Chapter 255: The Stratagem of a Beauty

Xiang Ri stared seriously at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, but after just two or three glances, he tore it to shreds.

It was titled "Regulations for the Management of Supernatural Individuals," but in essence, it was no different from a contract of servitude, and an endless one at that. Even the courtesans of ancient times could buy back their freedom after working for a number of years and marry a respectable man. But what this paper outlined…

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Though he had only glanced through the first few clauses, he could already tell the rest would be even more inhumane. Signing this would not only strip him of his personal freedom, but also limit his freedom to love. It seemed he would need permission just to see a family member—how was this different from being in prison?

If he had to say there was a difference, it would only be that there was no need to work. It was akin to being kept in captivity.

However, the old man seemed oblivious to the fury in Xiang Ri's eyes. Looking at the scattered pieces of paper on the floor, there was a smug expression on his face, as though some devious plot had succeeded. "Seeing you tear it up so thoroughly, it seems you're prepared to become my disciple, yes?" 

"I will never become your disciple!" Xiang Ri retorted without mercy.

Although he suspected the old man's background might be more complex than it appeared, Xiang Ri was not one to easily submit. Moreover, the old man's demeanor left a bad taste in his mouth.

While becoming the old man's disciple might seem like a better option compared to signing that contract of servitude, Xiang Ri had no desire to have someone over him, constantly able to give orders. 

Additionally, he was highly suspicious of the origin of that "contract."

"So, are you declaring war on the state?" The old man, clearly irked, threw the accusation at Xiang Ri with a hint of rage.

"When did I ever say I was going against the state? Don't throw around baseless accusations, old man. And since when have you represented the state?" 

Xiang Ri was trembling with anger. How could not becoming a disciple equate to opposing the state? If it weren't for the fact that the old man was sent by General Chen to deliver the car, Xiang Ri would have already taken matters into his own hands.

"Hmph!" The old man exhaled through his nostrils, his voice icy. "You should understand, your abilities now pose a threat to national security. If we do not monitor and control you, who knows what dangerous actions you might take? Heh… I doubt I need to spell this out any further?"

Clearly, the old man intended to be the one to monitor and control him.

"Who said that? How could someone as devoted to the country, as a young man willing to sacrifice everything for it, ever harm the nation?" 

Though Xiang Ri said this, he was inwardly startled. He hadn't realized his abilities had attracted attention from higher authorities, and now he found himself in a troublesome situation. After all, this was the entire machinery of the state.

Initially, he had thought that the old man's paper was just some scheme to trick him into becoming his disciple, but now it seemed there was some truth to it, and it seemed he had no choice.

"Devoted to the country? Willing to sacrifice everything?" The old man's tone dripped with both malice and mockery. "But I see you're quick with your hands—ripped that paper to shreds in no time."

As he spoke, the old man pointed his foot at the paper shreds on the floor, implying that if Xiang Ri truly loved his country, why didn't he just sign the "contract of servitude" instead of shredding it so easily?

"Well..." Xiang Ri thought carefully before responding, his thick skin making him unfazed by the small display. "Didn't I say 'almost'? Since it's 'almost,' it's not the same as completely. Why are you so stubborn, old man?"

Clearly, Xiang Ri hadn't considered that in accusing the old man of being stubborn, he had perfected the art of "stubbornness" himself to an unimaginable degree.

However, the old man wasn't angry. In fact, he burst into hearty laughter. "Good! Good! Well done! Your thick skin is just right for becoming my disciple!"

Xiang Ri cursed inwardly. It seemed this old man's disciples were all eccentric.

But despite his inner frustration, certain things needed clarification, for this was about his future freedom and happiness. Although the thought of becoming the old man's disciple gnawed at him, it was undoubtedly a wiser choice compared to that inhumane "contract of servitude."

"Becoming your disciple means no more restrictions and controls?" he asked.

The old man replied with pride, "Of course! Once you become my disciple, I'll take care of you. You can still live freely, enjoying life as you please."

As he said this, the old man gestured ambiguously toward the house behind him.

Xiang Ri gritted his teeth. "Fine, I'll consider it a demonic possession. But old man, don't get too smug. I'll never call you 'Master'!"

Xiang Ri had firmly resolved that even if he became this old man's disciple, he would never stoop to addressing him as "Master."

But the old man's next words left him utterly speechless: "Wait a moment—when did I ever say I wanted to take you as my disciple?"

