Why do I have so many masters?

The rain was beginning to let up.

At the Wind Character Tower of Fufeng Academy, in a wooden cabin, Continue reading at My Virtual Library Empire

Wang Anfeng knelt on the ground, before him a piece of yellow paper folded into a spirit tablet. The three sticks of incense in front of it had already burnt out, the embers still warm with fire. A gust of wind swept by and scattered them all around.

The youth's eyes opened slowly.

When his father passed away, it was Libai himself who had arranged the funeral. He had also said that he had no interest in leaving behind a spirit tablet. As a result, even as his only son, Wang Anfeng could only resort to folding a piece of yellow paper as a substitute.

The aroma of the burnt incense lingered in the air around his nose.

The oppressing and gloomy feelings in Wang Anfeng's heart also disappeared completely, just as the sky clears after the rain, looking at the yellow paper spirit tablet, he suddenly couldn't tell—this so-called memorial service, was it really to comfort the departed soul, or to free himself?

This thought was but a flash, and with it, the youth got up. In the past, kneeling and burning incense would always make his waist and legs feel numb, and it would take a long time to recover. Now, having attained respectable martial skills, the memory of that sensation hadn't been felt truly in a long while. Picking up the yellow paper spirit tablet, he lit it on fire.

Watching the familiar name being consumed by the flames and gradually dispersing, Wang Anfeng closed his eyes and stood still. After a long time, he finally collected his emotions, fetched a broom and dustpan, and was about to clean up the remnants of ash. But just as his palm was about to touch the broom, a familiar cold voice suddenly reached his ears.

"Return to Shaolin Temple for a while."

Wang Anfeng was slightly startled, then he quickly realized what was happening, his expression changing slightly.

Mr. Yin?

In the past, neither the master nor Mr. Yin had ever taken the initiative to ask him to return to Shaolin Temple.

Since today was such an anomaly, there must be some special circumstance.

Considering this, the youth did not dare to delay. He hurriedly closed the doors and windows, turned around, sat cross-legged on the bed, lifted his right hand to show the Buddha Beads and whispered,

"I must return to Shaolin."

The familiar wooden cabin before his eyes, and the faint scent lingering in the air, all dissipated, transforming into the scenery of Shaoshi Mountain.

Outside the Wind Character Tower,

Clad in a white robe, Xue Qinshuang came walking slowly, an azure umbrella in her right hand, and a jar of fine wine in her left, hesitating slightly whether she should approach the cabin or not.

After a moment of hesitation, she ultimately decided to follow her concern and stepped closer.

She wasn't new to Jianghu; she knew that the stories heard in taverns could only be half-believed at most.

Exaggerations of martial prowess were common. Saying Wang Anfeng could make a Seventh Rank Martial Artist submit, as if she were nothing compared, was simply laughable. Even drunk, she wouldn't believe it. However, the general course of events could be considered credible, and that's why, upon sensing the budding of Combat Will, she realized something was amiss.

The Wang Anfeng she knew, how could he possibly do such a thing?

Completely impossible.

Pausing before the wooden cabin, Qinshuang hesitated whether she should knock on the door. She worried about Anfeng's state of mind, yet also feared that by coming alone, she might stir misconceptions in the young man's heart. As she wavered, she suddenly caught a whiff of a faint scent of incense, her expression changing to one of slight surprise.

Incense wood.

Specifically used for memorial services.

Suddenly, she thought of the rumors heard in the tavern that day—about the youth who, unlike his usual self, had drawn his sword in just a few words. An enlightenment struck Qinshuang, and looking toward the closed wooden cabin, her gaze irresistibly softened.

With a slight twirl of her green umbrella, she did not knock, holding the wine in her hand, originally intending to get the youth drunk first, but now, there seemed to be no need.

He should be left alone right now.

Amidst the deep curtain of rain, Qinshuang, with her umbrella, turned and left.

Inside Shaolin Temple,

Wang Anfeng had just steadied himself when he saw that only Mr. Yin stood before him, a cyan robe on his back, hands clasped behind him. There was a puzzled look in Anfeng's eyes as he stepped forward to greet the man. He hesitated for a moment, then asked,

"Master, why have you called me here today? Is there something you need?"

The Scholar looked out at the scenery beyond the mountain but did not immediately respond, seemingly pondering something. After a short while, he slightly turned his body to look at the young man behind him and said, in a gentle voice,

"You have been here for a year now."

Wang Anfeng didn't understand the intention behind the words and nodded in response,

"Yes, more than a year…"

Ever since he had found the Wrist Guard last summer, which later became the Buddha Beads, and entered Shaolin Temple, met his master, Mr. Yin, and his other master; along his journey of cultivation, adding up the time on both sides, roughly two years had already passed.

