Martial Demon

After saying all that, Wei Long took a notebook from his pocket and handed it to Chen Cheng.

"If this were ancient times, it could be called a Grandmaster's inheritance. Since I lost to you, my martial arts inheritance is naturally yours."

Chen Cheng looked at Wei Long, then said,

"What, if you hadn't taken it out, it seemed I wouldn't have known. You're not leaving it to your descendants and are just giving it to me?"

Wei Long smiled.

"What use would that be? Like I just said, that was in ancient times. Nowadays, what matters isn't fists, but capital.

Do you know why Wei He went to the Eagle Claw Sect in the name of the Wang Family? It wasn't some rule—it was because his actions had shaken the trust that the various southern martial arts sects' financial backers had in them.

This was no longer ancient times. Even if we martial artists reached Grandmaster level, we were still ordinary people. We still had to eat, drink, shit, piss, and sleep.

And martial artists did not engage in production. If we wanted financial support for training, we had to seek out these great families and wealthy conglomerates."

Wei Long then gestured with his hand.

"Besides, I've already left them such a substantial family estate. So long as they don't act recklessly, it'll be more than enough for the Form-Intent Sect's descendants to live off for three generations. That's far more precious than what's in this little notebook."

Chen Cheng could finally hear it now. Because of the development of firearms, modern martial artists had all shed the proud bearing of the heroic warriors people once imagined.

Perhaps scientific progress had reconstructed martial arts—these physical techniques that had seemed mysterious and miraculous in ancient times—with science. Once the mystery