Player Reload
Chapter 386: Revised - Three Hundred Fifty-Five: Old and Broken

Chapter 386: Revised: Chapter Three Hundred Fifty-Five: Old and Broken

Cao Meng, drenched in the dark waters of the Death Curse Torrent, felt his blood surge and, relying on the muscle memory honed from years of martial arts training, instinctively struck forward with his palm.

However, before he could hit Li Cheng, his vision suddenly turned dark, as if he had been plunged into an endless night, where the only sound was his intense heartbeat.

"Vile disciple!"

A ghastly howl came from afar. His master and mistress, who had treated him like a beast and ruthlessly abused him since childhood, slowly approached, their skin and clothes charred as they were the moment he burned them to death.

"Thief!"

The merchant he had killed stared at him with venomous eyes, a bloodstain appearing on his neck.

"Ingrate!"

The first elder brother he had met since entering the worldly society spoke hauntingly as a knife wound from the back of his chest oozed blackened blood.

"Heartless man!" This was a lover he had abandoned.

"Uh uh!" This was a creditor whose tongue he had cut out.

Figures emerged from the boundless darkness, deathly and eerie, with resentful eyes.

No matter how hard Cao Meng fought with his fists and inner strength, these vengeful spirits kept coming, tearing his skin, ripping his muscles, and pulling out his internal organs...

This tempest in the sea of consciousness lasted only a few seconds in the real world.

From the perspective of those in the tea house, Cao Meng’s eyes rolled up violently, and he uncontrollably fell to his knees.

"..."

"..."

The tea house was shrouded in an eerie silence, with only the sound of rain and wind hitting the bamboo curtains, as everyone thought of the same thing.

What the hell was this martial art?

If Li Cheng could manipulate tea water out of thin air, one might explain it with his profound inner strength mastery,

But to spit out such vast amounts of sinister black water was beyond the comprehension of martial artists.

Even if you vomited stomach acid, it shouldn’t be this intense, right?

Could your stomach be directly connected to an inkwell?

Su Konghu, who had been contemplating for a long time, suddenly had a revelation and exclaimed, "I understand, it’s the condensation of qi into dew!"

Facing his bewildered female companion, he eagerly explained, "An elder in my family once told me that some martial artists with extremely profound inner strength can use their true qi to vibrate the air, turning the moisture in the air directly into dew.

This allows them to maintain meditation or survive in extreme environments like deserts or oceans.

I always thought it was a story made up by my elders, but I never expected to see it with my own eyes today!

Although this young man is so young, his martial arts realm is incredibly deep. Even if he is not a grandmaster, he must at least be at the innate peak level."

Hearing Su Konghu’s words, the atmosphere in the tea house subtly changed. Those members of the Fanhe Gang who had been ready to draw their weapons hesitated, their faces changing slightly, causing their movements to be noticeably sluggish and unsure.

Su Konghu hailed from the Myriad Miasma Valley, one of the top pharmaceutical sects in the worldly society, known for products such as golden sore medicine, falling and striking injury ointment, muscle relaxing blood circulation pills, and Tianzhu divine oil. Some of their special effect medicines were even classified as tribute medicine by the court, exclusively for the imperial palace.

Growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth, Su Konghu’s martial arts were mediocre, but his knowledge and experience far surpassed that of ordinary martial artists.

When he spoke, the people present believed him to a great extent.

It’s like how when Wang Sicong posts on the internet about a certain actress’s dissolute lifestyle, netizens are likely to believe him—after all, his experiences at sea and sky banquets are probably more frequent than the times netizens have used a certain brand of soy sauce.

Taking a deep breath, Su Konghu cupped his hands and asked Li Cheng, "I am Su Konghu of the Myriad Miasma Valley. May I ask which sect and family this young master belongs to?"

"Sss."

Li Cheng casually wiped the black water from the corner of his mouth and calmly returned the gesture, "My name is Pili Fulu from the Residual Elder Village overseas. I was raised by nine mysterious old men. Just now, that move was called [Water Gun], imitating the deep-sea giant beast Squirtle’s technique. Please excuse the display."

The people in the tea house, though still bewildered, nodded in understanding, murmuring that it made sense he was from abroad, hence why they had never heard of his name before.

Gray Rain almost couldn’t hold back his laughter—Squirtle? Residual Elder Village? Was this an excerpt from the Pastoral God Chronicles?

During their conversation, Cao Meng, who had been kneeling and appeared to be in a seizure, finally shook off the illusion and woke up, his eyes slowly regaining clarity.

Soaked through and panting heavily, he saw Li Cheng still calmly seated and his own men hesitating with their knives in hand. He quickly guessed what was going on.

Silently, he got up, bowed deeply to Li Cheng, and said respectfully, "I truly did not recognize Mount Tai, bringing this upon myself. Thank you, young master, for sparing my life. These silver notes are for your tea expenses."

With that, he kept the bowing posture, quickly retreated to the corner, and silently exchanged his wet clothes with his subordinates.

This was not cowardice.

True men can endure humiliation and bend or stretch as needed.

After this episode, the tea house gradually returned to its lively state on the surface, but underneath, everyone was still murmuring and wandering about the Residual Elder Village—which sect was that, never heard of it...

Dang—dang—

The long sound of a gong came from outside, and everyone looked grim, hurriedly packing their things and stepping out of the tea house.

The ferry had arrived.

Li Cheng opened his oil-paper umbrella and walked into the rain with the crowd. Before leaving, Gray Rain stuffed the three thousand silver taels notes into his bag. He originally intended to casually pull out one and leave it with a dashing "keep the change,"

But upon a closer look, the notes were all in denominations of three hundred or five hundred taels, with the smallest one being fifty taels.

One tael of silver could buy a stone of rice, equivalent to about 125 pounds, at around 3.16 yuan per pound. Fifty taels were roughly equivalent to 19,750 modern yuan—enough to buy a high-end graphics card!

Precisely why Gray Rain, suddenly becoming more frugal, quickly told the shopkeeper, "Ahem, this is fifty taels. Please give me change."

The shopkeeper smiled wryly, "Dear guest, I run a small business and can’t find change for fifty taels. This tea will be on me."

"That’s not acceptable, I can’t just freeload."

After some thought, Gray Rain left the fifty taels note behind but took the drawer filled with copper coins.

"Why are you carrying so many copper coins?"

Li Cheng raised an eyebrow. Since there were outsiders around, he couldn’t use the backpack directly, so he reached into his chest, pretending to take out a square scarf from the three-dimensional warehouse, and wrapped up the copper coins before turning to look at the dock with Gray Rain.

The national power of this revamped Great Ming was far stronger than that of its real-world historical counterpart; even civilian ferries nearly matched Zheng He’s treasure ships in tonnage.

With nine masts and twelve sails, the ship was majestic, equipped with more than twenty casting cannons and harpoon guns behind the portholes.

Such firepower would still be more than enough to serve as a naval vessel in the First Opium War era.

Sailors, reeking of saltwater stench, skillfully lowered the gangway. Besides the crew, there were dozens of martial artists on board—they had boarded earlier from the northern dock.

Glancing around, all were postnatal or innate martial artists, with some whose information could not even be read by the information integration glasses.

"Let’s go."

Li Cheng and Gray Rain, with the oil-paper umbrella in hand, ascended the gangway onto the ship.