From the fusion of Tongbei Quan to the Longevity Martial Saint

Zhanbo paused, then lowered his voice even further:

"After that incident, for three consecutive years, Kuang Shisan would frequently appear in the reserve camp with bruises and swelling on his face."

"It's either a dislocated arm or leg problems; the worst time was when he broke several ribs. And what's weird is that he's usually fine the night before, but wakes up with injuries. The injuries aren't life-threatening, but they always make him wince in pain."

"What's even more amazing is that these injuries usually heal exceptionally quickly, almost completely recovering in just one or two days of sleep."

Zhanbo swallowed hard, a hint of sympathy and... barely concealed schadenfreude in his eyes. "About three months ago, I heard that Kuang Shisan was sleeping soundly in the barracks one night when he opened his eyes to find himself somehow suspended directly above the latrine!"

Before he could even react, the ropes binding him snapped, and he fell headfirst into the latrine with a splash! His face hit the ground first!

Fang Qing immediately felt a chill, as if he could smell the stench of the latrine coming towards him.

Zhanbo even went to the door and peeked out a few times to make sure no one was coming before pulling back, closing the door tightly, and returning to Fang Qing's side.

He said in an almost whispered voice:

"It's all over the camp that every time Kuang Shisan gets beaten to a pulp in his sleep, Imperial Censor Lin is sure to be around Yancheng during that time."

"Lord Lin is very petty...and holds grudges!"

He patted Fang Qing on the shoulder earnestly and said:

"Senior brother, I must remind you, never be as reckless as Kuang Shisan. In this place, there are some people you can't afford to offend, and there are some things you absolutely cannot do."

After saying that, Zhanbo sighed deeply, seemingly recalling Kuang Shisan's "tragic" experiences over the past few years. He shook his head, said no more, picked up his last few belongings, turned and left the newly changed-owner room number 98, heading towards his new place.

Room number ninety-nine.

Fang Qing remained alone in the room, his heart still churning with turmoil. How could this powerful Salt Commissioner Lin, who oversaw salt affairs in several provinces, have been so persistent in "taking care" of a mere reserve soldier for three consecutive years in such a way that was almost a prank yet left one helpless?

The latrine airdrop three months ago perfectly illustrated his pettiness.

Fang Qing thought to himself that if he ever had the chance to face this Lord Lin in the future, he must be extremely careful in his words and actions, and never follow in the footsteps of Kuang Shisan.

Just as his thoughts were racing, a dark figure appeared silently outside the door of room number ninety-nine, as if it were weightless.

The person raised their hand and tapped their knuckles on the door, making a crisp "tap-tap" sound.

The door opened, revealing Zhanbo's honest and simple face.

Outside the door, Kuang Shisan, dressed in black and with a wiry build, was visibly taken aback when he saw Zhan Bo open the door.

Zhanbo puffed out his chest and said confidently, "Kuang Shisan, this room number 99 is mine now. If you want to find Fang Qing, he's in room 98. Also, stop smashing walls all the time; it's a real pain to repair."

Upon hearing this, Kuang Shisan suddenly turned his head, his sharp gaze shooting towards the ranking archway in the center of the courtyard.

Sure enough, Fang Qing's name was clearly visible in the ninety-eighth position, with no further indication of "pending".

His lips twitched almost imperceptibly as he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse yet tinged with amusement:

"That's interesting."

The next moment, Kurumi's figure, like a ghost melting into the shadows, reappeared without warning in front of room 98.

He didn't knock or even pause; he simply pushed the door open and walked straight in.

For three consecutive years, he has been "specially cared for" by the Salt Inspector Lin, and he is on guard day and night against the "surprise" that may come at any time. Even in his sleep, Kuang Shisan's muscles remain subconsciously tense.

This life of constant vigilance honed his agility and alertness to the extreme, making him move silently and his aura almost completely concealed.

Therefore, even Fang Qing failed to notice that Kuang Shisan had arrived at the door in advance, let alone expect that the other party would barge in so casually.

Fang Qing caught a glimpse of Kuang Shisan entering out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he instinctively grabbed the sketch of a pull-string grenade that was being drawn on the table and tried to hide it.

Fang Qing was not afraid of Kuang Shisan in a direct confrontation, but that guy's elusive and ghostly movements were really hard to guard against and gave him a headache.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Kuang Shisan proved with his actions that Fang Qing's concerns were not unfounded.

With a slight sway, leaving only a faint afterimage in the air, his true form appeared beside Fang Qing as if by teleportation.

Fang Qing didn't even see his movements clearly before those sketches, which had just been hastily stuffed into the drawer, appeared in Kuang Shisan's hands.

Kuang Shisan casually unfolded the crumpled sketch, glanced at it, and spoke in his characteristic, somewhat cynical tone:

"Oh right, I almost forgot the important thing. Your betting odds, the top ten monsters have been revealed."

As he spoke, he held the few sheets of draft paper and walked to a spot near the window in the room.

There was a rusty steel pipe, about the thickness of an arm, embedded in the wall, its end nowhere in sight.

Kuang Shisan curled his fingers and tapped them on the steel pipe, producing a series of rhythmic, light sounds.

A moment after the knocking stopped, a faint rustling sound, like paper rubbing against the metal inner wall, came from deep inside the steel pipe.

Immediately afterwards, with a soft "whoosh," a tightly rolled, slightly rough roll of paper emerged from one end of the steel pipe.

Fang Qing's eyes narrowed slightly as he realized that the network of steel pipes that ran throughout the rooms of the reserve camp had been cleverly transformed into a primitive yet efficient internal information transmission channel:

By transmitting signals at an agreed-upon tapping frequency, the other end can quickly deliver the required information.

Kuang Shisan reached out and pulled out the roll of paper, unfolding it deftly.

His gaze swept across the paper, then suddenly his eyebrows shot up, and an exaggerated expression of surprise appeared on his face:

"Heh heh! I didn't expect that if I, ranked 30th, were to beat you up today, the odds would be much higher than beating that brat Zhanbo! Zhanbo's odds are 1 to 1, but yours... tsk tsk, it's 1 to 5!"

The odds for various betting lines within the preparation camp are closely linked to many factors such as the player's strength ranking, past performance, on-field condition, and even interpersonal relationships, and are constantly changing.

Kuang Shisan twisted his neck, and his cervical vertebrae made a series of crisp "crackling" sounds, like popping beans.

He cracked his knuckles and ankles, striking a pose as if he were ready to pounce on Fang Qing and teach him a lesson at any moment. But he suppressed the urge to act immediately and continued looking at the betting odds.

When he saw a certain line, he paused noticeably, and his tone became somewhat strange:

"Hey... I didn't expect the odds for you to beat ten people in one go to be this high... 1 to 10? That makes sense. You're nominally at the bottom of the reserve camp right now. To think you can take down the top ten in one go is practically a pipe dream in their eyes. So, the odds are reasonable."

……