Martial Arts Secret Realm: Only I Can Know the Plot?

Behind Chapter 134

"Hmm." Sun Fan nodded. "Chen Mo. The principal's assistant, the most powerful person outside of the Eight Masters of the Round Table. No one knows his background, no one knows his martial arts skills, no one knows what he looks like. He is almost invisible, but his influence is everywhere."

"You think he's the boss?"

"Not necessarily," Sun Fan shook his head. "He might be, or he might just be, a pawn in the boss's game. But the fact remains that his account was used to send messages to Yan Gaotian. Whether he's the boss or a pawn, he's currently the closest lead we have."

Dong Dahai thought for a moment. "So what do you plan to do? Go directly to him?"

"No," Sun Fan said. "Going directly to him would be like alerting him. He doesn't know I got Yan Gaotian's phone, he doesn't know I saw those screenshots, and he doesn't know I've already pointed the clues to him. That's our advantage."

"We just need to wait."

The top floor of the administration building, at the end of the corridor.

The door, which was always closed, was now ajar. Dim light shone through the crack, like a half-open eye peering into the darkness.

Chen Mo sat in the leather chair in his office, facing the window with his back to the door. Outside the window was the dark night view of the martial arts school—teaching buildings, training grounds, and dormitories, with lights shining in the night like chess pieces on a chessboard, arranged in a pleasing, irregular pattern.

He didn't turn on the main light, only an old-fashioned table lamp. The lampshade was dark green, and the light was dimmed, illuminating only a small area on the table. There sat a black landline phone, a cup of tea that had gone cold, and a blank notebook.

the phone is ringing.

It wasn't a landline, but his cell phone in his pocket. The ringtone was distinctive—three short rings followed by one long ring—only that person would call that number.

Chen Mo paused for a moment, then put down his pen, took out his phone from his pocket, and pressed the answer button.

He didn't speak.

There was no immediate response from the other end of the line. A few seconds of silence followed, as if the line was being checked for security, or perhaps someone was gathering their emotions. Then, a hoarse voice, clearly altered, rang out.

"Luo Qingshan lost. Shen Wuxiu also lost."

"I know." Chen Mo's voice was flat, without any inflection.

"You knew?" The voice paused. "You knew, yet you did nothing?"

"I can't interfere with what happens in the ring." Chen Mo switched his phone to his left hand, picked up a pen in his right hand, and twirled it between his fingers. "Zhang Guangcheng is watching, Feng Congyun is watching, and all two thousand eyes in the school are watching. I can't very well send someone up there to knock Sun Fan unconscious."

""

"Are you trying to negotiate with me?"

"I am stating the facts."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then the voice spoke again, lower and deeper than before. "Where's the stuff?"

Chen Mo stopped twirling his pen.

"I haven't received it yet."

"Still haven't gotten it?" A hint of barely perceptible anger flickered in the voice. "I arranged the best opportunity for you—the year-end competition. Shen Wuxiu would kill him on the stage; it would be a perfectly logical outcome, and no one could find fault with it. And you're telling me you still haven't gotten it?"

"Shen Wuxiu lost." Chen Mo put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. "I told you, I can't interfere in what happens in the ring."

"Then what can you do to interfere?" The voice became shrill. "You messed up the secret realm matter. Yan Gaotian is dead, and the phone is in Sun Fan's hands. You messed up the year-end competition again. Luo Qingshan lost, and Shen Wuxiu lost too. Chen Mo, you've disappointed me greatly."

Chen Mo tapped his finger lightly on the table.

"The matter of the secret realm was my mistake. I didn't expect Yan Gaotian to take a screenshot." His voice remained flat, as flat as a stone that had been worn smooth for too long, with no edges left. "But the matter of the year-end competition was not my fault. Shen Wuxiu promised me he would go all out, and he did go all out. If he couldn't win, that was his problem, not mine."

"So you're planning to shift the blame onto someone who's in a hospital room?"

"I'm not shirking responsibility," Chen Mo said. "I'm just telling you that things are more complicated than we thought. Sun Fan's sword is no ordinary thing. It's sword intent—an intent that only a seventh-realm swordsman can wield. I don't know where he learned this, but he can use it. Although he overdraws his strength every time he uses it, he can still use it."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"A student at the Opening Meridian Realm used a sword technique of the Seventh Realm." The voice repeated, as if chewing on something difficult to swallow. "Do you know what this means?"

"I know," Chen Mo said. "It means the person behind him is far more powerful than we expected. So powerful that we might not be able to afford to offend them."

"Can't afford to offend them?" The voice suddenly laughed, a very soft laugh, like a pebble rolling down the throat. "You think I'm a coward? If I were a coward, I wouldn't have gotten to this point."

"So what do you want?"

"Continue. The stronger he is, the more it proves that the item is with him, or with someone he knows." The voice paused. "Chen Mo, I'm giving you one more chance. I need to see that item within half a month. If you don't get it..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Chen Mo knew what was in those ellipses.

"Half a month," Chen Mo repeated. "That's too tight a timeframe."

"That's your problem." The voice turned cold. "I'm not here to discuss this with you."

The phone was disconnected.

Chen Mo placed his phone on the table, stared at it, and remained silent for a long time. The light from the table lamp illuminated his face; it wasn't handsome, but it was clean, with regular features, and his expression was unreadable. He wore a dark gray suit jacket, and the top button of his white shirt was fastened, the collar perfectly smooth without a single wrinkle.

The whole person is like a knife sheathed—sharp, but not exposed.

He picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip. The tea had gone cold, and the bitterness spread on his tongue. He frowned slightly and put the cup down. Then he picked up his pen and wrote two words in his blank notebook.

Sun Fan.

The brushstrokes are heavy, penetrating the paper.

Chen Mo stared at the two words for a while, then suddenly reached for the landline and dialed an internal number.

"Hello, it's me."

"Assistant Chen, what's up?" The voice on the other end of the phone came from the logistics department staff, sounding a little sleepy.

"Don't turn off the surveillance cameras on the 12th-floor corridor of the administration building tonight."

"Huh? But rule number one," "Do as instructed."

"----OK."

Chen Mo hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

He's waiting. Waiting for someone who won't come, or waiting for someone who definitely will come.

Less than fifteen minutes later, footsteps were heard outside the door.

The footsteps were light, yet steady. Each step was perfectly spaced, as if measured with a ruler. The footsteps paused at the doorway, then the door was pushed open.

There was no knocking.

Chen Mo opened his eyes and looked at the person at the door.