Chapter 130: Bold, Precise

The man’s eyes flickered, then he couldn’t help but smile.

“Good, good—after all, he’s an old ghost.”

Li Guangzong and his crew are one of Ghost Market’s better suppliers.

Wang Bo, as head of the procurement department, personally led the team to receive the goods and, as per protocol, brought the top-tier detection equipment.

This was the most advanced portable scanner from the Americas, a masterpiece of corporate giants—even the American military hadn’t yet secured a deal or deployed it.

Only because Ghost Market maintained close overseas trade did they acquire this set.

The device’s greatest value lay in its ability to roughly detect signs of sorcery.

And its resistance to spiritual interference far surpassed that of ordinary electronic devices.

Though to avoid triggering the instincts of powerful cultivators, no lethal components could be installed.

But for remote reconnaissance, it was utterly reliable.

Especially here, in a tech park, a robotics competition arena.

“Boss, since this deal has problems, why not just pull out? Transportation’s been blocked lately anyway—many goods can’t even reach overseas.”

“Too many cursed artifacts gathered together carry risk. This deal isn’t worth overthinking.”

The subordinate had barely voiced his opinion when he met the boss’s dark, heavy gaze—and suddenly felt a dry throat, his heartbeat erratic.

“We may have originally worried about transportation and storage issues, but now all board members demand more, as much as possible.”

Wang Bo tugged at his sweater collar, as if his neck felt stifled; his pupils trembled faintly, revealing intense emotion.

“If Jindao Wuxiao so much as shows its face, we abandon the deal? What kind of response is that?”

“Fleeing at the mere rumor? Running at the first sign?”

Wang Bo smiled. “No— they haven’t even shown their faces yet.”

The subordinate’s temper flared at that; he instinctively licked his dry lips: “Then let’s find a way to eliminate them?”

“Exactly!”

Wang Bo chuckled in agreement, then his expression turned strange—he scratched the back of his neck and glanced again at the screen.

“No, no—this doesn’t make sense!”

“How could we possibly eliminate Feng Jianhua and Yuan Chongxiao?”

Wang Bo fell into thought and ordered, “First, dig up detailed files on Jindao Wuxiao.”

As he reviewed the data pulled up by his subordinate, Wang Bo smiled in satisfaction.

The snow grew heavier today; the ground, just shoveled, was already blanketed in white.

The tech park’s staff, who had earlier deliberately sought icy patches to test robot mobility, now hurried indoors, seeking shelter in exhibition halls and entering the competition grounds.

Snowflakes drifted, piling against the glass doors.

Inside Jindao Wuxiao, on the frozen river, the snow accumulated thicker and thicker.

Downy snowflakes were blown slantwise by the wind.

The little stone lions on the railings had half their bodies buried in snow; the other half, their paws, remained exposed.

The gate across the bridge remained open.

Snowflakes blown inside melted instantly.

Near the entrance, a large puddle had formed—but had not yet spread to the room’s center.

Chu Tianshu sat cross-legged, his hair falling over his shoulders, clad only in a black long-sleeved tunic, gold rose vines embroidered across chest and back.

The Sanqi Divine Sword was tightly bound at his waist; his black trousers were equally thin.

His body heat melted the snow—but not the wind outside.

The canvases hanging on the walls still swayed gently.

When he gazed into the mirror, it showed not only the candle flame forming the character “kill,” but also those swaying paintings.

Thickened mental force, like transparent flame, seeped from his waist-bound sword into every bone, swelling and receding; his hands pressed hard against his knees, every tendon and sinew straining.

The faint drumbeat that should have accompanied Chu Tianshu’s training grew deeper, heavier.

The combined circulation of condensed mental force and martial qi was like burying fourteen drumheads beneath thick, viscous mud.

Though the drumheads trembled constantly, no sound reached the outside.

Only when the golden sand beneath the water, stirred by the drumbeats, rose in increasing volume and breached the mud—

Would the hidden heart-drum reveal itself in brilliant new glory.

“The cervical vertebrae supporting the head…”

Chu Tianshu slightly arched his shoulders; muscles swelled inward.

Like two small hills spreading and joining, they rose into a larger mound in between.

The contours of his muscles emerged, flowing smoothly from neck to head.

Chu Tianshu’s long hair lifted slightly, each strand curling like tiny snakes.

The condensed mental force poured toward his shoulders and neck.

His shoulders, filled with this force, stretched outward; his skin tightened further; his arms pressed on his knees shifted slightly, elbows flaring out.

Yet, the parts of his wrists extending beyond his sleeves slowly grew longer.

The parts of his ankles beyond his trousers also lengthened; the veins on his ankles grew more uniformly dark.

Huhhh!!

Chu Tianshu exhaled a long white stream of breath.

The candle flames before the mirror, previously flickering erratically, suddenly all surged toward the glass.

As if unable to bear the pressure Chu Tianshu generated.

The figure seated in the mirror visibly expanded by a third.

Ink-black hair streamed, thick brows like blades, eyes sharp as knives—he trained with fierce joy, a faint smile revealing his sharp teeth.

To those in the know, the killing aura on the surrounding canvases had once been strikingly obvious.

In the first couple days, whenever the door opened and the wind swept across the bridge, the aura would surge—many students instinctively avoided this place.

