Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 96 Mori's Past, the Students' Shock

Just as his fingers touched the coin and his gaze inadvertently swept over the back of Siron's hand casually resting on the table, Mori suddenly stopped.

A barely perceptible sharpness flashed in his eyes, like a sleeping old beast suddenly opening one eye.

"Huh?" Mori made a short, nasal sound of surprise.

He didn't immediately put the money away. Instead, he looked up, his cloudy eyes scanning Xilun up and down. His slick smile gradually faded, replaced by an expression that was a mixture of astonishment and seriousness.

"You've made good progress." Mori lowered his voice, his tone revealing undisguised surprise. "Given your previous level of energy and blood, I thought it would take you at least another two months to get over that hurdle. I didn't expect it to be so fast."

Upon hearing this, Xilun's pupils contracted sharply.

The smile on his face vanished instantly, and his muscles tensed instinctively in a split second, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

He hadn't even reported his successful baptism to his mentor, Raine, who usually only knew how to stingily scheme in the hotel.

How could someone see through a greasy boss with a mouth full of lewd jokes at a glance?

Xiren scrutinized Mori before him.

That pockmarked face, those calloused hands with knuckles so large they were deformed, and that incredibly sharp gaze from just now... Xilen's breathing slowed involuntarily as her mind frantically recalled every detail of her past interactions with Mori.

Could it be that this seemingly mediocre boss is also an extraordinary individual hidden in the slums? And his level of cultivation is definitely not low.

"Boss, what do you mean by that—" Siren narrowed his eyes and asked tentatively, "Are you also a baptized Extraordinary?"

Morrie looked at Siron's wary expression and suddenly grinned, revealing a few teeth stained yellow by tobacco.

He stretched lazily, let out a long yawn, wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with his dirty sleeve, and waved his hand, saying, "Alright, alright, what's all this talk about being extraordinary? Let's not dwell on the past. My current identity is just a hotel owner who haggles over a few pennies with drunkards every day."

Just then, an apprentice from the kitchen came out carrying a steaming hot breakfast.

Morrie took the tray and placed it heavily in front of Siren, the wooden tray hitting the bar with a dull thud.

The bowl of thick oatmeal porridge exuded a sweet aroma, a thick layer of milk skin formed on the surface of the milk, and two eggs were peeled clean.

"Eat up quickly." Mori looked at Xilen with a knowing look in his eyes. "However, with your appetite now that you've just completed your physical transformation, this bowl of food probably won't even be enough to fill your teeth."

Xiren stared at Mori for a few seconds, and when he was sure that the other party had no intention of continuing the conversation, he stopped asking questions.

In Chongqing, everyone has their own secrets, and excessive probing often leads to death.

He picked up the wooden spoon and gulped down the piping hot oatmeal porridge.

As Morrie said, the body after baptism is like a dried-up sponge, with an extremely terrifying thirst for energy.

That bowl of oatmeal porridge, enough to keep an ordinary person full for half a day, disappeared into Xilun's stomach like a stone sinking into the sea, without even a hint of fullness.

After quickly devouring the eggs and milk, Xilun pushed the empty bowl forward.

"I'm done eating, can I have another bowl?" Xilun said casually.

Morrie, who was wiping the cups, turned pale upon hearing this, and his air of profound mystery vanished instantly.

"This isn't a charity event with free refills!" Morrie glared and cursed gruffly. "Two pence for a bowl of oatmeal, pay up!"

Xilun rolled his eyes, then helplessly pulled out two more coins and tossed them over, inwardly cursing the old man for being stingy to the bone.

After eating three large bowls of oatmeal porridge, my stomach finally felt a little full.

Xilun wiped his mouth, pushed open the hotel door, and headed towards the Iron Cross Fight Club, facing the gradually bustling street.

On the streets in the early morning, the brass pipes of the steam carriage spewed out thick white steam, making a dull rumbling sound as it rolled over the stone pavement.

As Xilun walked through the crowd, his gaze swept over the respectable people sitting in carriages, dressed in elegant velvet tailcoats and high-fashion hats, as well as the wealthy merchants who were arm in arm with noblewomen and sprayed with expensive perfume.

