Evil Awe-Inspiring 144 New Comer 1

They are simply dismantling the parts of the cars.

As we pa.s.s through the garage, Papa 8 does not stop, but keeps walking ahead. Whenever he pa.s.ses the repairmen, they stand up and stoop silently to him, looking respectful.

We walk out of the garage and into a courtyard where there's a revolving staircase. Papa 8 leads me down and pushes open a door with some paint peeling off. There come the sounds of fighting.

The sounds I hear are so familiar with. There are shouts, exhalations, footsteps and punches. As soon as I walk in, I almost think I have entered a gym.

There are some simple fitness equipments on both sides of the room. Although they are relatively simple, they should have all the major types. Some men who look very strong are practicing with bells, some cus.h.i.+ons in the middle of the floor, and they put together a larger field. Some people practice boxing in pairs, wearing gloves. It's not the big one in a boxing match, but the small one with half a finger out of it.

And they all wear headgear.

Papa 8 looks at the surprised expression on my face and smiles slightly with satisfaction.

The door behind us closes silently.

Most of the people who are practicing are in their thirties. The oldest look is probably nearly fifty years old, and the youngest look at least a little older than me.

"How is it?" He asks me with a smile.

I don't understand what he meant by asking, so I answer vaguely, "Well."

"I'm asking you, how's this place?"

I nod. "Very good!"

My eyes go round the people who are practicing the fight. These people are very agile in their hands and movements, and they are very skilled in their fists and feet. It seems that they are not showy postures of martial arts. What stricks me is that there are almost half of them, from the action point of view, all have slight traces of coming out of the army.

Looking around, I'm sure these people are good, but they're just good, not excellent, at least none of them can compare with Jim.

Finally, my eyes fall on the corner beside the room. A man, barefoot, wearing a pair of shorts, is pounding at a sandbag.

The sandbag is hanging upside down and banged by him. It can be seen that the man's action is very fast and the strength is good. He obviously has fighting skills, punches, elbows, knees, legs, all of which are skillfully used, and the speed of the action is also very fast. It's like a storm hitting sandbags and making a loud banging noise.

Finally, after one side kick, he takes a breath, then yells in a deep voice, and with a heavy blow from the back hand, the sandbag is slammed high and swayed violently.

Papa 8 notices that I'm looking at the young man, says with a laugh, "That's the best person here. How do you feel of him?"

I nod and say calmly, "Pretty good."

"He's good." Papa 8 sighs suddenly. He touches his nose with the palm of his hand, which is only three hands left, "Unfortunately, our generation is old. There are too few young people who are willing to bear hards.h.i.+ps nowadays. I have seen many young people who think they are good. Most of them are flower shelves. Real kungfu is practised by wrestling and beating. Where are the young people willing to suffer hards.h.i.+ps nowadays?!" He points to the young man who's practicing with the sandbag: "He's quite good! But it's still worse than those of us who used to be masters."

I don't speak. I'm just the new comer and not familiar with here. What he says when he laments, I can't anwser it rashly, just stand by and listen to him with a slight embarra.s.sment.

He closes his eyes and thinks for a while, then he opens his eyes and slowly says to me, "Chen Yang, I understand what you just said to me. But you don't want to go this way just by making up your mind! The food of this industry, without some skills, is not eatable! Although you are introduced by Ocean, at least I need to know what you are available to do. If you don't have the ability, you can only do small business. Favor is favor, but I will not break the rules because of it! Do you understand?"

"Understand." I nod: "It's fair... I like fairness."

"Well, then I won't explain much." He looks me up and down and says, "7 said you are good at fight Just now. You also said you were fighting with one dozen of people with a knife before." There's a slight smile on the corner of his mouth, but it smells of mockery: "I didn't see it with my own eyes. Believe it or not, I can't say it. I have seen a man who could chop a dozen, but it was many years ago. Most young people nowadays have hard mouths and soft hands. Besides, it's not domestic. North American gun management is very loose. It's the different world. Even you can really cut down more than a dozen, here also can not walkable. If someone holds an AK47, even you are the real Bruce Lee, still useless."

