One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

The fat monk stopped moving.

The bottle he was about to bring to his lips froze in mid-air, the rim less than an inch from his lips, the liquid swirling slightly at the opening. His plump, fleshy hands remained motionless, still holding the bottle.

Then, he slowly turned his head.

The speed wasn't fast, and the movements weren't large; it was just a slight turn of the neck. But the feeling—when Zhang Chulan was stared at by those eyes, he felt as if he were being stared at by a ferocious beast. Those eyes were no longer squinting; they were fully open. The pupils weren't large, the pupils had shrunk to pinpoints, and the irises were dark brown, like two polished stones in the dim light. His body was still in that slouching, drunken state, but his eyes had changed; he had become someone else.

"What did you just call this humble monk?"

The voice was no longer a drunken, indistinct murmur, but carried a heavy, oppressive force that seemed to freeze the air itself.

It's like a sleeping beast being woken up. It hasn't even stood up yet, just opened its eyes, but you know you can no longer pretend it doesn't exist.

The atmosphere in the entire warehouse instantly became heavy.

Zhang Chulan felt as if he were being stared at by a ferocious beast, a chill running down his spine as if someone had poured a spoonful of ice water on his vertebrae. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his palms were sweaty, and his fingertips were numb. But he still gritted his teeth and repeated it:

"Are you... Senior Ruan Feng?"

The fat monk stared at him for a full ten seconds.

For those ten seconds, the warehouse was so quiet you could hear dust settling on the floor. Baron composed himself, lowered his hand from his forehead, and sat up straight. His eyes darted back and forth between Zhang Chulan and Ruan Feng, but he didn't say a word. Nie Lingfeng stood there, motionless, but he slightly adjusted the angle of his arms around Xiaoyun to make the child more stable.

Then--

He suddenly burst into laughter.

"Hahaha! I never expected this! After hiding my identity for so many years, I've actually been recognized!"

The fat monk laughed so hard he almost fell over, his round belly jiggling and the folds of his robes shaking. He was almost in tears from laughing, and a drop of liquid slid down his cheek, which he wiped with his sleeve. The sound echoed several times in the empty warehouse, like someone vigorously beating a drum.

"Boy, how did you recognize this humble monk?"

He asked with a smile, his voice returning to its lazy tone, but his eyes were not completely closed, leaving a slit open.

Zhang Chulan breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a small patch of cold sweat soaking his back, clinging coolly to his skin. He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. He thought to himself: It really was him! I made the right bet!

He gathered his thoughts, his expression shifting from tense to solemn. He bowed slightly, clasped his hands in a fist salute—the gesture wasn't perfect, but it was respectful nonetheless.

"This junior, Zhang Chulan, is from the company. I came to Nathan Island to find you, senior."

"company?"

Ruan Feng's smile faded. After his laughter stopped, his expression became flat, like ripples on water returning to a mirror. A complex look flashed in his eyes, a look that contained memories, wariness, and something indescribable, as if someone had brought up something he didn't want to talk about again.

"Why are you people from the company looking for me? I've been retired from the martial world for many years, no longer concerned with worldly affairs. I only wish to drink and eat meat on this island, living a carefree life. Why bother disturbing my peace?"

His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried a weariness of "not wanting to be dragged into those things anymore." It was like a door that had been closed; unless you knocked, it would remain closed forever.

"Senior, you misunderstand." Zhang Chulan quickly said, taking a step forward, then stopping. "This junior did not come to disturb you, senior, but rather to ask you some questions."

"consult?"

Ruan Feng reverted to his drunken state, taking a swig from the bottle. He wiped the wine stains from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a transparent mark on his skin.

"What could I, a mere wine-drinking monk, possibly have to teach you?"

"Senior is too modest," Zhang Chulan said solemnly, his voice much firmer than before. "As one of the Thirty-Six Thieves and the owner of the Eight Extraordinary Techniques, 'Six Treasuries Immortal Thief,' you are experienced and knowledgeable. I would like to inquire about someone from you."

"Who is it?"

"Rootless".

