Chapter 356: The Thief Saint

The silence was as thick as asphalt; Brother Sikong's eyes gradually grew cold, and in the instant the moonlight beyond the skylight was swallowed by dark clouds and the treasure vault plunged into utter darkness,

he suddenly kicked off the floor with his toes, flipped backward, stamped twice against the wall, used the momentum to leap upward, gripped the ceiling beam like a monkey with his left hand, and snatched the small cloth pouch from his waist, hurling it sharply.

Brother Sikong did not know the identity of the black-clad man before him, but from the man's long, steady breath, he sensed profound internal martial cultivation. If it came to a one-on-one fight, his own lack of weapon expertise made him no match.

The reality proved exactly as he feared,

in the pitch-black darkness, Zhang Fuluang relied solely on sound direction and air currents to pinpoint Brother Sikong's position, his left hand steadying a shelf,

his right hand drawing a short sword and slashing swiftly toward Brother Sikong, who still had his legs tucked up as he clung to the beam.

Pah.

At the critical moment, the cloth pouch Brother Sikong had thrown open as its cord snapped, releasing a cloud of white lime that rained down over Zhang Fuluang's head and face.

Ugh—throwing lime in a fight was undignified for the Imperial Guard, but Brother Sikong had been taught this since childhood.

These orphans from the border garrisons had known the coldness of the world since youth; Emperor Yong'an brought them to Jingcheng, provided food, clothing, shelter, and sent instructors to teach them reading, arithmetic (for future accounting and tax collection), and martial arts manuals.

Brother Sikong's training came from a martial art left behind a century ago by the Thief Saint—specializing in lightness skill, lock-picking, acupoint striking, with rudimentary fist techniques, all centered on self-preservation, avoiding direct confrontation, stealing if possible, never robbing; ambushing if possible, never fighting head-on; fleeing if possible, never engaging in battle.

The lime drifted and spread through the air, mixed with a strange odor—spiced with chili powder, stupefying powder, and potent laxatives.

Zhang Fuluang heard the pouch unravel and instantly closed his eyes, then forcefully exhaled forward.

Night's Danwell exhales dragon-tiger qi; spring's azure sky treads phoenix feathers.

Zhang Fuluang was a disciple of the Longhu Mountain Zhengyi Sect; his master's master was the current fiftieth Celestial Master.

Even through the black face covering, his long exhalation surged like a dragon, dispersing most of the lime, leaving only a few fine particles clinging to his mask.

Yet, taking advantage of that brief moment of closed eyes, Brother Sikong kicked out, striking the blade's flat surface.

Hss—

The blade pierced the solid beam without resistance, stuck fast,

Zhang Fuluang decisively abandoned the sword, his speed surging upward—he seized Brother Sikong's ankle as the man leapt toward the beam, aiming to escape through the skylight, and yanked him down.

Landing again, Brother Sikong had no choice but to fight; fists blurred in rapid exchange, a dozen dull thuds later, Zhang Fuluang struck his acupoints, twisted his arms behind his back, and forced him to his knees.

He couldn't even smash his head against the shelf to trigger noise and summon guards—his neck was already constricted.

"Chi Su Fist?"

As his trachea was crushed, Brother Sikong's eyes turned bloodshot; he recognized the style, gasping: "You're… Zhang Fuluang?"

Fear and shock rose together, but the latter was stronger.

Though Emperor Yong'an didn't dabble in mysticism like some unnamed emperor who spent his days "training his body to resemble a crane, unafraid of palace maids choking his neck,"

his ties with Longhu Mountain remained cordial—he often invited Zhengyi Sect masters to the palace to lecture on scriptures, and occasionally funded the construction of pavilions.

As the Celestial Master's granddisciple, Zhang Fuluang had once accompanied his master to the imperial court to teach Dao, his future bright and vast—why had he gotten involved in Tu family affairs?

And why was he dressed in pitch-black garb?

When his name was revealed, Zhang Fuluang showed no change in expression, but lifted his gaze toward the darkened shelves and lowered his voice: "Master Pi Fu, you've watched long enough. It's time to step out."