In the past, when Xilun saw these people, he felt only indifference and a sense of helplessness towards class barriers.

But today, his state of mind has undergone a complete transformation.

He began to envy these well-dressed people.

It's not just envy, but also a subconscious desire to look at someone on equal footing.

Xilun touched his faded, worn-out wool overcoat, secretly making plans in his mind.

"After becoming a first-tier extraordinary being, my body's resistance to blows and my survival ability have increased dramatically. Even in this chaotic lower city, I am relatively safe."

"We no longer need to live like before, risking our lives every day, constantly on guard against any possible sneak attacks."

"Now that we have the means to protect ourselves, it's time to save some money and improve our lives."

As for accommodation, although the Golden Rooster Hotel is old and run-down, it is located near the dock area, which is convenient for gathering information and transportation, so there is no need to move for the time being.

However, it's definitely worth considering spending more money on clothes, daily food, and accessories to disguise yourself.

After all, even extraordinary individuals need a presentable image to integrate into higher-level social circles.

He recalled the iron box he had stored in the interlayer of the bed board.

There were also more than thirty pounds of savings inside, a huge sum of money that an ordinary laborer in the lower city could not earn in half a lifetime.

"Now I can splurge a little more." A confident smile curved Xilun's lips, and his steps became even lighter.

Before he knew it, he had arrived at the Iron Cross Club.

Because we arrived so early, the club's doors had just been opened by the janitor.

Xilun was the first student to arrive.

He easily made his way up to the training hall on the second floor and went straight to the corner by the window that he knew best.

The early winter morning light slanted in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled shadows on the wooden floor.

Xilun sat cross-legged at the intersection of light and shadow, closed his eyes, and began to slowly breathe.

This was his first formal spiritual practice after his baptism.

As the Iron Wall Breathing Technique circulated within my body, the sensation was completely different from what I had felt a few days prior.

Previously, circulating one's energy was like using an old, broken water pump to draw water from a muddy riverbed—difficult, sluggish, and accompanied by a dull ache in the meridians.

Now, his body is like a flawless drainage network.

The energy flowed freely through my limbs and bones like surging yet gentle mercury.

With each breath, a dull metallic sheen appeared on his skin.

His entire body was as solid as an iron wall, with muscle fibers tightly wrapped around his bones in an extremely dense structure.

It truly lived up to the description in the technique: "copper skin and iron walls."

Instead of getting up immediately, Xilun closed his eyes and began to carefully test and take stock of every ability he possessed in his mind.

From the most basic master-level Iron Wall Breathing Technique to the inch-force power of police combat techniques, and then to the exceptionally fierce Dorok Dark Claw Kung Fu that one can master even before mastering it.

More importantly, those terrifying talents originating from other species.

He could clearly feel that the density of the "black scale patterns" hidden beneath his skin had increased threefold compared to before his baptism, as if he were wearing a fine chainmail close to his body. The "corrupted claws" deep within his finger bones exuded a dark golden corrosive aura that had become even more intense and violent, ready to tear apart the flesh of his enemies at any moment.

Everything was greatly enhanced and integrated under the catalysis of the magic potion.

According to Xilun's conservative estimate, with the double absolute defense of the black scale pattern and the master-level breathing technique, if he were to encounter the same kind of sniper shot as in the previous alleyway battle now, he wouldn't even need to dodge.

He could easily withstand the lead bullets from a pepper-box pistol fired from three meters away using only his physical body.

A lead bullet strong enough to pierce a skull would probably not even damage the periosteum if it hit his muscles now; it would just be clamped down by the strong muscle fibers.

Only when the muzzle is within three meters, when the kinetic energy of the gunpowder reaches its peak, is it possible to pierce his dermis and cause some minor, harmless injuries.

"This sense of power over life and death—it's truly captivating," Xiren thought to himself.

At some point, a few people began to appear sporadically in the spacious training hall on the second floor.

The cold wind that rushed in through the door brought with it a few crisp metallic clanging sounds, the sound of the trainees' equipment bags placed on the long bench.

