“He took my 200,000 and now he’s ghosting me?!”
He paced restlessly around the bathtub.
It had been a full twelve hours since he’d given the order the night before.
Normally, with Old Mo’s efficiency, he should have received photos of Su Yu’s broken legs by dawn today.
But now.
Nothing.
No word at all.
What the hell was going on?
Was he killed or not?
A faint unease began to stir in Zhao Ze’s heart.
The college entrance exam was just around the corner.
If that ungrateful bottom-feeder Su Yu actually made it into the exam hall unscathed, where would Zhao Ze’s face be?
He’d made threats that Su Yu would be lying in a hospital bed for half a month!
“Young Master, please don’t worry.”
A middle-aged man with a sharp look and a thin mustache stepped forward quickly, offering a bathrobe.
This was Zhao Ze’s trusted butler, also the deputy director of the Zhao Family Martial Arts School.
“In my opinion, it’s already done,” the butler said confidently as he helped Zhao Ze into the robe.
“Think about it—what kind of loser is this Su Yu anyway?”
“His blood energy stat is 0.8!”
“A waste like that, even against a formal martial artist like Old Mo, is nothing. One of my rookie apprentices could snap him like a twig with one hand.”
The butler’s face twisted into a sneer.
“How could he fight back?”
“With his head?”
Zhao Ze tightened the robe’s belt, but his brow remained furrowed.
“Then why isn’t Old Mo answering his phone?”
“What if something went wrong?”
He walked over to a leather sofa and sat down, picking up a glass of red wine but too agitated to take a sip.
“What if Old Mo messed up?”
“What if that kid called the police?”
“Impossible!” The butler cut him off firmly.
“Absolutely impossible!”
“Young Master, you’re overthinking it.”
The butler leaned slightly as he approached the sofa, his tone utterly certain.
“Old Mo is a martial artist with over 100 blood energy points!”
“Going after a civilian with 0.8 is like rolling a tank over an ant.”
“Even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t fail.”
“And even if, by some miracle, something went wrong, Old Mo would have sent you a message for help immediately.”
“The fact that there’s no word at all leaves only one possibility.”
The butler lowered his voice, a cruel glint flashing in his eyes.
“Old Mo probably hit too hard.”
“And accidentally killed the kid.”
Zhao Ze’s hand, holding the wine glass, froze mid-motion.
Killed?
“The laws of Great Xia are strict,” the butler continued calmly, analyzing step by step. “Killing an exam candidate during the college entrance exam period would bring down the city defense bureau—a serious crime.”
“Old Mo is probably afraid of trouble, so he took his men and fled overnight to deal with Su Yu’s body.”
“Disposing of evidence takes time, and he can’t leave his phone on to reveal his location.”
“Once he’s cleaned up the mess, he’ll contact you.”
Hearing this analysis, Zhao Ze’s tight brow finally relaxed.
Right.
How could a 0.8 loser survive against a martial artist?
Old Mo, that brute, must have lost control of his strength and killed the kid with one blow!
He was probably out in some remote wilderness right now, digging a grave.
“Makes sense.”
Zhao Ze let out a long, relieved sigh and downed the wine in one gulp.
The darkness in his heart lifted, replaced by his usual lofty confidence and arrogance.
“Dead is fine too.”
Zhao Ze sneered and tossed the empty glass onto the expensive carpet.
“You toast is refused, and you take the punishment with your life.”
“That’s the tragedy of the lower class—they never know their place.”
Zhao Ze stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window.
He looked down at the bustling city of Jiangcheng below the mountain.
Sunlight fell on his face, illuminating his unbridled pride.
“Alright, forget about that dead man.”
Zhao Ze turned around, spreading his arms as the butler and bodyguards stepped forward to help him into his custom martial arts uniform.
“Tell the kitchen to stew that newly delivered first-tier saber-toothed tiger meat.”
“I need to adjust my blood energy to peak condition.”