"What do you mean by that, you old coot?" Xiang Ri cursed angrily, even changing the way he addressed him.

He distinctly remembered the old man's earlier pompous attitude, as if taking him as a disciple was a foregone conclusion. Now it seemed as if his words were nothing but hot air.

"Of course, it's to take a disciple on behalf of my late master!" The old man declared with a serious expression, but then quickly added with a sly grin, "That said, if you're willing to be my disciple, I wouldn't mind at all."

"Yeah, right!" Xiang Ri raised a middle finger. Be your disciple? In your dreams! 

Inwardly, though, he breathed a sigh of relief. Had he known this earlier, he wouldn't have wasted so much breath. As long as this old man wasn't going to be his master, everything else could be worked out. Though being this old man's junior peer felt a bit demeaning, it was still better than being subservient as a disciple.

What Xiang Ri didn't know was that the old man wasn't unwilling to take him as a disciple; he simply knew his own limits. During their earlier confrontation, it had become clear to him that he wasn't qualified. If a few old acquaintances found out he had taken on a disciple more powerful than himself, he wouldn't know where to hide his face. As for his casual comment about not minding if Xiang Ri became his disciple, it was only because he knew the boy would refuse.

Ultimately, under the old man's supervision, Xiang Ri performed the three kneels and nine bows of the formal disciple ceremony. 

Of course, since the true master, whose identity remained a mystery, had long since passed away, the recipient of Xiang Ri's ceremonial bows was none other than the old man himself, who now smugly regarded himself as a senior brother. 

Still, Xiang Ri didn't leave empty-handed. As a temporary stand-in for the master, the old man handed him a so-called manual, claiming it would grant him the ability to soar through the skies and perform miraculous feats. In reality, it was little more than a few tattered pages.

When asked the manual's name, the old man hesitated, his expression uncertain. Perhaps he considered a few grandiose titles but dismissed them as too mundane. Finally, he simply said, "Nameless," before disappearing in a flourish.

Xiang Ri was left utterly dumbfounded, failing to notice the old man muttering to himself as he walked away: "The day of the match against the Eagle Claw Sect is approaching... this kid should make a fine candidate."

When Xiang Ri finally returned to the house, the young ladies were waiting impatiently, their expressions filled with anticipation. They had hoped to make a good impression on their future "Grandfather," but when they saw only Xiang Ri walking in, their faces clearly displayed their disappointment.

"Where's Grandpa?" Anxin, the eldest of the young ladies, was the first to speak, her eagerness evident. She had already gotten quite comfortable with calling him "Grandpa."

"That old..." Xiang Ri was about to curse but quickly caught himself, realizing the young ladies were unaware of the old man's true identity. "The elder has already left."

"What? He left already?" Anxin, too focused on how to ingratiate herself with the future elder, didn't catch the shift in Xiang Ri's tone. "Why did he leave so quickly?" she asked, ready to rush out and bring him back.

"He left a while ago. By now, you probably won't even catch a glimpse of him," Xiang Ri said, pulling Anxin back. Inwardly, he felt a pang of jealousy. Why did it seem, in their eyes, that their actual husband was less important than a fake elder?

"You idiot! You didn't even tell us! I... I'm going to strangle you!" Anxin exclaimed, grabbing at the soft flesh around his waist with a vengeance. 

Xiang Ri winced, putting on a pained expression, knowing full well that if he didn't play along, Anxin would only escalate her attack. 

"Alright, alright, next time I'll be sure to let you know in advance. Will that do?" he relented. 

"That's more like it." Anxin snorted, withdrawing her hand and returning to her seat at the dining table. She took a bite of her food but soon looked up as though something had just occurred to her. "Xiang Kui, where should we go this afternoon?" 

"Go? Go where?" Xiang Ri, who had just sat down and picked up his chopsticks, froze in surprise. 

"Out, of course. We're free this afternoon," Anxin replied matter-of-factly. She turned to the other two young ladies at the table. "Qingqing, Wenwen, what do you think?" She didn't even glance at Xiang Ri, as though his presence were entirely irrelevant.

"Sure!" Shi Qing, who now followed Anxin's lead in everything, agreed without hesitation.

"I have no objections," Wenwen, the cool and aloof beauty, replied as indifferent as ever, though a faint glimmer of excitement flickered in her eyes. 

