Record of the Hidden Edge

Zhou Chen's black hair and red eyes were revealed as he clenched his fists together and held them crosswise before him. His skin bulged high, his body swelled, and he resembled a burly iron tower. Every cord of muscle on him was like chains forged from refined iron!

A savage, terrifying aura radiated from his entire body!

Like a vicious ghost!

Zhou Chen's skin shone with brilliant golden light!

"Golden Skin! You actually tempered Golden Skin!"

The sight nearly scared Ma Pengcheng out of his wits. This brat had actually tempered Golden Skin!

Only one thought remained in his mind: This brat isn't human! How could someone with middling-to-poor bones temper Golden Skin in such a short time?

Zhou Chen had chosen to block just now precisely to test how formidable the Golden Skin would be when stacked with Crimson Baleful Transformation. He carefully relived the blow. His muscles felt sore and numb, but there was no pain.

Golden Skin's toughness was even more solid than he had expected. Even Ma Pengcheng's full-force strike could not break through his defense.

"Take three moves from me!"

Zhou Chen stared expressionlessly at Ma Pengcheng, his face icy. Then he threw a punch. The fist wind howled as incomparably terrifying strength roared forth, carrying a fearsome momentum as it smashed toward Ma Pengcheng's chest.

Ma Pengcheng sensed the fist wind and still tried to block, but when the fist landed on him and the horrifying power erupted, he realized just how laughable that thought had been!

Was this truly the strength erupted by someone at Minor Accomplishment in the First-Rank Skin Tempering Realm?

Three moves?

He could not even withstand one!

"Bang!"

A dull explosion burst through the alley. Ma Pengcheng flew off the ground like a torn sack, a ghastly crater caving into his chest. The sound of ribs breaking scattered through the air like dry branches snapping, crackling in rapid succession.

He sprayed out a mouthful of blood mixed with minced flesh and fragments of organs. His body slammed heavily into the earthen wall at the end of the alley before rolling to the ground. He twitched twice, then became utterly motionless, his eyes alone filled with unwillingness and disbelief!

His final thought was: This brat could clearly have killed me head-on with ease, yet he still used such a sinister method to kill me. He is truly despicable! Despicable to the extreme!!!

Zhou Chen did not hesitate. He skillfully searched the corpse, finding a booklet and over ten taels of silver on Ma Pengcheng. Before he had time to inspect them closely, he picked up a nearby stone and smashed Ma Pengcheng's corpse until it was utterly unrecognizable, leaving no trace of the Wild Bull Fist. Only then did he quietly depart.

Tonight, a newly arrived Martial Warrior was covering his shift at Warehouse No. 2, so he happened to have time to return home and rest for the night.

As he entered the familiar alley and smelled the familiar fishy stench at its end, Zhou Chen slowly exhaled a breath of foul air. In his heart, he reviewed every step of tonight from beginning to end. Only after confirming that he had left no loopholes did the tightly drawn string in his heart gradually loosen.

Still, his use of the poison sac just now had been too crude. If he had a good concealed weapon technique, tonight's ambush could have been more covert and more decisive. He might not even have needed to say so much or go through so many twists and turns.

When he pushed open the door, Zhang Fang was sitting in a chair beneath an oil lamp, mending clothes. Zhou Tian sat at the table with a plate of fennel beans and a jug of wine, drinking away in contentment.

Ever since Zhou Chen had become a Martial Warrior, the family's days had grown easier by the day.

The work at the shipyard had become much lighter, and Zhou Tian now had spare money to occasionally buy a little wine as a reward for himself. A few days ago, Zhang Fang had even bought new cloth and made a set of clothes for everyone in the family.

Standing in the doorway and looking at this humble yet warm little home, Zhou Chen's taut nerves finally relaxed. No matter how blades flashed and shadows of swords danced outside, this would forever be the place where he could breathe easy.

"Chen's back!"

When Zhou Tian and Zhang Fang saw Zhou Chen return, delighted smiles appeared on both their faces.