Upon hearing those three words, Ruan Feng's expression changed once again.

His grip on the bottle tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white, and a crease appeared on the label. His face twitched involuntarily, and his lips drooped for a moment, as if pricked by something. Those three words were like a needle, piercing one of his most sensitive nerves.

He was silent for a long time.

During that time, he only did two things—he took a swig of liquor and then put the bottle down. The bottle hit the concrete with a "crack" as it sat on the ground. He looked at the bottle as if it were something that didn't belong to him.

Then, he slowly began to speak:

"Why are you asking about him?"

His voice was lower and deeper than before, as if it were rising from the depths of his chest.

"Because..." Zhang Chulan took a deep breath, as if he wanted to inhale all his hesitation and uncertainty, and then exhale a definite fact, "He may be the key for me to find the truth about the Eight Extraordinary Techniques."

Ruan Feng looked at him.

Those eyes lingered on his face for a long time, so long that Zhang Chulan could feel every pore on his face being scrutinized. He looked into Zhang Chulan's eyes, watching whether his pupils were dilated or contracted, whether his breathing was fast or slow, and whether his lips were unconsciously pursed or slightly parted.

Then he sighed.

The sigh was long and drawn out, as if drawn from a very deep place, carrying the weight of decades. His shoulders slumped slightly, then lifted again.

"Wugensheng... I haven't heard anyone mention this name for many years."

He turned and walked back to the pile of bottles, plopping down on the floor. His weight made the ground tremble slightly, and a few drops of liquor splashed from the bottle neck, landing in the dust and forming a small, dark, damp patch. He picked up the bottle, took another swig, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

Then, he slowly said:

"What do you want to know?"

Zhang Chulan was overjoyed and quickly followed, sitting down opposite him. He sat down rather hastily, bending his knees abruptly, almost losing his balance. He braced himself with his hands on the ground, adjusted his posture, and faced Ruan Feng.

"This junior would like to know, who exactly is Wugensheng? Why did he create the Thirty-Six Thieves? And where did the Eight Extraordinary Techniques come from?"

He spoke rather quickly, as if afraid that Ruan Feng would change his mind, wanting to finish all the questions he wanted to ask in one go.

Ruan Feng was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke:

"Wugensheng is a very complex person. I have known him for many years, but I still can't see through him. He is like a fog; you think you have grasped him, but in fact you have only grasped nothingness."

His fingers slowly caressed the neck of the bottle, as if he were touching an old object.

"What about the thirty-six thieves?"

"The Thirty-Six Thieves were created by him to fight against the existing order in the world of supernatural beings," Ruan Feng said, his voice heavy with memories. "Back then, the world of supernatural beings was controlled by a few major families and sects. There was almost no chance for independent cultivators and those from small sects to rise in status. If you wanted to become an apprentice, they wouldn't accept you; if you wanted to learn skills, they wouldn't teach you; if you wanted to stand out, they would suppress you. Those major sects controlled all the resources, all the inheritances, and all the channels for advancement. Ordinary supernatural beings remained ordinary people for their entire lives."

He took a swig of wine.

"Wu Gensheng couldn't stand this situation, so he gathered a group of like-minded people and formed the Thirty-Six Thieves, wanting to break this monopoly. He wanted to establish a new order, one that didn't consider social status or background, but only ability and character."

"And then what happened? Why did the Thirty-Six Thieves disband? Why were they hunted down by various sects?"

Ruan Feng gave a bitter laugh. The laugh was short, his lips twitched slightly, but the light in his eyes dimmed for a moment.

"Because...we discovered something we shouldn't have discovered."

"What is it?"

Instead of answering directly, Nguyen Phuong asked in return:

Do you know how the Eight Extraordinary Skills came about?

Zhang Chulan shook his head. His heart began to race again; he felt the answer was right in front of him, like a door about to be pushed open.

"The Eight Extraordinary Skills were not created by any one person," Ruan Feng said slowly. "They were... 'leaked' from somewhere."

"Give way?"

