Forty Millenniums of Cultivation

One time, the crowd went wild.

Many of the devout followers of the Fist God pulled out their fists and looked at it with anger.

Others were frightened by the arrogance of mechanics and steamers in broad daylight in front of the statue of the Fist God.

Not far away, a group of tiger-backed bear waists, eyes like bronze bells, the guards whose temples were high, pushed away the crowd and rushed towards the heathen.

The guy turned a blind eye and still screamed the port number dead and alive, throwing grass paper.

Grass paper falls like snowflakes.

Most devout followers fear the scorpion as if it were poisonous as grass paper.

But there are also very few people who have difficulty resisting the temptation of curiosity, sneaking grasping the grass paper, looking at it a few times, hurrying to the side, and stepping on two feet without a trace to prove their innocence.

Gus swallowed the spit and secretly grabbed one.

The grass paper is very rough and it says a few very simple words, nothing more than “the old god is dead, the new god stands”.

But there's also a pattern printed below called "Steam Theology," which is a giant steam engine that drives eight robotic arms, like a steel troll with tentacles.

This pattern is quite beautiful, the lines are thin and staggered, and the ink does not faint even on rough grass paper.

Gus looked at it, and there were identical patterns on the other grass paper.

Fold the two straw sheets together with your toes and the two patterns are exactly the same, with each line matching.

This suggests that the pattern is not drawn.

Instead, it was printed directly in a printing press.

Gus, in Dad's notes, saw something like a printing press, a large mechanical machine with precision.

The pagans actually had the strength to hide a printing press in Ganyuan City, a cognition that stunned Gus' heart.

By then, the guards had embraced the leaflet distributor and crushed it down.

Like a couple of dog bears, crushing a sheep, almost didn't crush the guy.

But this guy really has a few endless spirits, and under the crushing of hundreds of kilos of muscle creases, he still doesn't know how to scream alive.

Just a pointy scream, completely meaningless, like the one whose tongue was cut off, the most vicious curse on the sky.

Gus and Gray looked at each other.

Look at the sky again.

It's daytime.

But that crack in the sky, which can be seen in the town of Red Gold, has become more and more obvious, like a huge smiling mouth, laughing at the powerlessness of the Fist God.

“The world is about to collapse. ”

For no reason, Gus remembered Lu's words.

Whether the world collapses or not, but the mechanical and steam followers, it is true that activities are getting rampant, and the control of the temple of boxing is getting weaker and weaker.

Gus and Gray watched as the leaflet distributors were dragged away by the guards.

There was a winding and intense blood stain on the ground.

A guard came up and checked everyone's ID.

Because machines are rarely used and tools are not enjoyed, the identity of the world of boxing is very rough, nothing more than bamboo pieces engraved with names and hometown.

Gus and Gray have long stolen the passers-by's identification and forged it.

It's their face that's more troublesome. In an extraordinary time, a couple of younger brothers come to Ganyuan City and will definitely attract attention.

In this regard, Lu Light Dust also disguised them, but each breathed a breath on their faces and turned them into two blackish mountaineers, and Gus looked much older than Greg, quite different from the real face.

The guards focused their attention on the leaflet distributor, and it was just routine for the spectators to see if they had any private leaflets on them.

Gus and Grey each carried a big back basket filled with mountain goods, but the steam balls that hid Lu Light Dust, along with Daddy's precious notes, were stuffed in the bellies of the chickens and ducks.

The guard checked and let go.

The two followed the bustling crowd and squeezed into Ganyuan City.

Although Ganyuan City is the northern city, the market is not very prosperous.

In other words, there is no city in the world of boxing gods that can be described as “prosperous.”

Because the world admires hard, simple, iron-blooded and martial life, I'm not interested in the luxurious, luxurious, green lights.

Through the gates of the city and looking out, the most notable iconic building in the whole town of Qianyuan is the palace-like temple of boxing.

The temple is surrounded by hundreds of boxing halls and dojos, with rings and martial arts in front and back.

Practical, challenging, platooning, professor's, tens of thousands of large waist circles, muscularly raised men, exuded blood and sweat, converged in the middle of the air into a red cloud of teeth dancing claws.

Muscles and muscles collide hard and make a "clap clap” sound, is the most sacred music of the Iron Fist Way.

In addition to boxing temples and martial arts halls, there are many strange shapes of guys on the street.

They tend to be ragged and even covered in dirt, but their eyes sparkle, surrounded by a powerful aura, sitting on the side of the road, placing signs in front of them, stating their origins, their boundaries and their skill.

These are stray fighters, traveling through the world of boxing gods, exchanging martial arts friends, exchanging martial arts, growing experiences.

From time to time, people go up to the vagrant boxers to challenge them. Everyone “snap and snap”. Three or two times, they can distinguish between victory and loss. Naturally, they are hit with blue-face swelling, but they are never angry. Instead, they laugh, shoulder to shoulder, as if they really became familiar with each other for many years.

Some weirdos, every step of the way, kneel unmanned on the street, their heads slammed to the ground.

Boom!

His head was fine, the big blue stone on the street, but they hit him through a pit, and the cracks were spreading like a spider web.

Gus has heard that these guys are bitter monks who have made great aspirations in front of the Fist God, purifying their minds and listening to the Fist God's voice by torturing their bodies.

The guy with the head on the ground, about the "iron head work” practiced, walked all the way, crashed all the way, walked 18,000 miles, iron head work is unlikely to succeed.

In the past, Gus used to admire Brother Bitter and even thought that he would one day become a Brother Bitter and move his fists in good faith to turn his destiny around.

Now, seeing the power of the guns and artillery guns, Gus looked at Brother Bitter and just wanted to laugh.

Apart from boxing studios, there are basically only two uses for shops along the street.

One is the restaurant - the boxers are muscular, their appetite is not small, a meal of three or five kilos of beef and three or five kilos of buns are all small dishes, so the restaurant here is more than the boxing hall, and it's quite small.

Secondly, there are shops selling creams and weapons, which are essential for training, swords and bows and other weapons. Although they are used by the masters to protect themselves, it is necessary for the elderly and the infirm women and children.