When the Blade Is Sheathed

Six sworn brothers who grew up in a hutong in Beiping learned martial arts from martial arts masters since childhood, each with their own specialties in swords, guns and sticks. In 1937, the war spread to North China. The young men who used to compete in martial arts in the alleys took up swords and guns overnight. Poison protects people, Yan Fei, the descendant of an escort, drinks blood with two swords, Xu Jiabin, an apprentice in a machine shop, modifies firearms like searching a bag to retrieve objects, Wang Fei, who was born in a juggling class, flies over walls and walls, and Wang Jun, the adopted son of a blacksmith shop, can break open the iron doors of Japanese gun towers with a hammer. They hid their laughter and curses, and weaved a dark web in the occupied areas: Wan Bin pretended to be a businessman to deal with the enemy and puppets, Miao Xiujuan used a drug store to deliver information, Yan Fei specialized in beheading traitors, Xu Jiabin changed his bicycle into an explosive launcher, Wang Fei used juggling tricks to send secret messages, and Wang Jun forged not only weapons in the iron furnace, but also the blood and bones of six families. From Peking to Shanghai, from teahouse secret codes to train shootouts, their kung fu was not a showmanship, but a sharp blade used to split the darkness. It was not until the smoke of eight years of war had cleared that the bloody weapons were sheathed and the first crabapple was planted on the ruins.