Longhu Mountain's lineage was ancient, its martial arts comprehensive, with obscure, arcane texts available for study. Zhang Fuluang sensed the two silent figures standing motionless in the darkness.

After a brief silence, the soft laugh of Grey Rain echoed.

"Are you looking for Master Pi Fu? Or a desperate gambler? Or the CEO of Zhu Xing Zhen Tai? You only need to know he's a level 20 New Human, an all-around ace, can be salty or sweet, top-tier absolute core, tier-one center, excellent at singing and dancing, soft and delicious Haji Pi—Dong!"

A crisp skull-flicking sound followed; Li Cheng stepped out from behind the shelf, casually removed his mask, revealing his face, and said: "How did you know it was me?"

He recognized Zhang Fuluang's identity because he had the Consultation Synthesis Glasses, which could directly activate Box Weapons.

For Zhang Fuluang to guess his identity was strange—this is a proper Wu Xia world, isn't it?

Brother Sikong's eyes widened—he never imagined a third person had arrived before him!

"Your aura is indistinguishable in purity or impurity, impossible to trace in flow or reversal, with no roots in this world. Why involve yourself in this muddy water?"

Zhang Fuluang spoke using the Sound-Containment Technique—his voice traveled only forward, unheard beyond the vault.

Seeing Li Cheng unmoved, showing no surprise,

he slightly pursed his lips, drew from his robe a crumpled four-foot scroll, unfurled it gently, and flung it out: "Before I descended the mountain, my master gave me this painting, instructing me that the fate of the nation, the empire, and all living beings hinges on this mission."

!

As the scroll unfurled, it clearly depicted the Tu family treasure vault, the open skylight, and four blurred figures facing off beneath the moonlight,

as if foreseen, the scene painted in advance.

The paper fluttered; Zhang Fuluang drew his short sword from the beam, kicked off the floor, and lunged at Li Cheng with the Crane Soaring Sword Art.

With the physique of a Xiantian cultivator and Zhengyi Sect sword techniques, this strike was swift as thunder, heavy as a thousand jin,

truly like Zhu Xuan's assassination of King Liao—a comet striking the moon; Nie Zheng's assassination of Han Kui—a white rainbow piercing the sun; Shan Chu Ye's assassination of Abe—JK falls flat

Oh, Abe hadn't been born yet in this era. Never mind.

Li Cheng did not retreat a single step; he casually picked up two wooden paperweights from a nearby shelf.

【Knight Does Not Die by Unarmed】 skill activated; the shape, weight, density, and material of the paperweights flashed in his mind, muscle memory instantly formed.

Pah!

The two paperweights snapped together, firmly clamping the sword's blade, while Li Cheng's gaze remained locked on the slowly drifting painting.

The paper had been dampened; the ink slightly blurred. Zhang Fuluang could not see it, but Li Cheng, wearing the Information Synthesis Glasses, saw through the blur:

the hands of the Dutch merchant's tortoiseshell-gilded bronze clock on the shelf pointed to 02:56:00.

Current time: 02:55:57.

Three, two—

The second hand reached zero; the next instant, the giant scales on Brother Sikong's back spontaneously generated boundless suction—he had no time to cry out before being pulled into the scales.

The scales fell to the ground; the terrifying suction continued, now targeting the unsuspecting Zhang Fuluang, who retracted his sword and stabbed it into the floor,

red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, violet spectral ripples ignited along his hair, clothing, and limbs.

His entire body stretched like dough, pulled and twisted into the scales.

This suction targeted only living beings; not a whisper of wind stirred inside the warehouse, and all the treasures rested steadily on their shelves.

Li Cheng glanced at the spectral afterimage dragged from his body; the skill slot showed 【Stony Roots】 as useless, and the 【Demon Swap】 icon glowed—but it had no effect.

A sudden understanding struck him; he spun around and shouted two words to Grey Rain, then drew his Iron Flag Spear and plunged straight into the scales.

(End of Chapter)