"Well, I have objections!" Xiang Ri protested indignantly. He had been planning to visit a certain female officer he hadn't seen in a while, but Anxin's impromptu arrangement had clearly thrown a wrench in his plans.

"Since everyone agrees, the next matter is to decide where we should go," An Xin said, glancing at the man beside her as though he were invisible. She spoke thoughtfully, completely disregarding the glare being cast her way.

"Can I opt out of this?" With opposition futile, Xiang Ri resorted to a different strategy. 

Of course, he wouldn't normally need to tread so carefully. If it were just An Xin or her apprentice Shi Qing, he had plenty of methods to bring An Xin to heel. But with the ice-cold beauty present, Xiang Ri refrained from using overly coercive tactics.

"Ah, I've made up my mind!" An Xin suddenly declared, shooting him a defiant look. "This afternoon, let's go shopping! It's been ages since I last went."

Xiang Ri was speechless. It was obvious that An Xin was taking advantage of having others around, knowing he wouldn't dare do anything to her. But since she showed him no respect now, he quietly resolved not to show her any mercy later that evening.

---

"Mr. Zhang!" In the hotel, the team saluted the elderly man in traditional Tang attire with utmost respect. Even the most nonchalant among them, a young man with fiery red hair, stood stiffly, fearing a single misplaced expression might earn him a thrashing.

"Hmm," the old man acknowledged with a mere wave of his hand before settling grandly into the room's sole sofa. He gestured toward them and said, "What are you waiting for? Sit down."

"With you here, how could we possibly take a seat?" The captain forced a strained smile, his face twitching slightly.

Zhang Lao studied the group with an odd expression, mentally comparing them to a certain someone. Although that young man showed not an ounce of reverence, Zhang Lao found him far more agreeable than the sycophantic captain before him. The boy had a charm that resonated with Zhang Lao's taste.

Once one develops a preference for excellence, it's hard to tolerate mediocrity. Growing more irritable, Zhang Lao snapped, "I told you to sit down. Since when did you all become so indecisive?"

"Yes, sir," the captain muttered, defeated, as he obediently sat. He motioned for his team to do the same, ensuring no further displeasure from the old man.

Despite their compliance, Zhang Lao found their behavior increasingly grating. Was he really so fearsome? Under normal circumstances, he might not have minded, but after meeting that bold young man, the deference of these underlings now felt unbearably annoying.

Nonetheless, they were his old friend's descendants, so he refrained from showing outright hostility. "Your mission is concluded," he said abruptly, his tone as sharp as ever.

"What?" The captain was stunned. Orders had yet to come from above—how could the mission be declared over?

Their primary goal was to apprehend the Great White Shark, but they were also tasked with assessing a new recruit. The latter assignment remained incomplete. How could the mission possibly be over?

More importantly, the captain knew Zhang Lao's temperament well enough to tread carefully. Taking his words at face value was a recipe for disaster. Mustering his courage, he tentatively asked, "Sir, about that—"

"No need for 'this' or 'that.' I said it's over, and that's final," Zhang Lao interrupted brusquely. Then, as if reconsidering, he added, "That kid doesn't need your 'protection.' Hmph! You can't even handle small fry, yet you have the audacity to claim you're looking after someone?"

The group turned red with embarrassment, silently cursing. Easy for him to say—did he think everyone had monstrous strength like him or that kid? 

Despite their silent grievances, they maintained respectful expressions. Internally, they lamented their predicament, knowing that their orders weren't just to "protect" but also to "observe"—a euphemism for surveillance.

The captain, burdened with speaking for the team, tried to protest, "But—"

"But nothing!" Zhang Lao cut him off again. "If there's a problem, let your superiors come to me."

"Understood," they replied in unison, resigned. They had no choice but to report the situation as ordered.

Still, they couldn't shake their unease. What had Zhang Lao discussed with that young man? How could one brief meeting lead to such a sudden decision to end their mission?

When Zhang Lao first arrived, he had insisted on a thorough evaluation of the young man, vowing to bring him back personally. Now, his abrupt change of heart was baffling.

A chilling thought crossed their minds, fueled by Zhang Lao's earlier comment about not needing "protection." Could it be that the young man had already fallen victim to Zhang Lao's infamous temper? After all, those who knew the old man's history were well aware of his violent tendencies—he had a habit of going overboard during sparring sessions, leaving his opponents battered and broken. 

