Chapter 352: Long Gong

Following the winding stone steps upward, the road ended at a grand, imposing vermilion-gated mansion.

Someone blew a whistle and called out, "The Long Gong has arrived," and the crowd burst into friendly laughter.

"Please don't say things like 'Long Gong.'"

Master Tu looked helpless; because the Tu family's rise to wealth was so legendary, the folk always said that their ancestor had been shipwrecked, everyone else drowned, but he alone was saved by the Long Wang for his lifelong virtue, taken to the Long Gong, treated with great honor, and made a prince consort.

But his parents still lived on land, and to fulfill his filial duty, he endured the pain of parting from his wife, returning to shore with the token of their love—the Dragon Pearl. Since then, every voyage brought back vast catches of fish, jewels, and gold.

Precisely because of these rumors, bandits and thieves had long come in small sampans to approach the island, trying to steal the Dragon Pearl and other treasures from the "Long Wang's Prince Consort's" home, causing the Tu family endless trouble, forcing them to build higher courtyard walls.

Night fell, the vermilion gate opened, and inside, hundreds of servants bustled about hanging lanterns and decorations in preparation for tomorrow's birthday banquet.

Master Tu led everyone across the threshold, through two courtyards and covered walkways, to the western wing. Eight tables of fragrant dishes were already laid out.

"Please enjoy your meal here first. Guest rooms are ready—rest tonight, and the banquet will officially begin at the first hour of the morning."

Master Tu took his leave first; the martial artists, having been tossed on the sea and hungry for half a day, needed no invitation—they sat down and devoured the food.

Li Cheng and Huiyu also found seats. One of the players' cardinal rules: never eat food of unknown origin. Li Cheng merely pretended to eat, storing everything in his 3D storage.

Huiyu, with her steel stomach, had no such scruples—she grabbed her chopsticks and dug in. Especially the plate of snow-white fish sashimi at the center of the table, delicate and sweet, made her nod repeatedly.

"Young Master Su, you've arrived too?"

The wing room door opened, and a young man in blue robes cheerfully addressed Su Konghu.

Guests who had arrived earlier on Chi Hai Island had already finished eating and, hearing the commotion, came over to greet and flatter.

The instinct to flatter one another, etched into the genes of social animals, did not change with martial cultivation.

Soon, the room was filled with mutual puffery.

"It's been half a year—Brother Zhao, your Turtle and Crocodile Breathing Method has grown even deeper."

"Nonsense, Brother Miao, your Mighty Ox Demon Art has progressed astonishingly—aren't you nearly at the eighth level?"

Huiyu, gnawing on a chicken leg, suddenly thought of something and whispered to Li Cheng, "There are so many martial artists on this island—aren't each of them like a martial scripture?"

Li Cheng nodded. "Probably."

"Munch munch, why don't we use soft and hard methods, munch munch, to get our hands on some scriptures?"

Huiyu, still chewing the chicken leg, looked eager. "Last scenario world was all six-base organisms—their cultivation methods were useless to Earth humans. Surely this Wu Xia world has no such restrictions?"

"You've got a quick mind."

Li Cheng patted Huiyu's small head with approval; the latter grinned foolishly.

Compared to mainstream power systems—like the Force, which demands extreme talent, superpowers requiring massive brainpower, or inhuman bloodlines prone to uncontrollable rampages—

martial arts have a barrier so low it's practically nonexistent.

A scripture, a printed poster of the twelve meridians from a downstairs shop, plus a medicinal bath kit from Louchai Online,

and you'd definitely have something after half a year or a year.

Moreover, martial arts are highly compatible: in mid-to-late stages, they can synergize with psychic abilities and body modifications, or even be paired with powered armor to fully leverage a martial artist's neural reflexes and physical advantages.

According to Li Cheng, the Special Affairs Bureau loved collecting martial scriptures from countless worlds—the Nine Yang Divine Art and the Lone Sword Nine Swords were just basic models; above them were Hong Kong comics' Primordial Heaven and Earth Art and the Three-Part Unification Qi.

Even the chauffeurs for Mobile Task Forces could perform the entire Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms, complete with Qiao Feng–style sound systems.

The current world's early-stage primordial experts had physical strength comparable to Captain America; their cultivation methods could easily be salvaged for hundreds of game coins.

"Don't rush about scriptures—right now, we need to figure out what on this island could threaten us."

Li Cheng waved his hand. The mission required surviving one and a half days on the island, and these martial artists didn't look like they could fly.

Even if they dared to surround and kill Li Cheng, he could ascend a thousand meters into the sky using the hot air balloon stored in his warehouse, ensuring his safety.

Unless the threat didn't come from humans.

"Hm?"

Li Cheng caught a scent, raised his eyebrows, and looked toward the door.

Several other keen-sensed primordial martial artists also sensed the anomaly and turned their heads toward the courtyard entrance.

A faint scent of blood drifted on the wind. A man in brocade robes, around fifty, walked out of the woods, expression blank, stopping in the middle of the courtyard.

He was drenched in blood, his arms and hands covered in fine, blade-cut wounds—especially on both sides of his scalp, where the skin had been sliced open. "Isn't that Tu Qiaohua of the Tu family's second branch?"

