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

Chapter 135 Threat

Feng Congyun was wearing a wrinkled gray jacket, his hair was a mess like a bird's nest, and he was carrying a wine jug in his hand. The jug was full, but he didn't drink from it; he just carried it as if he had just come back from buying wine and had taken a detour on the way.

His eyes were different from usual. Normally, Feng Congyun would look at everyone with a lazy air, as if he wouldn't even bother to look up even if the sky were to fall. But at this moment, his eyes were bright, as bright as a drawn sword, particularly dazzling in the dim office.

"Teacher Feng," Chen Mo's voice was calm, "It's so late, is there something you need?"

Feng Congyun did not answer. He walked into the office, closed the door behind him, sat down in the chair opposite Chen Mo, crossed his legs, and placed the wine pot on the table.

The sound of the wine jug falling onto the table was very soft, but in the quiet office, the soft sound was particularly clear, like the sound of something falling to the ground.

"Chen Mo." Feng Congyun finally spoke, his voice not loud, but each word was like a sword drawn from its sheath, carrying a chilling intent. "Did you do what happened to Sun Fan?"

Chen Mo looked at him but did not answer.

"Regarding the secret realm," Feng Congyun continued, "you were the one who told Yan Gaotian how to enter that secret realm. As for the registration, you hacked Sun Fan's account. And you were the one who negotiated the terms with Shen Wuxiu."

His tone was calm, as if he were stating a fact that had already been verified.

"Teacher Feng," Chen Mo leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him, "Do you have any evidence?"

Feng Congyun stared at him for a long time.

"No," he said softly.

A slight smile curved the corners of Chen Mo's lips.

"Why are you coming to me without any evidence?"

Feng Congyun picked up the wine jug on the table, uncorked it, and took a swig. The strong liquor went down his throat, he squinted, then put down the jug and looked at Chen Mo.

"Chen Mo, how old are you this year?"

Chen Mo was taken aback; he hadn't expected him to ask that.

Thirty-two.

"Thirty-two." Feng Congyun repeated the number. "At thirty-two, he became the assistant principal of the Dark Martial Arts School. That's not easy. Lu Chen has a sharp eye; anyone he brings back from outside must have extraordinary abilities."

He looked into Chen Mo's eyes and said, word by word, "But do you know what? Spending too much time in a dark martial arts school changes a person. Not that they become bad, but that they become unafraid of death. Not unafraid of their own death, but unafraid of the death of others."

Chen Mo's brow twitched slightly.

"I've been here for over twenty years," Feng Congyun's voice lowered. "I've seen too many people die. Students, teachers, good people, bad people. At first, I felt sad, angry, and wanted to avenge them. But I gradually became numb. What's the big deal about someone dying in this dark martial arts school?"

"But Sun Fan is different." His voice suddenly turned sharp. "He's not related to me by blood, he's not my student, not my apprentice. I help him not because he's talented, not because he has potential, but because—"

He reminded me of Ye Liuxing.

Chen Mo's fingers clenched slightly.

"Ye Liuxing is my student, and he is the biggest failure of my life." Feng Congyun took a swig of wine. "I taught him martial arts, I taught him mental techniques, I taught him how to win. But I didn't teach him how to lose, I didn't teach him how to stop, I didn't teach him how to live."

I came to the Dark Martial Arts School a long time ago, and I've never left, never married, and have no children. My students are my children.

He put down the wine jug and stood up.

"If Ye Liuxing is crippled, I still have something to hold onto. But if Sun Fan is crippled too, I'll have nothing left."

He walked up to Chen Mo and looked down at him.

The two men stared at each other. The light from the lamp shone from the side, dividing Feng Congyun's face into two halves—one in light, the other in shadow. The eye in the light shone like fire, the eye in the shadow as dark as an abyss.

"Chen Mo." Feng Congyun's voice was very calm, as calm as a lake without wind. "I have no evidence. But you've been dealing with people from the Dark Martial Arts School for so many years, you should know one thing—at our level, whether or not there is evidence is no longer that important."

"7

Chen Mo did not speak.

"I'm not here to reason with you," Feng Congyun said, putting his hands in his pockets and tilting his head to look at him. "I'm here to tell you something."

He paused.

"No matter who's behind you, no matter what deal you have with him, no matter what you want to get from Sun Fan, if you mess with him again, I will kill you."

The office fell silent.

The lamp hummed, and faint shouts came from the training field in the distance outside the window, but the sounds seemed to come from a very, very far place, muffled and indistinct through a thick layer of glass.

Chen Mo looked at Feng Congyun and remained silent for a long time. His face was expressionless, but his clenched fingers betrayed the turmoil in his heart.

"Teacher Feng," he finally spoke, his voice still flat, "you are threatening a school administrator."

"Yes." Feng Congyun nodded. "It's a threat."

"Do you know what the consequences are of threatening the principal's assistant?"

"I know." Feng Congyun nodded again. "At worst, I'll get expelled. Anyway, I'm not going to be a teacher anymore, so what difference does it make whether I get expelled or not?"

He pulled his hand out of his pocket, picked up the wine jug on the table, took the last sip, and then put the empty jug back on the table.

"Oh, right, there's one more thing." He looked at Chen Mo, "I'll compile your recent tampering with the system into a report and give it to Lu Chen. It's not to report you, but to remind him that the people around him might not be as clean as he thinks."

Chen Mo's pupils contracted slightly.

"Lu Chen is a very suspicious person." Feng Congyun turned around and walked towards the door. "You've been with him for five years, you should know him better than I do. Once he becomes suspicious, nothing you say will matter. He'll investigate himself, and if he finds out, it'll be on you. I won't need to lift a finger."

He walked to the door, opened it, stood at the intersection of light and shadow, and said something without turning his head.

"Chen Mo, you'd better watch yourself."

The door closed. The footsteps faded into the distance, and the corridor fell silent once more.

Chen Mo sat motionless in the chair. His fingers were still clenched, his knuckles white, and it took a long time before he slowly loosened them.

He lowered his head, looking at the empty wine jug on the table. The jug was dark brown, made of earthenware, with cracks on its surface, as if it had been used for many years. Some wine still clung to the spout, gleaming amber in the lamplight.

He reached out and picked up the wine jug, twirled it in his hand, then put it down, picked up his phone from the table, and opened the text messaging interface.

The recipient was an unmarked number—an eleven-digit number he knew by heart.

He typed very slowly, as if carefully considering each word. He typed it, deleted it, retyped it, and deleted it again. He repeated this three times before finally pressing the send button.

The screen displayed that line of text.