Zhang Chulan was taken aback, his brows furrowing slightly as if he were processing the meaning of the word.

"Where did it leak from?"

Ruan Feng pointed to the ground. He tapped his finger twice on the cement, making a soft "thump-thump" sound.

"From outside this world."

Zhang Chulan was stunned.

He sat there, leaning slightly forward, maintaining his previous posture, but his eyes had changed. Beyond the world? He blinked, as if trying to confirm if he had misheard. His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but something seemed to be blocking his throat, preventing him from making a sound.

Beyond the world?

What does that mean?

In all the knowledge he had acquired from childhood, the "world" was a closed circle, with no outside, no inside, and no boundaries. Now someone says that there is something beyond the world, a door, and power seeping in through the cracks in the door—it's as if someone is telling him that he has always lived in one room, but there is another room outside that room, which he has never known.

"In detail, this humble monk cannot explain it to you clearly." Ruan Feng shook his head, the fat on his face jiggling. "This humble monk only knows that Wugensheng discovered a 'door' somewhere. That door leads to another world, and the Eight Extraordinary Techniques are the power leaked from that world."

His fingers rubbed the neck of the bottle a couple more times.

"The door...that door...where is it?"

"I don't know." Ruan Feng shook his head. "Wu Gengsheng never told anyone the location of that door. He only taught the Eight Extraordinary Techniques to eight of the Thirty-Six Thieves after discovering the door, and then disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

Zhang Chulan's voice unconsciously rose by half an octave. His body leaned forward involuntarily, his knees almost touching Ruan Feng's monk's robe.

"Yes, he disappeared." Ruan Feng took a swig of wine, some of which spilled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with his sleeve. "Nobody knows where he went, and nobody knows if he's dead or alive. He just vanished into thin air, never to be seen again."

Zhang Chulan fell silent.

He sat there, head down, staring at his hands resting on his knees. His fingers were twisted together, knuckles white from gripping them. He had thought that finding Ruan Feng would unravel the mystery of Wu Gengsheng, but instead, he encountered even more mysteries.

A door to another world? The Eight Extraordinary Techniques are power leaked from that world? These things sound like pure fantasy. If someone else had told him these things, he might have turned and walked away. But he knew that Ruan Feng had no reason to lie to him. A senior figure who had lived in anonymity for so many years could simply remain silent if he didn't want to; there was no need for him to fabricate such a complicated story.

"Senior, do you know where Wugensheng might have gone?" Zhang Chulan pressed on, unwilling to give up. His voice was lower than before, carrying a tone of "I know the chances are slim, but I still want to ask."

Ruan Feng thought for a moment, then tapped his chin twice with his fingers.

"I have heard that the last place he was seen was on Nathan Island."

"Nathan Island?!"

Zhang Chulan was startled and sat up straight from the ground, his back ramrod straight. His eyes widened, his pupils dilated, and his lips parted slightly.

"He's been to Nathan Island too?"

"Yes." Ruan Feng nodded. "That happened many years ago. I only heard about it after I arrived on Nathan Island. It is said that he stayed on Nathan Island for a while, and then... no one has seen him since."

He paused, then added:

"Some say he died. Others say he went through that door. Still others say he became someone else, living a good life in some corner of the island."

Zhang Chulan's heart raced again.

Wugensheng came to Nathan Island and then disappeared? Could it be... he's still on this island? Or is the secret of his disappearance hidden somewhere on this island? That abandoned base, that frozen mother nest, that hatchery called "Nidhogg"... could all of this be related to Wugensheng?

"Senior, could you tell me where Wugensheng went when he was on Nasen Island?" Zhang Chulan asked eagerly. His voice quickened, as if afraid that Ruan Feng would say "I don't know" again.

Nguyen Phuong was about to speak—

Suddenly, a commotion arose outside the warehouse.

"Listen up, you inside! You are surrounded! Lay down your weapons, put your hands behind your heads, and come out to surrender!"

The voice, transmitted through a loudspeaker, carried a strong official tone. It was standard English, with a perfect intonation, as if the speaker had received specialized training. The sound reflected off the warehouse walls, creating layers of echoes that lingered in the empty space for a long time.