Of course, most of the people who suffered his "discipline" would only be bedridden for a mere ten days to half a month before they were bouncing back to life. However, exceptions did exist. Those who dared to match their strength against the old man—misjudging their own capabilities—often found themselves infuriating him to the point of ending up confined to a bed for years.

Yet, what truly worried people was not the physical toll but the possibility of the old man losing control entirely and sending someone to report to King Yama himself. Though such an outcome had never occurred, no one could guarantee it never would. This unsettling thought weighed heavily on the minds of the team members.

The Ice Beauty, of all present, had the most complicated expression. Gritting her teeth slightly, she overcame her fear of the deranged elder and asked cautiously, "Elder Zhang, you wouldn't have...?"

"Wouldn't have what?" Elder Zhang was momentarily taken aback. Still, he wasn't as harsh with the girl he had practically watched grow up. His tone softened noticeably.

"If you have something to say, just say it. And stop calling me Elder Zhang—I've told you countless times, address me as Grandfather Zhang. Back in the day, your grandfather was my closest comrade-in-arms. By that logic, you're practically my granddaughter."

"Comrade-in-arms?" The others shuddered inwardly, their imaginations running wild. Did this old man even understand the implications of such a phrase?

While they knew about the old man's connection to the Ice Beauty, envy still stirred within them. They couldn't help but lament their lack of similarly powerful grandfathers; if they had one, they wouldn't be trembling before this terrifying elder now. After all, even in the most perilous circumstances, lineage commands respect.

The Ice Beauty, however, paid no heed to such advantages. Her focus was on one pressing matter: "You didn't beat him to death, did you?"

"Beat him to death?" Elder Zhang was stunned. Following her line of thought and noting the expressions of the men nearby, he finally pieced things together. His tone grew agitated. "Impossible! That kid—"

He abruptly stopped, realizing he'd almost admitted that even if he wanted to kill the brat, he wouldn't have the ability to. Losing face before the younger generation was not an option.

After regaining his composure, he decided to drop a bombshell. "By the way, I almost forgot to mention: that kid is actually my junior brother."

"Junior brother?!" The room erupted in collective disbelief, their shock palpable. 

It wasn't skepticism, though. The two were simply too alike—both superhuman monstrosities who had transcended the limits of humanity. One was a seasoned elder, the other a budding prodigy. It all made perfect sense.

The Ice Beauty finally exhaled, her heart settling after carrying such a heavy weight.

Yet, the elder, with years of cunning and experience, instantly deciphered her thoughts from her relieved expression. He let out a sinister chuckle, already plotting how to "reward" his old comrade by extracting a steep price. Perhaps even a limb—what better way to celebrate bringing back such a "surprise"?

Noticing his sly grin, the Ice Beauty's cheeks flushed crimson—a rare occurrence. She hurriedly diverted the conversation. "So, can we go back now?"

"Go back?" Elder Zhang snapped out of his reverie and countered instantly. "Absolutely not! We've still got business to attend to. Do you think I came all this way just for that kid? I've got a new mission for you."

"A new mission?" The others had just begun to relax, relieved that their assignment was over, only to have their hopes dashed immediately.

"Indeed." The old man, unbothered by their collective groans, continued, "In a few days, some folks from the Vatican are coming. They're here to retrieve some so-called Sacred Scarab. Normally, this kind of thing would be handled by us old geezers. But as you all know, I can't stand those sanctimonious hypocrites. So, I'm handing this task over to you."

The captain's heart sank. "Wouldn't that come across as impolite?"

This was, of course, a feeble attempt to decline the task. Hosting foreign dignitaries was no small feat, especially when those guests were reputed to be fanatical priests from the Vatican. Whispers about their mystical abilities to commune with their deity and summon divine power were well-known—abilities that far surpassed the charlatans back home. Their so-called "sacred light" was anything but ornamental.

However, what truly worried the captain was their peculiar penchant for issuing "friendly challenges" to test their hosts' combat skills. While these exchanges were previously handled by veteran fighters who seldom lost, this time, they were being sent to the slaughter.

"Shit!" The old man was clearly disgusted by the prospect of the so-called priests' arrival, harboring an utter disdain for their claims of a God who supposedly created the world and humanity. He would much rather avoid meeting those self-righteous zealots altogether.

Of course, the old man was well aware of the true intentions of those so-called "priests." Though they claimed to be retrieving some sacred relic, in reality, they were merely looking for trouble—a ritual they seemed to relish annually. Every year, without fail, they fabricated ridiculous excuses to request a sparring match, only to retreat in humiliation. 

