Chapter 22: Mimetic Martial Arts

Chapter 22 Mimetic Martial Arts

The Jie District was the smallest administrative division in Chengdu Prefecture, and simultaneously the most densely populated slum.

To resolve the unavoidable conflict between the maximum and the minimum, local residents had no choice but to raise the threshold of population density through illegal extensions.

Therefore, the architecture of the entire Jie District presented a state of shoulder-to-shoulder crowding; there was scarcely a gap between buildings.

Looking up from the street, the airtight forest of steel compressed the firmament into a mere sliver.

Dense, illegal Huangliang network receivers and bewitching signboards written in standard script protruded from the mid-sections of the towers, like lateral branches growing from the trunk of a giant tree.

Even in such a cramped, narrow environment, the residents of Jiulong Street still expressed their unyielding attitude in their own way.

That was to forcibly build another layer of gray-walled, green-tiled hard-mountain roofs atop the high-rises.

This was a romance unique to the Ming people.

Though merely the crudest single-eave style, whether the varied crouching beasts or the drooping beasts shaped like dragon heads at the ridges, all were present and accounted for.

Li Jun grasped the dragon mouth of a drooping beast and gave a light swing; his figure leapt onto the roof ridge like a gibbon, quietly watching the standoff ten-odd meters away.

The men of the Shudao Logistics Group had successfully intercepted the bandits.

As for who was the victim and who the bandit, Li Jun didn't need to observe closely at all; he distinguished them at a glance.

This wasn't because his insight was particularly keen, but because the "scent" on those three Shudao Logistics men was simply too pungent.

Fair, clean skin, meticulous hairstyles, clothes bearing no insignia or brand logos, yet the material was clearly exquisite.

Such looks and dress, plus that sense of superiority radiating from their bones, screamed "outsider" inside and out.

Compared to them, the bandit surrounded in the middle actually looked more like a Jie District local.

Atop his head sat a ferocious ghost mask with a green face and fangs; a wide gray robe concealed his figure, his stature not particularly tall.

His only distinctive feature was his exceptionally thick arms, and two heavy, dark metal bracelets on his wrists, looking just like the thickened, heavy shackles from a prison.

What manner of exotic weapon was this, or some special mechanical construct?

Li Jun was still guessing when his enhanced hearing captured the dialogue drifting through the air.

"Which road do you walk? You dare rob even the Bagong Society's goods?!"

"Let's not pretend we're all reasonable people here. Since I dared come here to rob, I've naturally investigated your background."

The ghost-masked bandit shrugged, adopting a lecturing tone: "Frankly, Gu Yong using the Bagong Society's identity to smuggle contraband for Shudao Logistics plays it far too rough."

"The words 'Clear Water Bagong' are practically pasted on his forehead, yet he still pretends to be a scholar—petty thieves and scoundrels."

The voice from beneath the mask was exceedingly strange, alternating between coarse and shrill, laced with intense electromagnetic noise, making the speaker's gender and age indistinguishable.

Only the mocking tone came through clearly.

The faces of the three Shudao Logistics men darkened almost simultaneously.

The man who had just spoken was presumably the leader; he said in a deep voice: "Since you know who the true owner of the goods is, don't seek death. Hand it over, and I'll let you walk."

"Yeah, right."

The ghost-masked bandit tilted his head, asking in an exaggerated tone: "I just killed two of your comrades, and you'll just let me go like that?"

"I am Gu Ding, the security supervisor for this transaction. As long as you hand over the goods, I guarantee no one will stop you. And I promise, we won't investigate your identity afterward."

"Hahahaha, so I should thank you then?"

The ghost-masked bandit suddenly threw back his head and laughed—a childish treble, a hoarse male bass, a high female alto blended into a hair-raising, bizarre laughter.

"What about all those people you blew up?"

The ghost-masked bandit lowered his eyes, his black pupils revealing an indescribable anger.

Li Jun, listening intently from afar, frowned tightly. "That explosion earlier was Shudao Logistics' doing?"

