Another Transaction

"Go out?"

Huang Qiuxian sized up the young man and raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you afraid of being ambushed and killed the moment you step outside?"

Two days ago, this kid had passed a letter through a girl at the Snake Fist Gym, asking why the East Cult wanted to kill his Master.

Zhang Fusheng chuckled.

"I have special methods for concealing my tracks, you can rest assured, old man."

"You mean the White Bone Form, right?"

Huang Qiuxian said lazily.

"That little trick can indeed conceal your vital energy and mental fluctuations, but at most, it'll just make people unable to figure out your background. You'll still be perceived and sensed if they try."

His voice abruptly stopped.

The aura on the young man had vanished completely without anyone knowing when. He was clearly standing right there, but in Huang Qiuxian's mental perception, he was like a dead object.

A faint, decaying scent circulated around him.

"Newly Dead Form?" Huang Qiuxian sighed. "So soon? It seems you'll be able to use the Giant Form within two or three years at most."

"You know the Eight Forms of Body and Spirit very well?" Zhang Fusheng asked curiously.

"Naturally."

Huang Qiuxian snorted.

"Your Eight Forms of Body and Spirit, the first four forms focus on the body, and the latter four focus on the spirit. Among them, the second and third forms indeed have some merit."

Zhang Fusheng nodded thoughtfully.

The old man Huang said lazily.

"Speaking of which, the person you said you wanted to introduce to me, what's their background? I don't introduce just anyone."

Zhang Fusheng smiled.

"You're currently a Second Refinement Martial Artist, but you definitely weren't before. I suspect you suffered from some serious illness?"

Huang Qiuxian nodded faintly.

"That's right. But even though I'm only a Second Refinement, I'll tell you this: I've already reached the true 'He Observes as I Should Be' level. Even a Twelve Refinements expert, or a Martial Arts Master, might not be able to gain an advantage over me."

This old man had truly perfected his meditation technique.

Zhang Fusheng's expression remained unchanged.

"The person I want to introduce can cure your serious illness."

"Impossible."

Huang Qiuxian flatly refused.

"This illness... never mind, what's the point of telling you?"

Zhang Fusheng shrugged.

"Meeting them can't hurt, can it?"

He wrinkled his nose.

"I also wanted to ask, what exactly is the difference between the East Cult and the West Cult?"

Huang Qiuxian answered calmly.

"Doctrine, the gods they believe in, their rules. There are too many differences."

"Aren't they both Daoism?" Zhang Fusheng asked subtly. "I heard the gods believed in by Daoism are called the Three Pure Ones."

"Different."

Huang Qiuxian said faintly.

"The Three Pure Ones they believe in are the Primordial Cult Master, the Supreme Cult Master, and the Heaven-Connecting Cult Master. They are merely heretical outsiders who have usurped the title of the Three Pure Ones. Our Three Pure Ones are the Heavenly Lord of Primordial Beginning of Fu Li, the Heavenly Lord of Great Dao of Supreme Purity, and the Heavenly Lord of Spiritual Treasure of Jade Purity."

His expression turned somber.

"Although my God is no longer here, they are by no means comparable to the heretical gods believed in by the West Cult!"

Zhang Fusheng was stunned for a while. His God was no longer here?

Also, what was the difference between these two sets of Three Pure Ones?

Uh, the first three in my previous life, they seemed to be from Ming Dynasty novels.

With a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, Zhang Fusheng said softly.

"I'm afraid there are watchers outside the Martial Arts Academy. Could you do me a favor and escort me?"

Huang Qiuxian raised an eyebrow.

"So many trivial matters."

Despite his words, he blew out a breath, and Zhang Fusheng's figure blurred and then disappeared from his spot.

He was still there, just invisible to the naked eye.

The Perfection-level meditation technique could truly interfere with and even distort reality with one's spirit.

Maintaining the Newly Dead Form, his aura dissipated. Now, not only was he invisible to the naked eye, but even his spiritual senses couldn't detect his presence.

Zhang Fusheng quietly walked out of the Martial Arts Academy. As expected, this time, the "feeling of being watched," like a persistent leech, did not appear.

Maintaining this form, he quietly left the Martial Arts Academy and went to a bridge underpass about three kilometers away. The spiritual power that enveloped and distorted the air, creating illusions of reality, finally dissipated.

He then revealed his true form.

"Three kilometers. Huang Qiuxian's spiritual range is within three kilometers."

"No, it might be more. Let's assume it's five kilometers."

Zhang Fusheng muttered to himself, took out the hood he had prepared, and put it on. After moving twenty kilometers away from the Martial Arts Academy, he silently turned into the shadows.

When he reappeared, he was an old man leaning on a cheap wooden staff.

District Four, the port.

Lin Dongxi chewed on bubblegum, silently cultivating.

"Third Refinement, it's not far now."

She murmured to herself, heard the roar of a ship, and jumped off the small wooden table.

"Is the shipment here?"

"Yes, my lady."

The subordinate showed no disrespect due to his lady's appearance or height.

"Three thousand kilograms of various firearms and ammunition, and a batch of high-concentration hemostatic toxin."

Here, firearms and ammunition were measured in "kilograms."

Lin Dongxi nodded. This shipment was too large, otherwise, she wouldn't have personally shown up.

After the containers were lifted ashore one by one, she signaled for the dockworkers to disperse. Accompanied by two capable subordinates, she personally inspected the goods.

Container after container was opened, and the goods were all intact. When they reached the last container.

"Huh?"

Lin Dongxi suddenly flashed backward, but it was too late.

The container was torn apart, and several figures rushed forward. Her two subordinates had their necks snapped. As for Lin Dongxi, she had no power to resist and was struck on the neck with a palm, falling unconscious.

