141: Chapter 141 The Secret Manual! Iron Shirt

Night, like a thick layer of ink, rolled over from the horizon, swallowing the city walls, streets, and eaves of Yunzhou Prefecture.

Pedestrians on the streets gradually thinned out, and the shops along the street put up their door panels one after another. Only a few restaurants remained lit, with warm, dim light leaking from the windows, casting patches of warmth onto the bluestone road.

A night watchman walked past the street corner, knocking his clapper. The sound of the clapper echoed in the empty street, dragging out long reverberations.

When Lin Tian walked into the North Gate of Yunzhou Prefecture, the lanterns on the gate tower were already lit. The guards at the gate were leaning against the wall, dozing off with their spears in their arms, not even lifting their eyelids.

He passed through the gate tunnel and, instead of going directly to the East Street, turned into a secluded alleyway.

At the end of the alley was a grocery store with an oil lamp still lit. The shop sold worthless items: rain capes, bamboo hats, hemp ropes, oilcloth umbrellas, and a few bolts of coarse cloth piled in the corner.

The shopkeeper was dozing on the counter, drool dripping onto his sleeve.

Lin Tian walked in and took a cloak from the shelf. It was black, made of coarse cloth, with a wide hood that could cover a person from head to toe when worn.

He paid the silver, put on the cloak, and pulled the hood low, obscuring most of his face. The figure reflected in the bronze mirror was nothing but a blurred outline; one could not tell his age, his face, or even his physique, as it was swallowed by the oversized cloak.

He walked out of the grocery store, turned out of the alley, and headed toward East Street.

Zuixian Restaurant was in the center of East Street and was one of the top restaurants in Yunzhou Prefecture. It was a three-story pavilion with upturned eaves, and a row of large red lanterns hung under the eaves; the red glow could be seen from half a street away.

Two attendants stood at the entrance, bowing and scraping whenever someone arrived.

When Lin Tian walked into Zuixian Restaurant, his hood was pulled very low, revealing only his chin. An attendant came up, glanced at the coarse cloak on his body, and his smile faded slightly, but he still asked politely, "How many guests?"

Lin Tian did not speak. He held up one finger and walked straight toward the stairs. Seeing his steady pace and the indescribable Aura about him, the attendant did not dare to ask more and stepped aside to make way.

The lobby on the first floor was filled with people, clinking glasses and noisy chatter. No one noticed the person in the black cloak passing by the stairs, silent and soundless, drifting past like a shadow.

The second floor was for private rooms, with a dark red carpet laid in the corridor that felt soft underfoot, making no sound at all. Several colored glaze lamps hung on the walls, their light filtering through the colored covers and dyeing the corridor a suggestive, warm yellow.

On both sides of the corridor were the doors to the private rooms, with exquisite carvings of flowers, birds, fish, and insects on the panels. Light leaked from the crack of one of the doors. Inside, it was very quiet; there were no sounds of clinking glasses, only the soft click of a teacup occasionally hitting the table.

Lin Tian stood still in front of the door.

There was no one else in the corridor. The flame of the glaze lamp danced gently inside the cover, casting the shadow of the cloak onto the wall, growing and shrinking. He did not knock immediately but stood there listening for a moment.

The door panel was not thick. The person inside did not deliberately lower their voice; the breathing, heartbeat, and the sound of fingers tapping on the table could be heard through the door.

There was only one person inside.

Lin Tian raised his hand and tapped his knuckles on the door panel. Knock, knock, knock. Three times, neither heavy nor light.

The breathing inside stopped for an instant. The sound of a teacup being set on the table. The soft sound of chair legs scraping against the floor. Footsteps moved toward the door, walked two steps, and then stopped.

"Who is it?"

It was the voice of Young Master Zhao Qingyun. Through the door panel, it sounded a bit muffled, but the leisurely and nonchalant tone could not be hidden. He was probably sitting inside with his legs crossed, drinking tea, waiting for his three subordinates to return and report back.

Lin Tian did not answer his question but instead retorted in a low, muffled voice, like sandpaper grinding against wood: "Is it Young Master Zhao Qingyun?"

