Chapter 596: Solutions and No Rush

Tap tap.

Zhang Jie lightly tapped his fingers on the stone bench: “Should I pull Brother San along?”

Xu San’s problem was a major one across the entire supernatural world.

But as a man with a trump card (a cheat), he had complete confidence in solving it.

The first solution was naturally to introduce systems from other worlds.

Your limitation as a Qi-cultivator—what does that have to do with my Body Refinement, Spirit Nurturing, or Magic systems?

Yet this idea was instantly shot down by Zhang Jie.

Not to mention that introducing radically different power systems would expose his own secrets,

even the mere reproduction and coexistence of such powers posed immense difficulties.

Even martial arts worlds like Tianlong and Yitian required the Eight Extraordinary Meridians for their True Qi.

They would likely clash with Qi-cultivation’s meridian system—easily pass for now.

The World Devourer system, whether for martial arts or spiritual force, required devouring the universe’s native primordial energy,

plus compatible biological genes to convert into genetic primordial energy—also directly pass.

The Devil Fruits of the One Piece world were most likely fragments of world rules.

Switching to another world, let alone achieving their miraculous effects, just avoiding instant bodily explosion would be a stroke of insane luck.

The three-color Baqi , though said to originate from spirit and body, was still a world-specific product.

In a world without magic, warriors could slash with their swords until death,

yet they could never reach the realm where a wooden sword could sever iron, perceiving all weaknesses.

Zhang Jie could wield martial True Qi, spiritual force, True Qi, Devil Fruit abilities, and Baqi as effortlessly as his own limbs,

merging them into a unified whole that grew stronger without losing their individual traits,

all without being rejected by the local world’s power system—thanks entirely to the unimaginable power of the Shared Space.

Foreign monks struggle to chant sutras—so better to summon the local bald ones to tap the wooden fish and chant “Amitabha.”

Zhang Jie’s other solution was the Qi-Ti Yuanliu he had obtained earlier from Zhang Chulan and Feng Baobao.

He didn’t need to hand over Qi-Ti Yuanliu directly to Xu San; instead, he could use its ultimate technique—

transforming technique into Qi—to craft a personalized, all-encompassing cultivation system for Xu San.

With Zhang Jie’s current accumulation, he could easily create several scriptures, found a sect, and become its patriarch.

“Forget it. Let nature take its course.”

After careful thought, Zhang Jie decided to set the issue aside for now.

On one hand, though he had amassed deep experience and had created hundreds of supreme techniques in Tianlong and Yitian,

elevating them from low-level martial arts to mid- and high-level martial arts, earning him the title of Patriarch of Martial Arts and reverence from countless martial artists;

in the context of the One World’s Qi-cultivation system, he was still a newbie who had only recently gained his cheat.

Xu San had treated him well—if he truly turned him into a guinea pig

and something went wrong, even if he could fix it later, it would still be embarrassing.

Wait until he finds the Eight Marvelous Techniques and thoroughly studies divine arts like Five Thunder Orthodoxy before creating new techniques.

When a path exists, following the footsteps of predecessors is still a grand and smooth road.

Of course, worlds filled with dead ends—or where pathfinders hoard the end of the road,

treating later cultivators as guinea pigs and cultivation fodder—must be approached with extreme caution.

The One World was relatively decent, leaning toward classical xianxia, with human nature not yet too corrupt.

In those black society cultivation worlds, someone would kill your entire family for a single spirit stone;

after a martial god ascended, he had to mine in a mine for tens of thousands of years, often dying and buried there;

an immortal emperor who reigned supreme across the immortal realm, stepping on the tiniest insect of the divine realm,

was instantly poisoned to death—such worlds were simply not to Zhang Jie’s taste.

Just thinking about them filled him with despair.

Also, as the current assistant to the head of the North China region, Xu San was virtually guaranteed to become the next head after Xu Xiang passed away,

and his actual power requirements weren’t very high.