Zhou Chen walked over and turned up the oil lamp. "Mother, how many times have I told you? Your son can earn money now, yet you insist on saving this tiny bit of lamp oil. If you ruin your eyes, you'll have to spend even more money treating them."

Zhang Fang used the needle to tuck her hair back along her temple, smiling as she said, "Save where we can. Your martial training costs a great deal. We can't trail behind you and drag you down."

"Where's my little sister? I don't see her."

She gestured toward the inner room with her chin. "Your sister is inside. Zhou Yu! Your brother's back!"

Before her words had even faded, the curtain to the inner room was flung aside. Zhou Yu bounced out like a little sparrow, threw her arms around Zhou Chen's waist, tipped up her head, and called out with a grin, "Brother! You've gotten stronger again!"

Zhou Chen looked down at his little sister. Her small face had grown much rounder than before, and her once yellow, sparse hair had become black and soft. The timid look between her brows had faded by more than half, replaced by a touch more liveliness.

With better food, people naturally filled out.

Zhou Yu released him, then carefully pulled a green pouch from her bosom. Its stitches were crooked and uneven. "Brother, look! I made you a pouch! Is it pretty?"

"When did you make this?" Zhou Chen accepted it and examined it, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting. The pouch was truly rather rough. It looked a little like a wrinkled steamed bun.

"I learned from Mother!" Zhou Yu lifted her face, her eyes sparkling. "I heard people say that martial training is hard and dangerous, so I made you a pouch to keep you safe."

Zhou Chen carefully tied the crooked little pouch around his waist, then lowered his head and patted his sister's head. "It's pretty. Brother likes it."

Afterward, he returned to his room. Once he had hidden the silver in a secret compartment beneath the bed, he took out the little booklet and began to read.

"Conceal the blade in daily life, conceal killing in the formless. Visible weapons are low-grade; concealed weapons are middling-grade; the formless is high-grade. This is actually a detailed guide to concealed weapons!"

Zhou Chen was delighted.

Just when he was sleepy, someone had brought him a pillow.

He then opened the title page and began reading.

This Record of Concealed Blades was divided into an upper and lower volume. The upper volume discussed various techniques and mental methods, while the lower volume listed methods for crafting all kinds of concealed weapons.

His gaze quickly swept over several pages, and he soon found the section corresponding to his crude fish-bladder poison sac.

"The path of throwing leaves a traceable trajectory. Any Martial Warrior who has raised their guard is difficult to hit; thus, it must be replaced with a more concealed method."

For example, Heaven and Earth in the Sleeve: when exchanging punches at close range, one could use the motion of swinging a sleeve to silently flick poison powder outward, leaving the enemy unable to guard against it.

But what truly made Zhou Chen's gaze freeze was a chapter in the middle of the lower volume discussing "verbal concealed weapons."

"The Yin Character Formula cannot rely solely on concealed weapons. Words are the highest-grade concealed weapon—formless and shadowless, yet capable of dismantling the opponent's guard before the fight even begins."

He read it over and over. The more he read, the more exquisite he found it.

For instance, "yielding the first move." When facing an opponent one realm above oneself, you clasped your hands and bowed, saying sincerely, "Senior Brother, you are one realm above me. Please make the first move. It will be a good chance for me to learn."

That single sentence created a "safe window," causing the opponent to subconsciously believe that "you will not attack in this instant," while you attacked at precisely that instant.

Another example was "begging for mercy." You said, "I concede," or, "I'm withdrawing," while your feet suddenly charged forward, striking first in the instant the opponent relaxed.

There were even more advanced mental methods. Rather than deceiving the opponent for an instant, you made him believe that he had seen through your routine, then used the true routine to kill him with a single blow.

For example, you deliberately held a hand behind your back, adopting the posture of preparing to throw a concealed weapon. He focused all his attention on guarding against your right hand, but your true killing move came from your left. Another example was the Money Dart: you deliberately threw it in a way that invited the enemy to block it, but it shattered upon being blocked, concealing poisonous smoke within—or using the fragments to wound the enemy.