The first few students to arrive were mostly commoners who had just started their training. They rubbed their frozen hands and whispered among themselves about which tavern had the most flexible dancers last night.

But soon, their conversation stopped unconsciously, and their eyes were involuntarily drawn to the figure in the corner by the window.

Xilun was standing in front of the wooden dummy, not using any violent strikes, but instead slowly parrying the moves.

Every move he made, every hip turn, every seemingly casual push of his palm was as slow as gliding through water.

However, when some of the veteran students present occasionally glanced at Xilun, they all gasped in shock.

They felt that Xilun's moves were extremely exquisite, with an indescribable sense of rhythm in his movements, as if he had become one with the surrounding air.

Each seemingly gentle massage conceals a terrifying crushing force capable of pulverizing the inside of a wooden stake.

However, when asked to point out exactly where the brilliance lay, these students, who hadn't even reached the expert level, looked completely bewildered and couldn't explain it at all.

They could only rely on their biological instincts to feel waves of unease. It was the kind of oppressive feeling that only a herbivore would experience when facing a top predator lurking in the grass.

Just as Xilun pressed down with both hands, slowly sinking the surging energy into his dantian to complete the exercise.

"Thud!"

Not far away, a figure who had just walked in dropped the towel in his hand onto the wooden floor.

The person next to him was stunned, mouth agape, frozen in place as if under a spell.

Xilun raised his eyelids and looked in the direction of the voice, just in time to see that familiar head of brown curly hair.

It was Fester.

Fester's eyes widened, filled with a complex mix of shock, confusion, and a hint of awe.

He stared blankly at Xilen's bronze-colored, matte skin, then looked down at his own proud physique, which had undergone special training by his mentor, Aldous.

Compare prices and you'll end up throwing things away.

He could clearly sense that standing before Xilun was like a fragile piece of rotten wood facing a piece of finely forged steel.

"You—" Fester swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and stammered, "You—"

You've been successfully baptized?!

Although this sentence is a question, its tone conveys an undeniable certainty.

These words were like a drop of cold water being poured into a pot of boiling oil.

The entire second-floor hall fell silent for a second, and then, as soon as the words were spoken, everyone was shocked!

All eyes immediately turned to Xilun, and gasps of astonishment filled the air.

Many people know that Xilen is a senior figure in the entire club, and that he has long since mastered breathing techniques to an expert level, even able to break through Fester's defense in actual combat.

But they never expected that Xilun would cross that insurmountable threshold for ordinary martial artists so quickly and quietly, and successfully be baptized!

This means that from today onwards, the young man who was always taciturn and sweating alone in the corner has completely transcended the realm of ordinary people and become someone they look up to.

Despite the stares from those around him, who looked at him as if he were a monster, Xilun's expression remained as cold and hard as ever.

He showed no smugness, but simply picked up a clean linen towel from the bench and casually wiped away non-existent sweat from his forehead.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, Fester's face quickly flashed with intense envy and resentment. He clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white, and gritted his teeth, saying, "I—I will definitely be baptized too! I will never be left too far behind you!"

Xilun nodded slightly, patted Fester on the shoulder, and didn't say any of those insincere pleasantries.

He turned around and put on his trench coat.

He planned to report this news to his mentor, Raine, and discuss the follow-up regarding advanced cultivation techniques and resources.

After all, once he reached the first level, the outdated cultivation system could no longer meet his ever-increasing needs for improvement.

Ascending the wooden stairs, Xilun arrived at the mentor's office area on the third floor.

The corridor was covered with a thick red carpet, which absorbed the sound of footsteps.

Xiren approached the oak door with the brass handle and knocked twice.

Arriving at the office, he pushed open the door and found that only Ryan was inside.

The morning sunlight was half blocked by the heavy velvet curtains, and the room was filled with the strong smell of cigars and the bitterness of black coffee.

Renn was looking down at a thick stack of reports on the table, his brow furrowed, as if he had encountered some extremely troublesome matter.

Hearing the door open, he didn't even look up, but simply said impatiently, "Come in."