This wasn’t the company’s founding era, when the head needed to lead charges, fight bloody battles.

The company’s basic combat needs were already met by temporary workers and elite special operations teams.

Didn’t Director Zhao Fangxu firmly control the supernatural world with his third-rate air-palm technique that couldn’t even shatter a wooden board?

The most powerful divine art in the supernatural world wasn’t the Eight Marvelous Techniques, falsely called immortal arts,

nor was it Master Lao Tian’s invincible Five Thunder Orthodoxy, which had dominated for nearly a century—it was Director Zhao’s air-palm.

When necessary, his air-palm could strike down the East Wind Express, representing truth itself.

As long as no supernatural being emerged who could withstand the East Wind Express, the supernatural world’s order wouldn’t collapse.

And unless absolutely necessary, Zhang Jie wouldn’t act recklessly.

He still wanted to quietly enjoy life, cultivate toward immortality, and eventually either take his parents and family with him in a full ascension,

or become a living immortal guarding the mortal realm for a hundred thousand years,

not have ten or eight satellites constantly hovering overhead, every move studied by countless experts and teams sacrificing hair and liver to write ten-thousand-word probability analyses.

The team sacrificed hair and liver for research and wrote a ten-thousand-character probabilistic analysis.

As Zhang Jie pondered, someone knocked on the courtyard gate.

Zhang Chulan, without hesitation, prepared to take on the task of opening the door;

but before he could move, two men with cold expressions, wearing sunglasses and black suits—clearly bodyguards—pushed the gate open arrogantly.

“Who are you two?”

Zhang Chulan remained wary of these uninvited intruders who had taken the liberty to open the door themselves.

“You’re Zhang Jie and Zhang Chulan, right? Our elder has summoned you—come with us.”

One of the cool-looking men gave the order as if it were self-evident truth, as if Zhang Jie and Zhang Chulan had no choice but to obey.

Feng Baobao, who was watching cartoons nearby, was completely ignored.

Just an immature little girl—no need to pay attention to her.

Hearing this tone of unquestionable authority, Zhang Chulan felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

“Who’s your elder?”

For safety’s sake, Zhang Chulan pressed further.

The other bodyguard crossed his arms, his disdain unmistakable:

“You’ll find out when you get there.”

For safety’s sake, Zhang Chulan still asked one more question.

Zhang Chulan turned to Zhang Jie.

These two were unknowns—enemy or ally? Should they refuse or accept the invitation? It was up to Zhang Jie to decide.

“Let’s go see.”

Zhang Jie’s lips curled slightly, noncommittal.

These two had unknown origins; their allegiance was uncertain, so they were refused,

Seeing Zhang Jie so relaxed, Zhang Chulan’s guard lowered somewhat.

Knowing Zhang Jie well, he knew this expression meant everything was under his control.

He naturally trusted Zhang Jie.

“Then please lead the way.”

The two bodyguards said “please,” yet made no move to guide them; instead, they stared fixedly at Zhang Jie and Zhang Chulan,

as if the two weren’t guests invited by their elder, but prisoners under strict surveillance.

As for Zhang Jie, he naturally trusted him.

This barely concealed hostility made Zhang Chulan quickly move closer to Zhang Jie.

The two bodyguards spoke words of invitation, but their hands made no movement—instead, they stared fixedly at Zhang Jie and the other;

Zhang Jie tilted his head slightly, signaling.

He wasn’t about to vent his displeasure on such minor thugs.

This nearly unmasked malice made Zhang Chulan quickly move closer to Zhang Jie.

One bodyguard led ahead; the other trailed behind Zhang Jie and Zhang Chulan—his malice was plain for all to see.

Zhang Jie slightly lifted his head, signaling.

He was not so low as to vent his frustration on such minor thugs.

"After you."

One bodyguard led the way ahead, while the other hung behind Zhang Jie and Zhang Chulan—this malice was plain for all to see.