Chapter 129

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

For the past few days, Li Guangzong had been dazed and half-conscious, unable to tell when the window outside was bright or dark.

The wind might not reach his ears, but his own breathing remained painfully clear.

He was locked inside a classroom in the experimental building.

Each class at the martial arts school got only one or two lab sessions per week; some classrooms were never used, their desks and chairs thick with dust.

Li Guangzong’s acupoints were sealed; he lay on a platform made of eight pushed-together desks, without a drop of water or grain of rice, starving and exhausted.

But what terrified him most was not hunger or cold—it was the faint, persistent warmth lingering in his bones.

Click.

The classroom door opened again; Yuan Chongxiao walked in and casually placed a large brown teacup full of strong tea on one corner of the platform.

Li Guangzong’s sensitive skin seemed to sense the heat radiating from the teacup; his body hairs whitened slightly, and his eyes stared blankly ahead.

“Why are you always so afraid of me? Did the principal say something bad when he grabbed you? Probably told you I had some other job before.”

Yuan Chongxiao spoke slowly, “Actually, I was just a monk once.”

“Back then, I wasn’t good at interrogation—I was good at making people feel at ease, peaceful, comfortable.”

He placed both hands on Li Guangzong: one on his lower abdomen, the other on his chest.

“You’ve gone astray in your cultivation; your body is clogged with impurities—that’s why the cold poison has sunk into your bones.”

“Others don’t understand—they may ruin your martial arts, but they can’t expel the cold poison. Fortunately, I know the Snow Grain Art inside and out.”

“Over these past few days, as I’ve slowly dissolved your internal energy, I’ve also extracted the cold poison—you should already feel your body improving.”

As Yuan Chongxiao pressed his palms against him, Li Guangzong’s cheeks gradually flushed with color, yet his lips trembled.

Originally, this man had rushed to sell goods at the Ghost Market to buy medicine, sensing the cold poison had grown too deep and wanting to suppress it quickly.

But after being captured, the cold poison became Li Guangzong’s only leverage.

Any interrogation technique reaching a certain level inevitably touched the depth where the cold poison had settled.

That numbness made him sneer, fearless.

Yet Yuan Chongxiao could efficiently dissolve even these decades-old, bone-deep drug impurities and murky cold poison.

Though Li Guangzong couldn’t say whether he’d lain here three or four days, he felt that today, the cold poison would be fully dissolved along with his internal energy.

And then what?

A dead pig doesn’t fear scalding water—what about a live one?

Before these people, he had no chance to kill himself.

I should’ve confessed right away.

Feeling his strength drain away, layer by layer, collapse after collapse, unable to stop it—this was unbearable pain.

I should’ve quit years ago, when the cold poison wasn’t so severe, when I still had spare cash—if I’d invested in a legitimate business, my life would’ve been secure.

Yuan Chongxiao noticed the regret in his expression and spoke softly again.

“Oh, because I was a monk, I’m also good at making people regret.”

“Too bad I’m just a monk, not a master—so everyone I’ve handled? They all regret, but never awaken.”

A bunch of scum who only regret getting caught, never truly repent.

Teaching and pain can’t change them—only death makes them harmless.

Snow was falling again outside the window; the wind grew louder, drowning out the faint sounds inside the classroom.

The hands on Yuan Chongxiao’s watch slowly reached twelve.

He picked up the teacup and walked out of the classroom.

Yuan Zhonglu stood in the corridor in a Baoyuan Shouyi static stance, hands folded before his lower abdomen, facing the snow and wind outside.

Feng Jianhua sat on the corridor’s public bench, arms resting on the armrests, head tilted back against the wall, emitting soft snores.

“Asleep again?”

Yuan Chongxiao glanced at his daughter and said, “The one inside gave us a website and his account password.”

Father and daughter walked down the corridor to the computer room and asked the computer teacher inside, who was gaming, for help.

Feng Jianhua, hearing their voices, gradually woke up, yawned, and walked over to check.

“How’s it going?”

The computer teacher was a delicate woman; she adjusted her glasses and replied, “They’re cautious—all past transaction records have been deleted.”

“Luckily, the vice principal also asked about their usual communication style—I mimicked it; there shouldn’t be any flaws.”

After a while, several messages popped up from the other side.

The computer teacher replied to two.

“Done. They’ve set the location—Guangling East Suburb Science Park. We can propose the time.”

Feng Jianhua said, “Then four in the afternoon.”

Yuan Zhonglu suddenly said, “That science park is huge—can’t they give a more precise location?”

The vice principal said, “They always communicate this way—only a general location. Once the person and goods arrive, the other side will contact them shortly.”