There was silence inside for a breath. Young Master Zhao Qingyun was probably judging the voice—it was unfamiliar, but since the person could call his name, it should be someone he knew.

Perhaps it was a subordinate sent back to report, or perhaps there was some business at the martial arts hall. He didn't think too much and subconsciously replied: "It is me."

The moment his words fell, before the tail end of the sentence had even fully left his throat—a streak of extremely faint cold light lit up in the door crack.

It was a flying knife. The pitch-black blade was almost invisible in the dim light of the glaze lamp, with only the edge of the blade reflecting a thread of cold light thinner than a hair.

When it slipped through the crack of the door, it made no sound. The door panel did not break, the window did not shatter, and not even the air was disturbed.

The moment the two words "It is me" left Young Master Zhao Qingyun's lips, a tiny hole appeared between his eyebrows.

The hole was so small it was almost invisible, as if pricked by a red-hot needle.

No blood sprayed out; not even blood flowed from the wound—the speed of the moyuan flying dagger was too fast, and the blade was too thin; the moment it pierced the skull, it sealed all the blood vessels around the wound.

His eyes were still open, the leisure and nonchalance of the previous second still lingering in his pupils, but the light was gone. The whole person remained in a standing posture for an instant, then, like a chopped-down wooden stake, fell straight backward.

With a muffled thud, his back hit the carpet, causing the floor to tremble slightly. The flame of the glaze lamp flickered and then stabilized again.

The door opened.

Lin Tian pushed the door open and walked in, closing the door behind him with his backhand.

The corridor outside was still empty, and the glaze lamp was still shining quietly.

The private room was not large.

There was a rosewood round table, four chairs, and a daybed against the wall. On the table was a pot of tea and a teacup; the tea was still warm, emitting wisps of white steam.

Young Master Zhao Qingyun lay on his back on the floor, his eyes wide open, the tiny knife hole between his eyebrows facing the ceiling.

The corners of his mouth were still slightly upturned; he had been smiling before he fell—probably laughing at Lin Tian, laughing at the guy who had been surrounded by three Fourth-Rank Warriors and was doomed to die. But this smile was frozen on his face forever.

Lin Tian crouched down and reached out to check the side of Young Master Zhao Qingyun's neck. The skin was still warm, but the pulse had stopped. He did not waste time and skillfully searched Young Master Zhao Qingyun's body with his fingers.

Silver banknotes.

A thick stack. He took it out from his bosom, counted it roughly, and it was a full ten thousand taels. The young master of Qingyun Martial Arts Hall carried ten thousand taels of silver banknotes with him when he went out; one wondered what he was planning to buy. Medicinal Pills.

Two porcelain bottles. He pulled out the stoppers and sniffed them, and a rich medicinal fragrance rushed to his nose. They were top-tier recovery pills and pills for cultivating Internal Energy, of a much higher grade than the ones he had bought before. There was also a book.

The book was kept close to Young Master Zhao Qingyun's body, wrapped in a piece of silk cloth, layered several times. Lin Tian unwrapped the silk cloth, revealing an ancient book inside.

The cover was dark brown, the edges worn white, and on it, written in bold, flying calligraphy, were a few large characters—Dragon Roar Iron Shirt.

The handwriting was vigorous and powerful, with every stroke exuding a fierce energy. Just looking at these words, one knew that the person who wrote this book did not have low cultivation.

Lin Tian did not open it on the spot. He wrapped the book back in the silk cloth and put it into his bosom along with the silver banknotes and Medicinal Pills.

He stood up and turned to the wall opposite. The moyuan flying dagger was nailed to the wall, with most of the blade embedded in the wall, leaving only a small piece of the hilt exposed.

Young Master Zhao Qingyun had been standing at the door; the flying knife had shot in through the crack of the door, passed through his eyebrows, exited from the back of his head, and finally nailed to the wall—a straight line, without a hair's breadth of error.

Lin Tian pinched the end of the knife and pulled it gently. The flying knife slid out of the wall, the blade clean, without even a speck of wall dust on it.

He inserted the flying knife back into the knife pouch in his sleeve, turned to glance at Young Master Zhao Qingyun on the floor, then opened the door and walked out.