Barron stood up. His movements were swift and precise, the transition from sitting to standing without any unnecessary swaying, as if his body possessed a precise system of balance. He walked to the warehouse door, but instead of pushing it open, he stood by the door, tilted his head, and peeked out through the crack.

Then he turned around, his expression turning serious: "It's Behemoth's men. They came very quickly."

"Behemoth?" Ruan Feng frowned, the two slits turning into lines again. "Those Americans, do they really think Nathan Island is their backyard?"

His tone carried a hint of displeasure at being disturbed.

"How many of them came?" Nie Lingfeng asked. His voice remained calm, as if someone were asking him how the weather was.

"At least a platoon," Barron said, not turning around but still looking out the door. "About thirty to forty men, divided into three echelons, advancing towards the warehouse from the front. And there are several cyborgs too. I saw clearly, at least five."

"Cyborgs?" Zhang Chulan was taken aback. "The kind you're talking about..."

"Yes." Baron nodded, his sideways movement steady as he leaned against the wall by the door frame, his gaze fixed on the doorway. "Behemoth's cyborg soldiers are far more powerful than ordinary soldiers, and they feel no pain, making them very difficult to deal with. They have obvious mechanical devices on their arms, and you can see metal and cables at the joints. They run faster than ordinary people, are stronger than ordinary people, and most importantly, they are fearless."

"What should we do then?" Lu Linglong asked nervously, her voice softer than usual, but still relatively calm.

Nie Lingfeng remained silent for a moment. His gaze swept over every corner of the warehouse—the half-open door, the rusty iron door, the cracked vent in the wall, the holes in the roof that let in light. It was as if he had run through all the possible escape routes and attack routes in his mind.

Then, he slowly said, "Since they want to play, then let's play along."

He turned to look at Ruan Feng: "Senior, would you like to come along?"

Ruan Feng grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth that looked like two rows of old door frames in the dim light.

"Although I am a monk, I am not someone to be trifled with. Since someone has offered themselves up for me to practice on, how could I refuse?"

He stood up, patted the dust off his backside, and the dust fell from his monk's robe, forming a small cloud of gray mist in the air.

Carrying the wine bottle, he strode towards the warehouse entrance.

After taking a couple of steps, he turned back to look at Zhang Chulan, a slight smile appearing in his narrowed eyes.

"Kid, after this fight is over, I'll tell you about the things on Nathan Island."

Zhang Chulan felt a warmth in his heart and nodded vigorously.

Baron stood at the door, glanced back at Nie Lingfeng, then at Ruan Feng: "Are you sure you want to make a move? Behemoths aren't just ordinary local bullies; they have a regular military background. If we take them down, the entire situation on Nathan Island will change."

Nie Lingfeng did not answer. He simply walked to the warehouse door, stood beside Barron, and looked at the group of figures in black tactical gear outside.

Ruan Feng walked to his other side, took a swig of wine, put the bottle on the ground, rolled up the sleeves of his monk's robe, revealing a chubby forearm.

"Let's go, let's show those Americans what the real Six Treasures Immortal Thief is."

Zhang Chulan stood up, brushed the dust off his knees, and walked behind Nie Lingfeng. Lu Linglong stood beside him, took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and then relaxed them. Wang Zhenqiu twirled the steel pipe in his hand, then stopped with a "whoosh." Zhang Lingyu extended her hands from her sleeves, black and white energy flowing between her fingertips. Feng Baobao finished biting into the cucumber, tossed it aside, and then flexed her wrists.

"Crack, crack."

Outside the warehouse, the loudspeaker blared again: "Final warning! Drop your weapons, put your hands behind your head, and come out to surrender! Otherwise, we will take coercive measures!"

Nie Lingfeng pushed open the half-closed iron door.

"Creak—Clang!"

The door slammed against the wall with a dull thud. Sunlight streamed in from outside, casting a bright white, irregular triangle on the floor.

He stepped outside.

Behind them, the crowd followed.