As a progressive, well-rounded youth who grew up in an era of peace, the only time Zhang Wei ever had the chance to fire a gun was during university military training, where he shot ten rounds from a Type 95 rifle and five from a Type 54 pistol, achieving good scores.
His instructor at the time thought he was a promising talent, with good martial arts skills, and strongly encouraged him to enlist in the army after graduation.
Zhang Wei had always dreamed of being a soldier since he was a child, so he readily agreed, planning to return to his hometown for a physical examination after completing his studies, but he never expected something like this to happen.
Not only did the security guards here have guns, but looking at the situation on the stairs below, Zhang Wei even doubted if he was still in his own country.
Several rooms simultaneously had sounds of doors opening. Adhering to the life philosophy of “killing one is breaking even, killing two is a profit,” Zhang Wei fired a shot into whichever room made a sound. After a few screams, the corridor fell silent again.
The corridor wasn't long, and he reached the end quickly, finding another staircase. Looking down through the gaps in the stairwell, he saw another large group of security guards in green uniforms, armed with AKs, rushing upwards.
“Damn it,” Zhang Wei cursed, reluctantly turning to run upwards. After running up a few more floors, his vision went black. This stairwell had no windows, and the lights were broken. Although it wasn't pitch black, it was very dim.
Listening to the footsteps getting closer from downstairs, he hardened his heart. “Damn it, I’ll fight you all!” He tore off a section of his sleeve and, using one hand and his mouth, quickly bandaged the wound on his arm.
Fortunately, the bullet that hit Zhang Wei didn't strike him squarely; it grazed his arm, otherwise, he likely would have lost the use of that hand.
He took off his boots, along with his blood-stained clothes, and threw them onto the stairs above. He stood in the corner of the wall, which was covered in tiles. Zhang Wei pressed his two spinal ridges against the wall, his shoulders constantly moving and rubbing. Using this friction, he ascended the corner like a large gecko.
In just a few moves, Zhang Wei touched the ceiling. He braced his hands and feet against the tiles on the two walls, extending his body to maximize contact with the wall surface. With his back and spine exerting force, clamped into the ninety-degree corner, Zhang Wei was stuck to the wall.
“Painting on the wall, gecko swim.”
This is a technique of light body movement from National Arts, requiring skill in the fingers, wrists, spine, and buttocks. It involves coordinating all parts of the body, using the friction of the walls to climb beams, scale houses, pick flowers, and steal scents—ah, I’ve strayed. In short, it’s the ability to climb walls.
Zhang Wei was like a painting, hanging on the wall without any visible support. The stairwell was dim, and an ordinary person wouldn't notice a “Lao Liu” on the wall without paying close attention.
Facts proved that these stupid security guards were indeed ordinary people. A group of about ten, holding AKs, climbed up the stairs, panting, completely oblivious to Zhang Wei above their heads. Not one of them looked up.
These security guards were short and dark, but quite burly, like the Odiabo from Africa. The leader walked to the platform at the staircase corner, took a breath, looked at the bloodstains on the ground, and said to the security guards climbing up behind him:
“Search for him. Orders from above: dead or alive, it doesn’t matter.”
The security guard’s accent was strange, a mix of tones, which immediately infuriated Zhang Wei. “Damn you, I have no grudge against you, and you say ‘dead or alive, it doesn’t matter’? I’ll kill you, you bastard, first.”
“I’ll make you dead or alive, you scum.”
With his back pressed against the wall, plus the combined force of his hands and feet, Zhang Wei leaped down the wall like a leopard, aiming for the bastard’s head and stomping down.
The security guard was completely unaware of the killing star above him. When Zhang Wei’s right leg stomped on his head, with Zhang Wei’s 180-pound weight plus the four or five meters of height, this kick from Zhang Wei was delivered with hatred.
Crack!
The security guard’s head sank, instantly collapsing a section, his entire large head completely crushed into his shoulder cavity.
This security guard had his entire neck stomped away by Zhang Wei’s kick.
This kick seemed simple, but it was anything but easy. One must know that a person’s neck is movable and quite soft. To stomp it into the shoulder cavity requires extremely precise control of one's center of gravity, concentrating force at a single point for an instant burst. It’s impossible without ten or eight years of horse stance training.
It is said that during the Republic of China, at the peak of National Arts, there were Great Boxers who could collapse a person’s entire head into their chest cavity with a single palm strike. Zhang Wei’s kick was not much inferior to theirs.
After all, there are many people who practice Iron Sand Palm, but have you ever heard of anyone practicing Iron Sand Foot?
Zhang Wei killed the leading security guard with one kick, used the momentum to leap, and then heavily stomped on the chest of a security guard below on the stairs.
The security guard Zhang Wei killed was the first to climb up; the others were still on the stairs. When Zhang Wei kicked down, the person who was kicked immediately became a tumbling gourd, dragging five or six companions down the stairs.
After landing, Zhang Wei pushed off the stairs with both feet, his body like a large rat, rushing directly towards the other security guards who were in a chaotic mess on the stairs.
“Rat rolling in hot oil.”
This movement technique was inspired by rats. When a rat is thrown into boiling hot oil, a highly skilled one can touch and leave the hot oil without any harm. So, Great Boxers would repeatedly throw them into the oil, observing their force-generating postures, and created this unique close-quarters combat technique.
There is a very famous actor in Hong Kong, Chen Long, who is very proficient in this movement technique and often performs fighting multiple opponents in movies.
Zhang Wei lunged and reached the nearest security guard. This guard had just been bumped by his companion and was swaying trying to regain his balance. Seeing the gleaming surgical knife in Zhang Wei’s hand, he was terrified, and raised his AK to shoot.
However, at such close range, the scoundrel had only raised his gun halfway when Zhang Wei crashed into him.
He stabbed the security guard in the chest, then used gravity to push him down the stairs. Zhang Wei had just cleared half of the security guards on the stairs with his kick, and the remaining half were likely in a line. This push directly swept all the people behind them down.
The first security guard fell heavily onto the stairs. Zhang Wei, using the momentum of rolling down, rolled over his body. The security guard next to him hadn’t even fallen yet when his throat was slit with a knife.
“Rat rolling in hot oil,” rolling again and again, one knife for one, one for one. By the time Zhang Wei rolled onto the corridor, there was no one left standing on the stairs. Zhang Wei acted ruthlessly; these people all went to meet Yama without even uttering a scream.
At this moment, the few security guards who Zhang Wei had kicked down the stairs earlier had just all landed.
These people were in a tangled mess, still trying to get up. Zhang Wei rolled to the ground, and a person in front of him was halfway up. Without thinking, he stabbed him.
“I’m giving your kil a long vacation.”