But over these past few days, that aura had both depleted and been absorbed by Chu Tianshu.

His own aura merged with the killing aura of the paintings.

Because when he trained, his mind turned inward, the surrounding killing aura likewise retreated.

Qilian Yong had come to watch for a few moments each of these past two days.

Aside from seeing snow and wind cross the bridge, the room alive with drifting hair, candlelight, and canvases—

He no longer felt that sensation of a blade pointed at his brow.

“If I didn’t know he cultivates both body and spirit, and practices fist techniques focused on qi, I’d almost think he was a qigong cultivator.”

Qilian Yong held his umbrella against the snow, paused a moment, and sighed inwardly.

If he were a qigong cultivator, such scenes—snow melting into water, hair fluttering—wouldn’t be strange at all.

He thought of the two files Chu Tianshu had given him: “Gluttonous Fist” and “Thunder in Palm,” and felt a sudden urge to push harder, train more—he turned and headed toward the cafeteria.

Chu Tianshu knew Teacher Qi had come and gone behind him; he paid it no mind.

Maintaining his expanded posture for over twenty minutes, Chu Tianshu finally returned to his normal form.

“Ah!”

Chu Tianshu paused his training; mental force retreated into his belt; a light sheen of sweat formed on his forehead.

He ceased moving his tendons and bones, simply feeling the lingering aura still in the room.

Aura was an abstract concept—somewhat like mental force, yet different.

A steep cliff, precariously poised, about to collapse—its very image carried an aura.

But that cliff certainly didn’t emit any mental force.

A martial artist’s aura resembled this, yet was far more vivid.

Thus, unless a martial artist maintained it with full focus, his aura easily dissipated.

Chu Tianshu sensed the aura’s dissipation, half-closed his eyes, and shifted his opening state from inward to outward.

The Insight Technique proceeds from outside to inside.

Now, he let it radiate outward—naturally attuning to the air’s changes inside and out, less clear than Insight, yet spreading farther and longer.

Faintly, he sensed a figure leaping over the Wuxiao’s wall.

“Oh?”

Chu Tianshu snapped back to awareness, rose, and with a light hop, stood before the south window.

From this angle, no movement could be seen.

He pulled the window open two inches; the southern wind rushed in more clearly, the air currents met, and the nearby candles instantly snuffed out.

Chu Tianshu listened intently.

There really was someone!

Wuxiao students were on break, and it was broad daylight—there was no reason to climb the wall.

After Wang Bo scaled the wall, he held his breath; his first few steps left only faint footprints.

Only when he reached ground marked by others’ footprints did his steps become firm.

The building ahead had excellent sound insulation.

Because the first floor housed meditation chambers for students; according to the distant scan from the smart device, the feed sent to the vehicle’s computer showed:

On the first floor, only one student was now cultivating internal qi.

The second floor held Feng Jianhua’s painting studio and study; the third floor was the principal’s bedroom.

Those who do underground business must adhere to the principle of boldness and caution; if you lack sufficient boldness, you might as well do legitimate business.

But directly challenging seasoned masters is somewhat like courting death.

After checking the records of the Golden Knife Martial School, Wang Bo discovered that several department heads were away from the campus.

The principal and vice-principal are currently at the East Suburb Science Park.

He immediately conceived the idea of striking straight at the school.

Both the principal and vice-principal live on campus; their personal collections must contain valuable items.

Taking their collections would not only be revenge, but also bring tangible gains.

Yet this level of revenge is still too mild.

When the opportunity arises, I should turn all those who have wronged us into the same kind as us.

“Yes, turn them into the same kind, hahaha!”

Wang Bo chuckled inwardly, unaware that his thoughts had anything strange about them.

Yet in an instant, his caution rose again.

“I’ve heard Feng Jianhua’s incense-making skills are exceptional; though not magical arts, they are remarkably effective.”

“I’ll roll in the snow first, combining it with my years of cultivation in the Spirit Turtle Stillness Method; even if there’s fragrance, I can conceal it within the snow, then discard my clothes afterward to avoid pursuit.”

Wang Bo spotted a thick patch of snow to his side, moved with light agility, and rolled through it.

His clothing, especially the black sweater, was instantly coated with ice and snow, covering his face and hair as well.

Strangely, even the snowflakes on his face did not melt from his body heat.

His eyebrows and hair dusted white, making him appear like a ghost emerging from the snow, sprinting upward along the southwest corner of the building.

At the third-floor height, Wang Bo’s figure flickered again, like a gecko scaling a wall, swiftly approaching the third-floor window.

His internal energy seeped through the window frame, and the window opened silently.

Wang Bo leapt into the room, wrapped in the cold wind.

Three large wardrobes in the corner, a large bed, a TV cabinet on the other side, and a bookshelf wall.

The bedroom was spacious and simply furnished.

Wang Bo’s eyes immediately locked onto the three large wardrobes.

The older generation disliked installing separate safes; they often concealed valuables within wardrobes equipped with traps.

He was about to step forward when his nape suddenly twitched—he instinctively spun around.

At that very moment, a figure crouched on the third-floor windowsill.

“Thief?”

Chu Tianshu had barely spoken when Wang Bo launched a ruthless attack.

Not a thief—a bandit.

Good.

(End of Chapter)