A flash of gloom passed through Gu Ding's eyes. "We will compensate them. It's none of your business."

The ghost-masked bandit shook his head, enunciating each word: "Worthy of a Confucian aristocratic clan—truly, fucking benevolent and magnanimous!"

A fierce light swirled in Gu Ding's eyes. "Watch your mouth. I advise you not to refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit!"

"Fuck your toast and forfeit!"

"Ignorant of what's good for you. Kill him!"

Killing intent ignited on both sides simultaneously! Accurately speaking, they had never let it go!

The ghost-masked bandit erupted with speed clearly a notch faster than the three men. Before Gu Ding's words fell, he had already flashed into their midst.

He took a step mid-sprint and launched himself, a heavy, powerful whip kick lashing straight at Gu Ding.

At this moment, Gu Ding's hand had already clamped onto the gun grip at his waist; he was confident he could pull the trigger the instant the kick landed.

At such close range, the ghost-masked bandit had absolutely no chance to dodge.

The price, however, was that his own neck would have to tank that whip kick.

How to choose?

There was no choice at all!

Porcelain cannot clash with earthenware.

At the critical juncture, Gu Ding decisively abandoned the idea of mutual destruction, released the gun grip, and crossed his arms to block the incoming whip kick.

*Thud!*

The ghost-masked bandit seemed to have anticipated this result. After sending Gu Ding flying, he borrowed the force to twist his body, his figure not pausing for an instant as he spun once between the other two guards.

*Tear! Tear!*

Following two sharp sounds like rending silk, distinct lines of blood simultaneously appeared on the throats of the two guards.

The light in their pupils rapidly scattered; only the fingers curled around triggers remained steadfast in executing the brain's final command.

*Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!*

The White Horse Type-3 Tactical Assault Pistols erupted with rapid, piercing muzzle flashes; the dense hail of bullets all shot toward the darkening firmament, then were swallowed without a trace.

Gu Ding, who had just halted his retreat in the distance, nearly split his eyes with rage. He never expected a single choice of his would cost two subordinates their lives in an instant.

"Dogs raised by aristocratic clans are indeed the same as their masters—craven and death-fearing!"

The ghost-masked bandit sneered, still denying the man a chance to draw. His figure shot forth like lightning, instantly closing on Gu Ding, fists descending like a violent downpour.

The dull thuds of colliding knuckles merged into a single stream, rapid as drumbeats to the extreme, instantly becoming a tangled melee.

The two fought fiercely, but in the eyes of Li Jun, who had just advanced to Martial Nine, their skill couldn't even match the Langren he had slain—hardly intense.

The ghost-masked bandit's fist trajectory revealed a Grade Nine boxing art: Taizu Long Fist.

As Shudao Transport Group's security supervisor, Gu Ding's style was even cruder; between fists and feet there wasn't a trace of martial arts, relying entirely on physical constitution and experience to duel.

Neither were martial dao adherents, yet they traded blows evenly in a grapple.

This was rather absurd.

Gu Ding had been closed in on before he could draw—understandable.

But in Li Jun's view, the ghost-masked bandit seemed to be doing this on purpose.

“Hide his own Sequence root? That makes no sense. At a time like this, why not run for it? The moment Shu Dao Logistics security arrives, it’s a dead end.”

“And that Grand Ancestor Long Fist of his… why does it look so… wrong?”

The Ghost-Faced Bandit’s fist trajectories seemed fierce on the surface, but under scrutiny, they exuded a distinct strangeness, an awkwardness.

Li Jun pondered for a moment before a single word surfaced, perfectly capturing the sensation—stiff.

Every strike thrown, every force issued or dissolved, every minute detail was rigidly by the book, like a robot executing a pre-set martial arts routine.

Not a shred of martial spirit to be found.

Gu Ding, too, noticed the anomaly in the bandit’s technique at this moment, crying out in shock: “Mimicry Martial Arts?”