Chapter 6: Trading a Shotgun for a Cannon~
Having no time to bother with those two brutes, Zhang Ze once again threw himself onto the path of the "protagonist." Fortunately, with his wealth of experience in failure, such minor issues were hardly worth mentioning.
...
At the same time.
The middle-aged man who had earlier barged into Zhang San’s room was now striding quickly through the labyrinthine alleys. About two hundred meters behind him, in another lane, Li Sanqing followed at a leisurely pace.
“Damn it—” he muttered under his breath, pulling out his phone and dialing a number.
“Chaozi, I’ve been tailed, I’ll be delayed a while.”
“Got it.”
“The kid you had your eye on won’t do, he’s too damn timid.”
There was a moment of silence from the other end, then nothing more was said.
By now, Li Sanqing could already see the silhouette of the middle-aged man ahead. The alleys were bustling with locals, so Li Sanqing made no move to intercept. But the middle-aged man clearly knew the area well, and, after a quick turn, vanished from Li Sanqing’s view.
...
After about half an hour.
As the “Mother of Success,” Zhang Ze finally resolved the trouble within his body.
“Whew—” he let out a long sigh of relief.
The next moment, Zhang Ze felt his body undergo a tremendous transformation.
Only after he had successfully linked all twelve meridians did their true strength become apparent.
“130S... 150S...” he murmured, staring at the system panel in his field of vision.
After about two minutes, the numbers finally stabilized.
Wealth: 140,000
Cell Strength: 169S
Cell Spirit: 129
Innate Skill: Shield (Proficiency 10%)
“The wall for a second-rank martial artist is 200S,” he calculated, already picturing his own glorious future. Clearly, he was quite satisfied with his current cell strength of 169S.
Creak—
Twisting his body, he felt a groan from within. The complete extension of his bones brought an immense sense of comfort.
“Xiao Ze, what’s going on with you?” Fatty Liu, seeing Zhang Ze, sensed that something was off.
Zhang Ze soon realized it himself; with this breakthrough, he’d even shot up a few centimeters in height.
“Liu Neng, you’ve gotten shorter,” he said, reaching out to pat Fatty Liu on the head.
“Got any medicine?”
...
After grabbing some medicine from Fatty Liu, Zhang Ze left with a mischievous grin.
“Where’s that kid just now?”
“Damn—” Fatty Liu, still brooding over yesterday’s romantic failure, was startled by the voice behind him. Turning to see Li Sanqing by the window, he was left speechless.
“Hey—what’s wrong with you people? Is there no door?”
Li Sanqing knew this fat man was just an ordinary person.
Thus, hearing the annoyed tone, he was momentarily taken aback.
“Where’s that kid from before?” Li Sanqing pressed, frowning.
“Gone off chasing girls.”
...
“Think you can run after showing me the goods?”
On the other side, Zhang Ze muttered righteously, his steps never halting.
“I am above the sun and the moon—”
Before he could finish, his old phone rang with a deafening ringtone.
“Sister Fei San?” Zhang Ze answered.
There was a pause on the other end, as if the caller was making sure she hadn’t dialed wrong. In the very next instant, a tirade of curses exploded from the phone.
“You little brat, got a backbone now, do you? Is that how you talk to your mother?!”
Two roars thundered in his head before she finally paused, giving Zhang Ze a chance to speak.
“I just had a breakthrough,” he replied. “Now I’m officially a first-rank martial artist. Watch your tone, okay?”
Another silent stretch.
“Heh—Zeh, I was only joking with you just now.”
Zhang Ze ignored her.
“An informant wants to meet you. His name is Wang Chao. By the way, he’s a second-rank martial artist.” With a meaningful reminder, she gave him the time and place before hanging up.
Weighing the old phone in his hand, Zhang Ze couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I was just worrying about how to find you lot.”
Grinning foolishly at the phone, he hummed, “We’re just ordinary folks, but oh, how joyful that is—”
...
Two hours later, Zhang Ze was fiddling with a new iPhone, seated in a small tavern.
“We’ve met before,” came a voice. Only then did Zhang Ze put down his phone.
Before him sat the middle-aged man who’d broken through the window earlier. It was not Wang Chao.
The man sat down with a slight smile.
“Looks like you’ve had a successful breakthrough.”
Zhang Ze didn’t answer, but eyed the man, puzzled.
“He wants to see me?”
“Heh, I’m just a delivery guy. Why would he want to see me?” the man replied, taking a sip of wine. Zhang Ze seized the chance to ask, weighing the messenger bag the man carried.
“If I gave you all this, would you be interested in coming with me?” the man finally said.
He drank his wine and waited for Zhang Ze’s response.
Seeing the man’s sincere expression, Zhang Ze’s mind began to churn. After all, he knew exactly what was in that messenger bag. Wasn’t this the very reason he was here?
For a full five minutes, Zhang Ze pretended to ponder. The man, it seemed, didn’t notice the act. In fact, he couldn’t begin to imagine that the newly advanced Zhang Ze was already setting his sights on him.
As time passed, the man soon detected something odd about the wine.
“You trying to play me?” he shot up, staring at Zhang Ze in disbelief.
“Three... two... one...” Zhang Ze muttered unconcernedly.
Bang—
Even as he spoke, the man collapsed onto the sofa.
It was midday; the bar was nearly empty, and no one paid any attention to Zhang Ze.
At this moment, a grinning bartender sauntered over.
“Bro, you sure have... unique tastes...” he said, glancing at the unconscious man and wincing. No wonder—when Zhang Ze had handed him the drug, he thought it was for some pretty girl. Who could’ve guessed it was for this hulking fellow...
Knowing what the bartender was thinking, Zhang Ze snapped, “Get lost! You’re the one into that stuff.”
Still, Zhang Ze knew full well that without the bartender’s help, it would’ve been nearly impossible to trick a second-rank martial artist.
“Don’t worry. Fatty Liu will make sure you get the latest study materials for free,” Zhang Ze said, tossing off this line as he reached for the black messenger bag.
He then handed the bartender a note.
“When I’m gone, call this number. Just say the guy he’s looking for is sleeping it off at your place.”
With that, Zhang Ze turned to leave.
“Bro, this guy’s not going to be in trouble, is he?” the bartender asked, uneasy.
“Relax, as long as you keep quiet, no one will know,” Zhang Ze replied before walking out.
...
“Fatty, pack up, we need to lie low for a while.”
Leaving the bar, Zhang Ze called Fatty Liu.
“Zeh, what did you do?” Fatty Liu asked, recalling the dose Zhang Ze had taken from him.
“That medicine... You didn’t use it all on one person and get someone killed, did you?”
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Fatty Liu dared not linger.
In this world, there was no police station; all such matters were handled by the Bureau of Investigation—staffed entirely by martial artists.
With that realization, Fatty Liu packed up his things in a panic within minutes.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Meet at the usual place,” Zhang Ze replied impatiently.
“Where do you come up with these wild ideas?” he muttered after hanging up.
But thinking of Fatty Liu’s personality, he just shook his head.
“Damn!” One moment he was mocking Fatty Liu, the next, Zhang Ze let out a cry of surprise.
He stared at his system panel for more than ten seconds.
“We’ve gone from popguns to cannons now!”
“Haha—”