"I don't know how to use the gun. I haven't learmed it at home." I say lightly, "But I know myself that fighting ability is good. I have practiced Kungfu for ten years."

"Everyone here has practiced it." Papa 8 says lightly. Suddenly he's smiling and points to the young man who is beating sandbags. "How do you think his fighting ability? Is he better than you?"

I'm a little hesitant. It's still that problem. After all, I've just come here. I can't be too arrogant. After thinking about it, I slowly say, "I... I practice differently from him."

He smiles. There's something deep in his smile. But I can see that the smile is not blaming me, but interested.

Then he suddenly raises his hands and claps three times.

Immediately, the people around stop their movements and quickly gather around us.

From this point of view, I value this place a little more! At least we have just come in and have been standing here for a while, and these people are all focused on training, no one is distracted to look at us. And now with Papa 8's order, they just all come together.

At least it seems that they are very disciplined, not a mob.

"Lawn, come here for a minute." Papa 8 speaks to the young man who was beating the sandbag.

This is a guy who looks very tall. He should be a little older than me, but not much older. He's handsome in appearance, white in skin, and strong in muscle.

He stands in front of these people and looks at them coldly. Only when he looks at Papa 8, his expression shows a little gentle.

"Give him your glove." Papa 8 points at me.

The young man looks at me without saying a word and silently takes off his glove. Papa took it and handed it to me with a smile on his face. "Well, you say you are different from them. Let me see yours."

I'm stared at by so many people, my face is a bit unnatural, but I immediately take the glove, then put down my bag, take off my coat.

I walk slowly towards the sandbag, and the people on both sides immediately consciously offer me a way. I feel that the guys behind me are staring at me in a way of not friendly, mabe even a bit of hidden hostility.

Papa 8's deliberate remark just now makes my position a little awkward.

For a moment, I make up my mind.

It's not at home. Here's speaking by strength! Now is not the time for me to be modest. Besides, I have just come here. If I don't show any strength now, I'm afraid I'll be looked down upon in the future.

I think about it and not knowing what the reason is, I turn around and smile at Papa 8. Instead of wearing the glove, I throw it aside.

When Master taught me Kung Fu, he hesitated for a long time before he taught me a "heavy hand". The so-called heavy hand that is the killing blow! It's very lethal, but it's also very powerful.

I didn't know how much I have learned from my Master's kungfu. But I know I am still far behind. I remember Master said to me that he thought my temper was too impulsive, young and impatient, so he did not plan to teach me many killing blows. Because he was afraid if I had learnd, in case I might fight with someone, I can't help but use the heavy hand, which will cause trouble! If I hit someone else with any heavy hand, they would be dead or seriously injured at least!

So in the end, Master only taught me one heavy hand. This tactic was taught for my hard works for years. And he also felt that I was his little apprentice, and if he didn't even teach me any killing blow, he would be a little sorry.

In fact, I know that the one master taught me is relatively "soft", my several senior apprentices, really learned some very powerful killing tricks.

In the public's eyes, I go to the sandbag, slowly holding the swaying sandbag, so that it won't move. Then I step back, slightly open my legs, lower my waist, gently move my waist, and then exhaling and raising my voice!

H!

I scream and twist my waist and punch. Then just hear a m.u.f.fled bang, and under the whisper of the crowd, the sandbags are hit with a sudden shock!

When boxing is practiced to a high level, it is not the strength of the arm, but the strength of the waist and legs. All the strength of the whole body goes out with a punch!

The swaying range of the sandbag is not much, not even one third of that young man's just now. But when I punch out, I immediately shrink back and slowly step back in place. And under the public's attention, a thick layer of leather on the outside of that sandbag was. .h.i.t by my fist, which has completely exploded. It's bursting into a big mouth, and the sands inside are flowing out all over the place very soon!