Yuan Zhonglu frowned: “Then they’ll definitely observe secretly—we need someone to impersonate Li Guangzong.”

Feng Jianhua said calmly, “People in the Ghost Market are like that—sometimes brutal and bold, seeming reckless and unbelievable; sometimes extremely cautious.”

Yuan Chongxiao unscrewed the teacup lid and took a sip.

“Disguise? Not difficult.”

This vice principal isn’t just skilled in martial arts.

Feng Jianhua decided: “Alright, we’ll depart soon—two groups, one overt, one covert.”

“We must capture everyone who comes to collect the goods—and anyone hiding nearby watching.”

The martial arts school deployed ten people total, with the principal and vice principal each leading a group.

After changing his appearance, the vice principal led his team in a vehicle, posing as deliverymen.

Feng Jianhua and his group posed as tourists.

But when they arrived at the East Suburb Science Park, they found the situation differed from what they’d expected.

Feng Jianhua, disguised as a middle-aged man, whispered, “Why so many people?”

The science park normally allows visits, but you must buy a ticket.

Inside, several buildings house branch offices of tech companies, displaying their promotional products in the halls.

Large screens continuously played demos of these products, with announcers explaining their prospects.

But few people were interested in such things.

Especially under the cold disaster, tourists should’ve been even fewer.

Yet when they arrived, they found banners everywhere, and crowds of young people, cheerful and excited.

Yuan Zhonglu read the banners’ large characters, then pulled out his phone to check.

“There’s a robot competition final happening here recently?”

“This competition started two years ago, selecting student works from across the southeast.”

“Even with this terrible weather, plenty still came to watch the finals.”

Feng Jianhua shook his head: “With current transportation chaos—flights, trains, highways nearly paralyzed—how did these people even get here? Either they live nearby, or they’re just idle.”

Yuan Zhonglu smiled: “Science strengthens the nation—people caring about tech is a good thing.”

Feng Jianhua thought for a moment, then looked again at the young people enthusiastically debating, and chuckled: “True.”

Just like back then, when people heard a certain artillery unit shot with pinpoint accuracy, or a certain company trained exceptional swordplay—they couldn’t help gathering to watch, learn, even challenge.

But the Ghost Market people deliberately chose this place, making Feng Jianhua’s operation harder.

“Hmph, filthy scum, using these fine young people as cover.”

“But once you’re mixed in, how could you hide from this old hand’s eyes?”

Feng Jianhua muttered curses under his breath, straightened his posture, strolled like a tourist, yet watched all directions, listened to all sounds.

Without a trace of movement, he absorbed every detail of the behavior around him.

As they walked, they didn’t just hear the youths’ excited chatter—they also saw their creations.

Called robots, but few were humanoid.

Some looked like headless, limbless iron dogs; others resembled remote-controlled helicopters.

Some were even toy jeeps.

And worse—some were just fat plastic tubes, slowly wriggling forward on the ground.

Feng Jianhua wasn’t just an old hand—he was also relatively open to new things.

Yuan Zhonglu was young too.

But they were martial arts school men; their impression of robots came mostly from movies.

Sci-fi tech was naturally far ahead of reality; they had little idea how real robots had actually developed.

Seeing these bizarre creations—mere student projects—filled them with wonder.

Feng Jianhua suddenly felt something and turned his head.

He saw only a photographer taking a group photo of several students; due to the angle, he’d accidentally captured Feng Jianhua.

He focused his hearing and heard the photographer muttering in frustration: the shot was off, they’d have to retake it.

Careful observation showed the photographer was perfectly normal.

He focused his hearing and heard that the other side was frustrated—they had shot the take wrong and needed to do it again.

Upon close observation, the photographer seemed perfectly normal.

Feng Jianhua frowned slightly, glancing around but still detecting no suspicious individuals.

Meanwhile, in another corner of the technology park, a room.

Several people were rapidly operating computers.

“The robot spider’s scan results are in—there are indeed a few individuals near the delivery person who are suspicious.”

Someone reported this to the short-haired, rugged man in a black sweater.

“No weapons or firearms were detected, but their facial features appear abnormal.”

The short-haired man rubbed his stubbled chin and stared at the screen.

On the screen appeared 3D models of several human heads, reconstructing their faces based on normal bone structure.

The short-haired man’s mind stirred: “Add white hair and beards to the fake Li Guangzong and all these male faces.”

Several subordinates quickly complied.

“Feng Jianhua?!”

The short-haired man recognized the famed Golden Knife Principal, his expression turning grim: “It’s this old devil in person…”

(End of Chapter)