Someone at the table hesitated. "What happened to him?"

"Don't eat."

Tu Qiaohua spun around, staring fiercely at the diners, eyes terrifying, voice shrill: "Don't eat!"

Huiyu, holding a slice of sashimi between her chopsticks, hesitated, then placed it back in her bowl.

"."

Zhang Fuluang, the young Daoist priest from Longhu Mountain, and Kuyu the monk from Daxiangguo Temple silently rose, set down their chopsticks, and dashed into the courtyard, reaching Tu Qiaohua's side to quickly examine him.

The Tu family had five branches; Tu Qiaohua belonged to the fourth generation of the second branch. He had long operated in the Central Plains, managing the Tu family's business affairs. He had close ties with Buddhist and Daoist figures, maintaining connections with Longhu Mountain and Daxiangguo Temple, and had learned a little martial arts.

Until a few years ago, when his health deteriorated—he publicly claimed he would return to his seaside hometown to live long-term, transferring all social ties to his son, Tu Qiaoru.

"Stop the bleeding first."

!

Zhang Fuluang tapped several points on Tu Qiaohua's shoulders, using pressure points to halt the bleeding, then examined the wounds: "The cuts are dense, none hit vital areas. From their direction, they look like… he cut himself."

"Indeed, it was Tu Ju Shi who did this to himself."

Kuyu pulled a small bloodstained blade fragment from Tu Qiaohua's right palm. His brow furrowed, but his hands moved swiftly—expertly retrieving a water bag, wound ointment, and white cloth to clean the wounds, apply medicine, and bandage them.

"Second Master? Second Master?"

The servants' frantic cries grew louder as they rushed toward the courtyard, a group carrying lanterns, stumbling in—and upon seeing Tu Qiaohua, they sighed in relief.

"Father, what are you doing here?"

The handsome middle-aged man leading them was Tu Qiaoru, fifth generation of the second branch. Seeing his father covered in wounds, his eyes flickered with pain, struggle, and relief.

"Young Master Qiaoru,"

Zhang Fuluan cupped his hands in greeting. He didn't know Ku Yu, but he was quite familiar with Tu Qiaoru. "Your father is—"

"Delirium." Tu Qiaoru forced himself to rally, waved for a servant to take the golden wound salve from Ku Yu's hands, and carefully applied the medicine to his father.

Beside the dining table, the Master of the Green Wave Monastery sighed and said in a drawn-out voice, "Among the Tu clan descendants, aside from that second-generation ninety-year-old Old Madam Tu, every single generation, once they reach around forty-five, falls prey to some illness or other.

Chest impediment, tuberculosis, stroke, delirium—it's very hard for them to live past their fifties or sixties. Even when they marry into families from different places, it's still the same.

Which goes to show that the marketplace rumors about the Tu clan's Long Gong are nothing but the jealous slander of ignorant folk envious of the wealthy."

Li Cheng rubbed his chin. A typical hereditary disease—say, coronary heart disease, juvenile diabetes, hemophilia, Huntington's chorea—only one kind gets passed down in a given family.

But the Tu family, good grief—heart disease, stroke, mental illness, all at once? Are they out here doing a full Pokédex collection? Is life just fifty years of suffering for them or what?

"Second Uncle, how come you can't even cure Second Great-Uncle?"

A slightly greasy voice rang out from the other side of the courtyard. A young man in his twenties, dressed in blue, walked over and said to Tu Qiaoru in a thoroughly punchable tone, "Don't go running out of the room again like last time and frightening Great-Great-Grandmother."

"This is Tu Dongcong, sixth generation of the third branch."

The Green Wave Monastery Master whispered, "He manages the business over in the South Seas. Decent person, just has a very annoying mouth."

"Many thanks for the reminder, worthy nephew."

Tu Qiaoru, mocked by his nephew in front of acquaintances, shifted slightly in expression. His tone stiffened, and he waved for the servants to help his father down and escort him back to his room for proper care.

But the moment a servant's hand touched Tu Qiaohua, the old man—his head and face wrapped entirely in bandages—gave a violent shudder, flung his arm out wildly, and sent the servant flying. Bang—he slammed into the courtyard wall.

Then he flew into a mad frenzy, howling, "Ahhhhh!"

The surrounding servants scrambled to grab Tu Qiaohua's arms and legs, but they could barely hold him down; instead, he ended up dragging them along.

Ku Yu and Zhang Fuluan, who knew martial arts, were blocked outside the crowd. They wanted to help but couldn't push their way in, and could only watch helplessly as Tu Qiaohua strode across the courtyard toward Tu Dongcong, whose face had gone pale.

All of this happened in just a few short seconds. Before anyone could react, the frenzied Tu Qiaohua slammed a palm toward Tu Dongcong's brow.

At the critical moment, two figures in sunglasses darted out from the bamboo grove. The older man grabbed Tu Dongcong by the back of his collar and yanked him violently away from where he stood.

The young woman, meanwhile, pinched three silver needles between her fingers and drove them into the neck of the rampaging Tu Qiaohua, freezing him in place.

"Holy—Yan Shuangying!"

(End of chapter)