Zhao Ze’s eyes sparkled with limitless ambition for the future.
“I’ll just prepare for the exam calmly.”
“In two days, at the arena—”
“I, Zhao Ze, will shine with brilliance!”
Two days later.
Morning.
Sunlight pierced through the haze over the old city district, casting its glow on the cramped streets.
Su Yu stood in front of the cracked mirror in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face.
Water droplets slid down his sharply defined cheeks.
The reflection in the mirror showed eyes that were calm, deep as a stagnant pool.
Three days had passed in a flash.
In those three days, he hadn’t touched the system to spend money again.
He hadn’t gone out to test his terrifying martial master strength either.
He had simply stayed in his rented room, like the most ordinary high school senior, flipping through review materials from beginning to end.
His photographic memory allowed him to etch every piece of knowledge into his mind.
The rest of his time was spent on one thing.
Adapting.
Adapting to the Breathing Concealment Technique, which he had pushed to its utmost limits.
Now, his blood energy lock was perfectly sealed.
His martial master-level blood energy of 1,000 points was firmly suppressed deep in his bone marrow.
All that showed on the surface was a modest 9.8.
Su Yu casually grabbed a towel and dried his face.
He changed into a clean, faded short-sleeved shirt and loose athletic pants.
Clean.
Simple.
He didn’t bring anything extra—not even a backpack.
He pushed open the door.
He went downstairs.
Today was the day of the martial arts college entrance exam.
The entire city of Jiangcheng seemed to awaken and plunge into a frenzy of fervor.
Red banners lined both sides of the street.
“Martial arts thrive, humanity endures!”
“May Jiangcheng students achieve martial glory!”
The normally congested roads were under full traffic control.
Every fifty meters stood a fully armed city defense soldier, maintaining order.
The martial arts college entrance exam was the most sacred, inviolable law of Great Xia.
Anyone daring to cause trouble on this day would be executed on the spot without mercy.
Su Yu kept his hands in his pockets, walking unhurriedly along the sidewalk toward the exam location.
Jiangcheng’s No. 1 Martial Arts High School.
This was the city’s largest exam venue and the best-equipped testing ground.
By the time Su Yu reached the outer area, it was already packed with a sea of people.
Parents, examinees, reporters—crowding the wide square to the brim.
The air was thick with a mix of tension, excitement, and anxiety.
Some were taking deep, frantic breaths on the spot.
Others were gulping down expensive blood energy supplements under their parents’ instructions.
A few were pale with nerves, their legs trembling uncontrollably.
Su Yu stood at the edge of the crowd, quietly watching the scene.
No ripples stirred in his heart.
He felt like an outsider, an observer detached from the world.
“Su Yu!”
A clear voice suddenly cut through the noise.
Su Yu turned his head slightly.
Not far away, beside a black armored off-road vehicle, Lin Xiaoxiao was waving at him enthusiastically.
She was wearing a form-fitting black martial arts uniform today that accentuated her tall, slender figure to perfection.
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
world slacker. But a genius female disciple just had to get clingy, insisting that he take her as a disciple. Not only that, she was always making advances on him, thoroughly disrupting his peaceful slacker life...
iemie, male, Race: Moon. Hobby: Collecting anomalies. At first, he thought he possessed two systems: the Crimson Rainbow Moon and the Clear Cold Frost Moon. One day, he discovered that he himself could also become a system for others, holding the chessboard of fate. The Eighth Epoch, also known as the Eternal Moon Epoch. Humans, witches, elves, bloodline descendants, specters, demons, and spirits together compose a new history. Walking the path on behalf of the moon, before he knew it, Chen Miemie's footsteps were followed by all manner of strange and wondrous anomalies. As time passed, many titles circulated about him—The King in Yellow, Lord of Anomalies, Heart of the Eternal Moon, and more. "Me? I'm just a traveler who enjoys collecting interesting creatures," Chen Miemie said.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
