Old Mo took a deep breath, mobilizing the 110 points of blood energy within him, channeling it all into his right arm.
He intended to shatter both of the kid’s leg bones with a single strike.
And make it a comminuted fracture—the kind that even the best orthopedist in Jiang City couldn’t repair.
Tiptoeing, Old Mo crept closer to the bed step by step.
Three meters.
Two meters.
One meter.
He raised the steel pipe high, aiming it at where the legs lay under the blanket.
Just as he was about to bring it down with all his might—
“How much did Zhao Ze pay you?”
A voice, flat and utterly devoid of emotion, exploded without warning in the dark, cramped room.
It wasn’t loud.
But to Old Mo and his men, it struck like a thunderclap.
The yellow-haired thug and the fat man shuddered in terror, nearly collapsing to the floor.
Old Mo’s pupils contracted sharply. The steel pipe froze mid-swing.
He’s awake?!
How can he be awake?!
I’m a martial artist—my footsteps make no sound at all!
I even minimized the noise of the lock turning!
A useless piece of trash with a blood energy value of 0.8—how could he have sensed my approach?!
But Old Mo was a veteran who’d crawled through blood in the underworld for years.
After a moment of shock, a savage gleam flared in his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter if you’re awake!”
“Since you’re asking for death, I’ll grant it!”
Old Mo stopped concealing himself. A low growl rumbled from his throat as the muscles in his arm bulged.
Whoosh!
The solid steel pipe cut through the air with a piercing whistle. No longer aimed at the legs, it came crashing down directly toward the black silhouette on the bed with lethal force.
If this blow landed, even a skull would shatter instantly.
He intended to kill.
“Brother Mo, don’t!” the fat man behind him gasped in panic.
Injury and murder were completely different under the law.
But Old Mo no longer cared.
He only knew that this kid must not be allowed to cry for help.
However.
Just as the deadly pipe was less than five centimeters from its target’s head—
It stopped.
It was as if it had struck an unshakable mountain of steel.
It could not move forward by even a fraction.
Old Mo froze.
His eyes bulged as he stared ahead, using the faint starlight filtering through the window.
He witnessed the most unbelievable and despairing sight of his life.
The boy who should have been lying in bed was now sitting up.
And that steel pipe, infused with all of Old Mo’s blood energy, capable of crushing granite—
was currently being pinched in midair by the boy.
Using only two fingers.
Just his index and middle finger.
With effortless ease.
“You…”
A warped croak escaped Old Mo’s throat.
He strained with all his might, trying to yank the pipe back.
It wouldn’t budge.
Those two slender, pale fingers held the pipe clamped as tightly as a hydraulic vise.
“That’s all the strength you’ve got?”
Su Yu sat in the darkness, tilting his head slightly.
A glint of undisguised disappointment flickered in his deep eyes.
“And you still take on shady jobs?”
The moment the words fell,
Su Yu’s two fingers, still pinching the pipe, applied a slight force.
Crack!
A sickening sound of metal fracturing!
That steel pipe, as thick as a baby’s arm, was crushed into deep grooves where his fingers pressed, then snapped cleanly in half.
Stumbling backward from the momentum, Old Mo stared at the remaining half in his hand, his mind going blank.
Two fingers… snapped a solid steel pipe?!
This…
This is supposed to be a blood energy value of 0.8?!
Even the deputy chairman of the Jiang City Martial Arts Association—a high-level martial artist with a blood energy of 500—couldn’t do that!
“You… Who the hell are you?!”
Old Mo’s voice finally began to tremble uncontrollably.
Fear—a fear rooted deep in his very soul—consumed all his arrogance and ruthlessness in an instant.
The intel was fake!
That bastard Zhao Ze gave him fake intel!
This wasn’t an ant he could crush at will.
It was a primordial beast disguised in human skin!
“Run!”
Only one thought remained in Old Mo’s mind.
He didn’t even dare throw out a threat. He spun around abruptly, abandoning his two men, and fled madly toward the door.
“Since you’re here,”
Su Yu’s voice remained calm, like Death’s whisper echoing in Old Mo’s ears,
“don’t bother leaving.”
Boom!
Su Yu moved.
He used no martial techniques, nor did he unleash his fearsome martial artist blood energy.
It was pure physical strength.
Springing from the bed, he crossed the two-meter distance in an instant, appearing behind Old Mo like a teleport.