The Scholar nodded affirmatively, his gaze sweeping over the young man's features, saying,

"Today, I will introduce you to an underling of this realm."

Upon hearing this, Wang Anfeng was noticeably stunned, and a sense of disbelief arose in his heart.

An underling?

In Shaolin Temple, the people he had met were the three senior monks; he rarely encountered others, and even if he did, they would only react instinctively, and the words they could say were few and repetitive, just like very realistic mechanical creations by the Mo Family.

Thus, upon hearing Mr. Yin say he was going to meet an 'underling', disbelief surged through him. Mr. Yin looked at him and without a word, casually tossed a mask to the youth and said,

"Cover your face, today I'm just taking you to see."

"Do not speak too much."

Wang Anfeng took the mask, noticing its dull color resembling accumulated rain clouds, yet it bore extremely simple patterns, exuding an indescribable sense of dignity and nobility.

This mask... seemed even more conspicuous than not wearing one at all.

Bewilderment surfaced in the youth's mind.

Wasn't a mask meant to be a tool for assassins to hide their identity? Why then was it so... deliberate?

Used so openly and righteously?

A second identity?

Some understanding dawned upon him, and the youth raised his hand to place the mask on his face. He then felt a strange force sweep through his body.

As he lifted his right hand, that force entangled in his palm, turning into a dark golden dragon that moved between his fingers. He could faintly hear the sound of the dragon's roar, startling Wang Anfeng, causing his figure to tremble slightly. Then he understood that this must be the mask's inherent effect.

The overly deliberate design of the mask would prevent people from paying attention to the wearer's true face, making escape easier.

So that was it.

Wang Anfeng nodded slightly, believing he had grasped the mask designer's original intention. He clenched his fist, and the golden dragon coiled around him. Although it was extremely magnificent and imposing, Wang Anfeng could feel that the dragon held no real power—it only looked impressive.

The youth's thoughts began to wander.

The function of concealing identity could be achieved with a plain mask, and even if one wanted it as a second identity, there were various ways to do so. There was no need to spend a fortune on such a useless treasure.

Whoever crafted this mask was truly inscrutable.

The youth made his judgment internally and then followed behind the scholar. In the distance, Wu Changqing looked up, his pupils reflecting the brilliance of the golden dragon, reviving certain unpleasant memories. He said,

"So the master did leave behind that Lost Treasure for Anfeng to involve himself in those affairs."

"This mask can indeed mask cultivation and identity."

Flipping over a page of the menu, the elder glanced over there, smacked his lips, and shook his head,

"I haven't seen them for so long..."

"The things of those people are still so flashy..."

Fufeng County · North Martial City.

Giant Peng Gang's headquarters.

Gongsun Jing sat upright in his room, his eyes slightly closed.

His heart was filled with conflict, growing more intense by the moment.

A month ago, out of the blue, he was taken to a place akin to a Cave Heaven and Blessed Land by a master, where he witnessed a spear technique so unimaginable. Relying on the insight gained from that experience, he succeeded in defeating his greatest rival during the gang rivalry, acquiring a lot of territory and business.

If he could completely seize these benefits, just digest them all...

His Giant Peng Gang could almost contend for the title of the largest gang in North Martial State City in the future.

As long as he took one more step forward in his strength.

Gongsun Jing's palm trembled slightly due to the ambition boiling in his chest.

But behind that inscrutable masked figure, was it a shattering abyss or a ladder to the heavens? Was he right, or was he evil?

The man's mind was once again filled with the image of a man standing with his hands behind his back, his green robe fluttering with the wind. This figure gradually expanded in his mind, gradually occupying all his thoughts, as a cold voice, like ice, extinguished his fiery ambitions.

Fear began to grow in his heart.

This fear, borne of the unknown, was even more unsettling than the battles he had faced on the battlefield.

At that moment, the so-called 'token' in his palm began to emit a faint glow.

Over this past month, he had wanted to throw away this pearl more than once, yet he had crushed the thought just as many times. Now, as the faint light emerged, his heart tightened, and he grasped the pearl tightly in his palm, unwilling to relax in the slightest.

His gaze fell upon a line of poetry on the desk, comforting himself that one who could write such verses could surely not be a great evil...

Why spare the foe three thousand miles, preferring a grave in a hundred thousand tombs!

The next moment, Gongsun Jing's robust figure had vanished from the Giant Peng Gang's headquarters.

Inside Shaolin Temple.

the leader of a gang that could vie for the title of the largest in North Martial State.

A Seventh Rank Martial Artist whose subordinates numbered over a thousand, clasped his hands in front of him and bowed deeply towards Master Ying and Wang Anfeng.

"Young Gongsun Jing... greets Master Ying Longshou."

PS: Today's second update... a bit late, ha... my apologies (clasping hands)