It was astonishing that after all these years, they still hadn't given up. Unfortunately, the old man had long since grown bored of these antics and decided to pass this year's reception duties to the younger generation. Losing wouldn't be a disaster, after all. The old folks had reached a consensus: if they didn't let the "priests" win at least once, the Pope himself might come knocking next time.

Of course, if the younger generation managed to secure a victory, it would only highlight the weakness of their so-called "god." If even a group of rookies could defeat them, perhaps they should consider returning home to shovel manure instead.

The younger members, however, failed to grasp the old man's well-meaning intentions. To them, it felt as if they were being pushed to their doom. Losing would be a disgrace not only to themselves but to their nation, a shame no one wished to bear. Even though such matters wouldn't spread, just imagining the disdainful gazes of those "priests" mouthing their endless "Lord" and "God" was enough to fill them with despair.

Thankfully, the old man, ever the shrewd tactician, offered a sliver of hope. Clearing his throat, he said, "I wouldn't leave you to fend for yourselves. Let me show you a way out—it's up to you if you've got what it takes to follow it."

"Please, sir, tell us!" The captain clung to this last glimmer of salvation like a drowning man grasping at a straw.

"Go and ask my junior brother to handle this. As long as he's there, those 'priests' will scurry back with their tails between their legs," the old man declared. Seeing the doubtful expressions on their faces, he grew indignant. "What? Don't believe me?"

"No, no, not at all…" they stammered, though doubt lingered in their hearts. They had witnessed that young man's monstrous abilities, but surely he couldn't surpass the old man's prowess? The old man's strength was almost divine—while it wouldn't destroy worlds, it was still awe-inspiring. If even he had faced defeat against these priests on occasion, how could a junior stand a chance?

Perceiving their skepticism, the old man decided to bolster their confidence. "Don't underestimate that kid. Even I would have a hard time dealing with him," he admitted, though a flicker of awkwardness crossed his face. "Of course, he couldn't take me down either."

"You're not joking, are you?" Their expressions shifted dramatically. Could that young man truly be that powerful? Coming from the old man, who rarely indulged in exaggeration, this statement was almost certainly true.

Even so, the image of that frail, bespectacled youth with his arm swathed in bandages popped into their minds. No matter how they envisioned him, he didn't resemble a formidable master. Yet, they knew better than to judge by appearances. The old man standing before them was proof enough—an ordinary-looking body capable of felling multiple enhanced beings with sheer physical prowess. Such feats could only be described as monstrous.

Just as they began to regain some hope, the old man doused it. "But don't get too excited. That kid isn't someone you can summon at will."

"What do we do then?" Their spirits sank. It seemed the old man's earlier words were entirely useless. Sending them off without proper arrangements and now revealing the difficulty of enlisting this person's help felt utterly inhumane.

Thinking deeper, they began to understand. Perhaps it wasn't that the old man didn't want to ask but that he himself lacked the means. His usual straightforward, no-nonsense approach wouldn't have led to such convoluted instructions otherwise.

This realization only bolstered their confidence in the young man's abilities. If they could somehow secure his help, there would be no need to fear those "priests."

The old man extended a single finger, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Simple," he chuckled. After a pause, three words slipped from his lips: "The honey trap." His gaze landed meaningfully on the Ice Beauty, who seemed oblivious to the conversation.

The others understood instantly. Their eyes met, and as one, they turned toward the Ice Beauty, their eyes lighting up.

The Ice Beauty, unaware of the plot, felt a creeping unease. Her feminine intuition whispered of impending trouble. Seeing her comrades' peculiar gazes, she shivered. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Nothing much," the red-haired youth replied with a mischievous grin. "Lan, there's something we need your help with. Would you mind?"

"No!" she refused outright. She wasn't foolish. Linking the old man's earlier words to their behavior, she quickly guessed their intention to use her as "bait." Such things were not up for discussion.

The memory of a loving couple's intimate moment yesterday still lingered in her mind, especially the man's blissful expression as he held his partner close.

A honey trap? She scoffed bitterly to herself. Even if she agreed, it might not succeed. The thought left a sour taste in her heart.

The others, oblivious to her inner turmoil, remained confident. To them, as long as the Ice Beauty played her role, success was nearly guaranteed.

The three who had previously encountered the man were especially convinced. With a single flirtatious glance from Lan, they were certain he'd come running without hesitation.