Old Mo felt a chill on his back.
A cataclysmic force, like a tidal wave, slammed into his lower back.
Thud!
Old Mo was launched like a kite with a snapped string, hurtling into the hard wall with a violent crash.
“Pfft—”
A mouthful of blood mixed with crushed organs spewed out.
Old Mo slid down the wall like a pile of mud. Before he could even scream, he fell unconscious.
One-shot kill.
A formal martial artist with a blood energy value of 110 couldn’t even survive a single move against Su Yu.
And Su Yu hadn’t even used a tenth of his full strength.
Silence, dead as a tomb, filled the room.
The yellow-haired thug and the fat man stood frozen.
They stared at their boss, lying on the ground, his life or death unknown, and then at the boy slowly turning around in the darkness.
A warm liquid streamed uncontrollably down their pants.
They pissed themselves.
Scared shitless—literally.
“B-boss…”
The yellow-haired thug’s legs gave way as he dropped to his knees, knocking his head frantically against the floor.
“It wasn’t our fault!”
“It was Zhao Ze! That bastard Zhao Ze sent us!”
“He gave Brother Mo two hundred thousand—just to break your legs…”
“Please, let us off! Treat us like nothing!”
The fat man knelt too, crying rivers of snot and tears.
Su Yu looked down at the two sniveling thugs.
His eyes held neither pity nor anger.
Only a coldness that had seen through the essence of the world.
The strong prey on the weak.
If it weren’t for his system—if he hadn’t broken through to martial artist level—
These two, now begging for mercy, would have been trampling his bones without hesitation, laughing as they spent his blood money on pleasure and indulgence.
That’s reality.
Su Yu said nothing.
He slowly raised his hand.
Two crisp, clean chops hit the thugs on the backs of their necks.
The yellow-haired thug and the fat man rolled their eyes up and collapsed limply.
With the three flies dealt with,
Su Yu turned on the light.
The harsh glare illuminated the room.
He glanced at the three unconscious men on the floor and then at the wall cracked by Old Mo’s impact.
Walking over to Old Mo, he crouched down without ceremony and began searching his pockets.
Soon,
he pulled out a phone and a black, anonymous bank card.
Su Yu picked up Old Mo’s finger and unlocked the phone screen.
He tapped directly into the banking app.
The balance displayed: 253,000 yuan.
Clearly, this was the dirty money Zhao Ze had paid him.
Su Yu’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He had been worrying that the ten thousand yuan he borrowed from loan sharks wasn’t enough, and that the system needed endless amounts of cash.
Now.
Someone had willingly delivered the money to his door.
“Zhao Ze, oh Zhao Ze.”
Su Yu slid the black bank card into his own pocket, his gaze growing terribly deep.
“I’ll take this pre-exam gift of yours.”
“When the practical test comes in three days.”
“I’ll pay you back—principal and interest included.”
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.”
or! A blessing for those who struggle with love, a guidebook for dating novices. Quickly match with your dream goddess! Complete walkthroughs earn rewards, and perfect walkthroughs unlock limited achievements!】 Shen Yi, an ordinary office worker, accidentally downloads a mini-game called Dating Simulator. The mini-game is simple: randomly search for dating targets, simulate dates, and receive rewards upon successful confession. Rewards include but are not limited to money, attributes, and skills. The higher the evaluation, the better the rewards, with perfect ratings unlocking mysterious achievements. Shen Yi plans to use this mysterious mini-game to continuously pursue targets and improve himself, making his life better and better. ...... However, after several successful walkthroughs, Shen Yi suddenly notices something strange - the targets he previously simulated dating seem to be searching for him in real life?
with countless casualties. As a top-tier gamer, Liu Xuan volunteered to join the fight, intending to dominate with his skills, but instead he obtained the hidden class: [Pacifist]. Unable to attack. Unable to use active skills. Fortunately, with each level gained, he acquired a new passive skill. And so, armed with a body full of passives, Liu Xuan slaughtered his way through the battlefield of ten thousand races! [You attacked Liu Xuan] [You gained the debuffs: 'Poison', 'Fear', 'Burning', 'Bleeding', 'Freeze', 'Silence', etc.] [Your attack speed has been reduced by 99%] [Your armor and magic resistance have been reduced by 99%] Warriors of the Ten Thousand Races: How the hell am I supposed to fight this?!
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?!
