Zhao Chaoyao took a deep breath. A flicker of fear appeared in his eyes, as if recalling so unpleasant scene.
“They were bludgeoned to death. Their skulls were smashed by a blunt weapon, with multiple fractures all over their bodies. During the ti they went missing, Yang Dongqing just happened to not be at ho. Based on the traces at the scene, we can basically confirm that Yang Dongqing did it. It’s just that…”
“Just what?” Su Mu’s lips curled slightly, as if he had found an interesting new prey.
“I don’t understand all those forensic terms, but in short, the deaths were strange. It looks like they were beaten to death with so kind of steel weapon, yet there are also faint knuckle imprints on their bones. Chief, could it be that Yang Dongqing wore iron knuckles and beat them to death with his bare hands?”
Hearing this, Su Mu smiled silently. Even his tea-colored glasses couldn’t hide the gleam in his eyes. “Finally… I’ve finally found it.”
Zhao Chaoyao’s expression changed. “You an… Yang Dongqing is one of those rumored Transcendents? But I had people investigate his background. He’s just a poor student, an orphan, and… and also…”
By the end, his voice had grown smaller, and his expression turned uneasy. He couldn’t bring himself to et Su Mu’s gaze, because he suddenly realized—his description sounded very similar to the Chief.
Su Mu was also an orphan. Also a poor student. And a Transcendent. So… why couldn’t Yang Dongqing be one too?
Wait… could it be…!?
Zhao Chaoyao seed to realize sothing he had previously overlooked. So the conditions to beco a Transcendent were…
Su Mu paid no attention to his unease. He simply turned around and picked up a crystal wine bottle from the table. The deep red wine swirled inside as the bottle tilted gently.
Clink!
The bottle touched the rim of the glass with a crisp and pleasing sound. The fragrant red wine stread slowly into the goblet.
Su Mu lifted the glass and took a small sip. A faint flush appeared on his pale face, and he closed his eyes slightly as if savoring the taste.
After a mont, he opened his eyes and frowned. “Just as awful as always.”
He could never get used to the taste of red wine. He preferred the crispness of beer or the bold aroma of strong liquor. Unfortunately, with his current physical condition, red wine was the only thing he could still drink—using the alcohol to numb his nerves and ease his headaches.
“Continue,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass.
Zhao Chaoyao quickly shifted the topic. “Chief, should we continue monitoring Yang Dongqing?”
“No need. The surveillance was just to determine if he was a Transcendent. Now it’s basically confird. A regular student who can crush two Viper Gang mbers’ skulls barehanded and leave imprints on their bones? That can’t be explained by raw strength alone.”
“Then what should we do next?”
Su Mu raised his wine glass. The mysterious smile on his lips was reflected in the gleaming crystal. He downed the wine in one gulp, parted his lips, and spoke slowly, his words carried by the lingering warmth of the alcohol: “We hunt… the Transcendent.”
Zhao Chaoyao shuddered, his expression a mix of excitent and nervousness. Hunting a rumored Transcendent? That was sothing he never even dared dream of.
…
…
A black sedan cruised down a worn-out street. Low-rise hos lined both sides. Behind rows of buildings, several tall chimneys spewed black smoke into the sky, scattering fine black particles into the air.
In the back seat, Su Mu sat quietly, watching the scenery outside. The pedestrians wore mostly dark gray or navy-blue work clothes, walking hurriedly with numb expressions.
Outside a few hos glowing with dim pink lights, flamboyantly dressed won stood. Their clothing was bright and revealing—mostly short skirts in yellow and red—like vivid flowers blooming in a gray and colorless world.
Su Mu didn’t know if he was truly a Transcendent. In fact, even before taking control of the Viper Gang, he hadn’t known that Transcendents existed in this world.
After all, he was just an ordinary person living in one of the seventy-two subordinate cities under the Chiyan Empire—District Thirteen of Star City.
In Star City, Districts One to Ten were known as the Upper Districts, where the social elite, high-ranking officials, celebrities, the wealthy, and imperial nobility resided.
Districts Eleven to Twenty were the Lower Districts, ho to large populations of workers and farrs. Gangs were rampant, and you could find stepdaughters and thieves around every corner.
The Lower Districts were filled with factories, farmland, livestock, and garbage dumps. Their main purpose was to provide food and goods for the Upper Districts—and to handle their waste.
The Upper Districts enjoyed nearly all available resources, while pollution, poverty, and underdevelopnt were dumped on the Lower Districts.
The divide between Upper and Lower was like a massive chasm, forcibly classifying people into strict tiers, separated by walls—as if they lived in two different worlds.
Perhaps in the Upper Districts, Transcendents were not a secret. But in the Lower Districts, “Transcendent” was a word cloaked in mystery. The average people, crushed under exhausting labor, had no way of ever encountering them.
Su Mu had learned through the Viper Gang’s information network that a special group of people existed in the world. They wielded powers unimaginable to ordinary humans. This power was called Transcendence.
He didn’t know how one beca a Transcendent, nor what the source of their power was. He wasn’t even sure if he himself counted as one. But that didn’t stop him from setting out to hunt a Transcendent.
To hunt that Transcendent nad Yang Dongqing.
Right now, Su Mu’s physical condition was visibly worsening by the day. Normal dical treatnt couldn’t help him. But Yang Dongqing’s appearance had given him hope.
The ability to crush a skull with bare fists and leave imprints on bones—such monstrous physical strength spoke for itself. If Su Mu could obtain that power, even temporarily, he could withstand the endless ntal Power Growth within him and survive.
Half an hour later, the black car stopped near a school. Above the gate hung a copper plaque, weathered and marked by years of sun and rain. The four characters for “Elite High School” were barely visible.
Despite its shabby appearance, the school lived up to its na. It produced top-tier graduates—the kind who didn’t need to spend money or pull strings to get hired at factories after graduation. One might even call them natural-born screw-tightening prodigies.
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