a running commentary as they descended. Once all six reached the bottom, Thunderstone pressed a white button on the wall, and the hatch cover beneath the dog crate sealed shut. Overhead lamps flickered on, illuminating a corridor four meters wide and seven meters long. At the end of the corridor stood a solid steel vault door fitted with an SG 6731 mechanical lock and a LA GARD 705 electronic lock. Thunderstone entered a complex combination into the dial, verified a Bluetooth security keycard, and then cleared palm-vein, fingerprint, and iris scans on the electronic system. The hydraulic actuators hissed to life, slowly swinging the massive door open. Lightbulb smacked his lips, murmuring under his breath, "Even bank vaults don't have security this crazy, do they?" A second later, Thunderstone flipped the switch for the chandeliers inside the shop. Lightbulb's jaw dropped into an 'O', his eyes bulging wide. Chen Ge, Big Bear, Manhole Cover, and Night Cat wore identical expressions, their breath catching in their throats as they froze in utter disbelief!