The corridor was still empty. The flame of the glaze lamp danced, stretching the shadow of the cloak long and short. Lin Tian walked through the corridor, went down the stairs, and passed through the noisy lobby on the first floor.

No one noticed him, a person in a black cloak, inconspicuous among the guests coming and going in Zuixian Restaurant. He walked out of the main entrance of Zuixian Restaurant, the night wind blowing in his face, causing the hem of his cloak to flutter and snap.

The city gate had not yet closed. Lin Tian left the North Gate of Yunzhou Prefecture, walked along the official road for half an hour, and turned into the entrance to the Taixuan Mountain Range.

The mountains and forests in the night were even quieter than during the day, even the calls of the night owls were distant, with only the sound of his own footsteps stepping on the fallen leaves, making a rustling sound.

He did not walk fast, but he never stopped. Passing through the outer forest of the Taixuan Mountain Range and crossing two ridges, the mountain gate of the Qixia Sect finally revealed its outline in the night.

The stone lanterns on the mountain gate were lit all night, looking from afar like a few sparks embedded in the mountainside.

Lin Tian entered the mountain gate and walked up the mountain path of Zixia Peak. The night was already very deep, and there was no one on the mountain road. He turned into the secluded path, pushed open the courtyard gate, walked into the house, closed the door, and only then took off his cloak and let out a long breath.

He lit the oil lamp, and the dim yellow light spread across the table. He took out the things from his bosom one by one and placed them on the table.

First were the things from the three Fourth-Rank Warriors. A few silver banknotes, crumpled, adding up to no more than a few hundred taels.

He uncorked a few bottles of Medicinal Pill and took a look. The grade was average; some were for healing, others for assisting with Cultivation, but none could be considered good items. Although these three people were working for Young Master Zhao Qingyun, it was clear that Young Master Zhao Qingyun hadn't spent much money on them.

Then there were Young Master Zhao Qingyun's belongings. Silver banknotes, a thick stack, a full ten thousand taels.

Lin Tian flattened the banknotes and counted them one by one, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. Ten thousand taels of silver, added to what he already had on hand, was another significant sum.

Medicinal Pill, two porcelain bottles. Uncorking the stopper, a medicinal fragrance assaulted his nostrils. They were high-grade Rejuvenation Pills and Qi Gathering Pills, at least a grade higher than those he had bought previously at the Sect market.

The Rejuvenation Pills were for healing, and the Qi Gathering Pills were for assisting in the Cultivation of Internal Energy; both were useful items.

Finally, there was that ancient book.

Lin Tian unwrapped the silk cloth and held the dark brown-covered ancient book in his hands. The characters "Dragon Roar Iron Shirt" on the cover appeared even more vigorous under the oil lamp, the ink color deep and heavy, as if carved into the page. He turned to the first page.

The paper had yellowed, and the edges were somewhat brittle, emitting a faint rustling sound as he turned them.

The first page was the general outline; the handwriting was neat and solemn, clearly not written by the same person who had penned the flamboyant characters on the cover—the cover was an inscription, while the inner pages contained the actual text of the Cultivation Technique.

"The Dragon Roar Iron Shirt is a form of external hard-training martial art. It uses the body as a furnace and Qi as fire, forging the skin, refining the flesh, tempering the bones, and condensing the tendons. On the day of success, the body becomes like iron armor, invulnerable to blades and spears, impervious to water and fire.

Furthermore, it possesses the Dragon Roar body protection, which automatically sounds when attacked, alerting the user before the strike lands..."

Lin Tian read down word by word. The more he read, the slower he went, and the brighter his eyes became.

A hard-training martial art. The Purple Qi Diagram he had cultivated previously was an Internal Skill Mind-Cultivation Technique; the Xiaguang Sword Technique and Thunderclap Sword Technique were sword techniques; the Cloud Shadow Step was a movement technique; the Flying Knife in the Sleeve was a hidden weapon technique; and the Great Strength Vajra Palm was a palm technique.

These martial arts each had their own uses, but they shared a common shortcoming—defense.

He already had enough offensive means: sword and palm techniques for close range, bows and arrows for long range, and hidden weapons for stealth.

But if an opponent's blade struck him, he could only use his movement techniques to dodge or his sword to parry.