"Are we going to Hong Ji Martial Arts Hall now? Intelligence indicates there are no Great Martial Artists around the target at this moment."

"No rush."

The masked man said simply.

"Hong Ji Martial Arts Hall is in the third district of this city. If we cause too much of a disturbance, it will be hard to escape."

"The intel from above says the target might attend a teacher appreciation banquet this month, around the tenth. Even if not, there's a 'Jiang University Banquet' on the fifteenth, which he will definitely attend."

He paused, then said with a smile.

"A First Refinement Martial Artist, at most a Second or Third Refinement, will be easy to deal with. If we complete this mission perfectly, we can truly join the cult!"

The six masked men looked at each other. Dark light flashed under their skin, their muscles vibrated, and the great tendons within their bodies roared.

They were all 'Sinew Three Refinement' Martial Artists.

Those who have refined their skin, flesh, and tendons have reached at least the seventh refinement level.

"What about this girl? Throw her into the sea?" someone kicked the unconscious little doll.

"No."

The leader said.

"The higher-ups said that this little girl named Lin Dongxi should remain unconscious for more than ten days. Hemostatic toxin."

After injecting the hemostatic toxin.

They each placed a palm vertically on their chests and chanted.

"Heaven Above!"

Then they quietly vanished.

Ankang Hospital.

Dean Long's face was numb.

"What, again?"

He looked at the masked old man in front of him, his face contorted in a wail.

"Are you guys working together?"

Zhang Fusheng chuckled, "Who are you talking about?"

"Uh, it's nothing, nothing," Dean Long pointed at the computer. "The files are all on there, really!"

Zhang Fusheng glanced at the patient files and raised an eyebrow.

In just a few days, the number of patients with tumors had increased by nearly a third, and they had even expanded the near morgue by two rooms.

This was not normal at all.

He recalled his Master saying that Ankang Hospital had big problems.

"With my current Star Beast Meat reserves, I can complete at least three transactions in a short period."

He muttered to himself, quickly scanning the files. Regrettably, there were no Martial Artists among this batch of patients.

"Hmm?"

Zhang Fusheng noticed that some of the new patient files had markings on them and immediately asked:

"What do these markings mean?"

Dean Long's expression shifted, and he honestly replied:

"They are all patients who have just begun the meditation technique."

"Why mark them specially?" Zhang Fusheng examined these patient records and found they all had one thing in common.

No parents, no children, no siblings, and not even an emergency contact listed on their files.

In other words, they were the kind of people who would be sent to the near morgue once their money ran out.

Furthermore, the records showed that these people's conditions progressed extremely rapidly. Some were diagnosed with early to mid-stage cancer yesterday, and by today, they were in the late stage.

Even the fastest-progressing normal cancer wouldn't reach this point so quickly.

It seemed a special kind of illness was rapidly spreading in the Lower-Level District. Was it related to cultists, or rather, the West Cult?

Dean Long fell silent this time, not answering.

Zhang Fusheng hesitated, and didn't intend to press him—why get involved in such a mess?

However.

Once his parents returned, he really couldn't stay in the Seventh District. He should at least move to the Third District.

"Hmm?"

Zhang Fusheng's eyes suddenly lit up.

He saw an excellent trading partner: 102 years old, not a Martial Artist, but...

he had achieved minor success with the meditation technique.

Looking at the medical record, he was admitted three days ago with early-stage lung cancer. As of yesterday, he was already in the late stage, with cancer cells metastasized throughout his body, and an estimated survival time of less than a month.

"Him, and this one," Zhang Fusheng selected another centenarian who had just begun the meditation technique and said calmly:

"Where are these two patients? The files don't indicate their room numbers."

Dean Long remained silent.

Zhang Fusheng raised an eyebrow, the dark muzzle of the gun pointed at his head, and continued in his aged voice:

"What, I can't even say that?"

Dean Long scratched his head:

"Yes, you can. They're in the underground near morgue."

"Underground? Isn't your morgue on the second floor? The new one I saw is also on the second floor?"

"Uh, because the number of patients has increased so much recently, we've also converted the original basement into a near morgue."

Dean Long pointed to the elevator behind him:

"You can go down there."

Zhang Fusheng chuckled:

"I'm not going down. You make a call and have them transferred to the second floor."

A hospital with problems, and he wanted him to go to the basement?

Only an idiot would go down there!

If it weren't for the imminent crisis and his desperate need to bring his meditation technique to Perfection, Zhang Fusheng would have turned and run.

This place felt sinister.

"Make the call. Don't add any titles, just state the request directly," Zhang Fusheng emphasized again.

Dean Long reluctantly made a call and turned on the speakerphone:

"Go and transfer patient number 192 and patient number 203 from the underground near morgue to the second-floor near morgue. Hurry."

"Huh?"

The young man on the other end of the phone sounded confused:

"Are you sure? Their appearance, won't it cause panic?"

"Cover them with a cloth and do as I say. Don't ask too many questions."

"Yes, Dean."

After hanging up the phone.

Zhang Fusheng said with a half-smile:

"Cause panic?"

Dean Long sighed:

"I don't know who you are, nor if you're with that young man from the other day, but I advise you not to ask any more questions."

"Okay, I won't ask," Zhang Fusheng nodded with a smile.

A few minutes later, Dean Long's phone vibrated slightly. The two patients had been successfully transferred.

He sighed again:

"Let's go."

Zhang Fusheng knocked him unconscious with a palm strike.

After confirming multiple times that the surveillance was still cut off, he silently made his way to the near morgue. The stench was still there.

Two patients lay on the floor in the morgue, covered with white cloths. They were clearly still alive, the white cloths rising and falling slightly.

After a moment's hesitation, Zhang Fusheng stepped forward and lifted the white cloth.

He involuntarily took two steps back.