Once he could not dodge or parry, he could only rely on his Physical Body to take the hit. Although the Physical Body of a Fourth-Rank Warrior was much stronger than that of an ordinary person, it was still insufficient when facing blades infused with Internal Energy.

The Dragon Roar Iron Shirt happened to make up for this shortcoming.

He continued reading. The Cultivation Technique was divided into three levels.

The first level, "Copper Skin," used Internal Energy to temper the skin, making it as tough as copper, so that ordinary blades would only leave a white mark when striking it.

The second level, "Iron Bone," tempered the tendons and bones, making the skeletal structure as hard as iron and greatly increasing the resilience of the Meridians, exponentially enhancing the ability to withstand strikes.

The third level, "Dragon Roar," allowed Internal Energy to form an invisible layer of Qi armor on the surface of the body, which would automatically activate when attacked, emitting a Dragon-like roar to alert the user, while the Qi armor simultaneously withstood the attack.

When Lin Tian turned to the last page, he saw a line of small text in the corner. The handwriting was extremely faint, as if it had been scratched on with a fingernail, and one would not notice it without looking carefully. He leaned closer to the oil lamp, squinted, and deciphered it for a long time—"Once this technique reaches Major Achievement, it can rival the Profound Rank."

Six characters that made Lin Tian's breath hitch for a moment.

Rival the Profound Rank. It meant that once the Dragon Roar Iron Shirt reached Major Achievement, its power would be enough to rival a Profound Rank martial art. What kind of concept was a Profound Rank martial art? In the entire Qixia Sect, the number of Profound Rank martial arts could be counted on one's fingers.

That was a Cultivation Technique that only figures at the Peak Master level were qualified to Cultivate. His current Xiaguang Sword Technique, Thunderclap Sword Technique, and Great Strength Vajra Palm were all Yellow Rank Medium Grade or High Grade; they did not even count as Yellow Rank Top Grade.

This Dragon Roar Iron Shirt was absolutely worth a fortune. Young Master Zhao Qingyun carried ten thousand taels of silver, and coupled with this Secret Manual, his appearance at the Zuixian Restaurant tonight was very likely for the purpose of buying this book.

Perhaps it was a transaction at the Wanbao Pavilion, or perhaps through other channels. But now, this book had fallen into his hands.

Lin Tian closed the book, wrapped it back up with the silk cloth, and tucked it under his pillow. He blew out the oil lamp, sat cross-legged in the darkness, and closed his eyes.

No training today.

Sleep first today. From the Taixuan Mountain Range to Yunzhou Prefecture, and from Yunzhou Prefecture back to the Qixia Sect, he had killed four people and walked over a hundred li throughout the entire day; his Internal Energy and stamina had been significantly depleted. Matters of Cultivation could wait until tomorrow.

Meanwhile, hundreds of li away in Yunzhou Prefecture, at the Qingyun Martial Arts Hall.

The news only reached the martial arts hall in the early morning. A waiter at the Zuixian Restaurant got up in the morning to clean the corridor and found the door to a third-floor private room slightly ajar. Pushing the door open, he saw a person lying on the ground with a hole in the center of his forehead, already cold.

The waiter was so terrified that he tumbled from the third floor to the second, scrambling and crawling as he ran to report it to the authorities.

The government officials arrived very quickly. Upon recognizing the deceased as the young master of the Qingyun Martial Arts Hall, they did not make a scene and directly sent someone to the martial arts hall to deliver the news.

The master of the Qingyun Martial Arts Hall, Zhao Zhenshan, was practicing punches in the training arena. He was shirtless, revealing a body of bronze-colored muscles, his two fists wrapped in cloth strips soaked in medicinal liquid, slamming them one by one into an iron-wood post.

The iron-wood post hummed from his strikes, covered densely with fist marks.

The messenger was led in by a Disciple of the martial arts hall. After Zhao Zhenshan finished listening to the messenger, his fist froze in mid-air.

"What?"

His voice was calm—unnaturally so. The messenger swallowed hard and repeated what he had said.

Zhao Zhenshan did not speak. He unwound the cloth strips from his hands circle by circle, threw them on the ground, picked up the outer robe beside him, draped it over his shoulders, and strode out the door.

The body was brought back to the martial arts hall directly from the Zuixian Restaurant.

After a long time, Zhao Zhenshan's hand began to tremble. The trembling started from his fingertips, then spread to his wrist, to his elbow, and finally to his entire arm.

The white cloth slipped from his hand, covering Young Master Zhao Qingyun's face once again.

"Who is it?"

His voice squeezed out from his throat, as if pressed down by something. No one answered. The mourning hall was quiet, save for the crackling sound of the candle wicks burning.

Zhao Zhenshan turned around abruptly, the muscles on his face twisted, his eyes bloodshot, like a wild beast whose lair had been stirred: "Who did this! Who exactly was it!"

His roar exploded in the mourning hall, causing the candlelight to dim all at once. The Elders looked at each other, the Disciples lowered their heads, and not a single person dared to answer.

Finally, the Grand Elder of the martial arts hall walked up. The Grand Elder had graying hair and a thin face, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle's. He did not speak; he first walked to the remains of Young Master Zhao Qingyun, lifted the white cloth again, leaned down, and carefully examined the knife hole in the center of his forehead.

After looking for a long while, he straightened up, his voice low: "It was a hidden weapon. A hidden weapon like a flying knife, extremely thin and extremely sharp, piercing in through the center of the forehead and out through the back of the head, killing with a single strike. The person who made the move is a master of hidden weapons."

A master of hidden weapons.

Zhao Zhenshan's chest heaved violently, his fists clenching until they clicked.

Masters of hidden weapons were not common in the Yunzhou Prefecture area, and those who could reach the level of killing with a single strike were even rarer.

But even if they were rare, relying solely on the words "master of hidden weapons" to find the culprit in the vast sea of people was no different from looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Why did he want to kill Young Master Zhao Qingyun?" Zhao Zhenshan's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper scraping against an iron plate, "Who had Young Master Zhao Qingyun made enemies with?"

The Grand Elder did not answer this question. His gaze swept over the remains of Young Master Zhao Qingyun, and suddenly he reached out, probing into Young Master Zhao Qingyun's lapel, and then his expression changed.

"Hall Master." The Grand Elder's voice sank, "There is nothing on Young Master Zhao Qingyun."

Zhao Zhenshan looked up abruptly.

"The silver banknotes, the Medicinal Pill, all the valuable items are gone." The Grand Elder pulled his fingers out from Young Master Zhao Qingyun's bosom, his fingertips empty, "Even that..."

He did not continue, but Zhao Zhenshan's expression had already changed.

That Secret Manual. The Dragon Roar Iron Shirt.

Zhao Zhenshan had only received the news yesterday that the Wanbao Pavilion had obtained an ancient hard-training Cultivation Technique called the Dragon Roar Iron Shirt.

He immediately decided to secure it at all costs and had Young Master Zhao Qingyun take one hundred thousand taels of silver banknotes and rush to Yunzhou Prefecture overnight.

One hundred thousand taels—that was the Qingyun Martial Arts Hall's savings of several years.

But now, Young Master Zhao Qingyun was dead, the silver banknotes were gone, and the Secret Manual was also gone.

"One hundred thousand taels..." an Elder gasped, "One hundred thousand taels for one martial art? That is too expensive! What grade is this Dragon Roar Iron Shirt exactly?"

No one answered him. But everyone in their hearts knew—a martial art worth one hundred thousand taels must have a shockingly high grade.

The Grand Elder's gaze swept around the mourning hall and finally landed on Zhao Zhenshan's face, his voice lowered extremely low: "Hall Master, I fear this is not a revenge killing. Someone set their sights on Young Master Zhao Qingyun and wanted to kill him to seize the treasure."

Zhao Zhenshan's body swayed. A revenge killing had grudges to track, and by following the clues, one could always find the culprit.

Killing to seize treasure was different. The killer did not have a grudge against Young Master Zhao Qingyun; they came for the Secret Manual and the silver. Such a person, after succeeding, would fly far away, disappearing into the vast sea of people—where could one find them?

"Find him." His voice squeezed out word by word from between his teeth, carrying bone-deep hatred, "No matter if he has fled to the ends of the earth, you must find him for me!"