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

Chapter 137 Speculation

"Hmm." Chao Qingwu pulled her hat brim up slightly, revealing a pair of beautiful but cold eyes. "You know about his parents' disappearance, right?"

"I know. It's spread quite widely."

"A person whose parents have disappeared, who has been targeted for a whole year in a dark martial arts academy, and almost died in the ring, where do you think he would most like to go?"

Luo Qingshan thought for a moment and said, "Indeed, he probably wants to go home."

Chao Qingwu nodded and said nothing more.

On the training field, the first-year student was still practicing his sword. His posture was still wrong, his power was still inaccurate, and the tip of his sword was still trembling. But his eyes never changed; he was as serious as if he were doing something more important than his life.

Looking at the child, Chao Qingwu suddenly remembered something, and a slight smile appeared on her lips.

"Interesting," she muttered, then stood up, dusted off her skirt, and turned to leave.

Luo Qingshan followed behind her, and after walking halfway, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the training ground.

The first-year student was still practicing swordsmanship.

Once, twice, three times.

Take the trouble.

Luo Qingshan watched for a few seconds, then turned around and followed Chao Qingwu.

In the infirmary, Feng Congyun sat by Sun Fan's bedside, holding a pot of freshly brewed wine. The wine was warm, and steam was still rising from the pot. He looked at the bandage on Sun Fan's left shoulder, then at Sun Fan's face, and remained silent for a while before speaking.

"The injury is almost healed. The stitches have been removed, and the flesh is still growing, but you can move around normally without any problems. Just avoid fighting with people."

Sun Fan leaned against the pillow and nodded.

"Have you decided where you're going for the holiday?" Feng Congyun took a swig of wine and squinted at him.

Sun Fan was silent for a moment, then said, "Let's go home."

Feng Congyun paused for a moment, the wine pot hovering in mid-air, neither being put down nor raised.

"Go home?" He repeated the word, as if chewing on something with complex flavors. "Your home—can you still go back to it?"

"The house is here. The key is here," Sun Fan said. "After my parents disappeared, the house was sealed off for a period of time, but it was later unsealed. Before I went to the Dark Martial Arts School, I gave the key to a neighbor for safekeeping. I can go back and enter the house."

Feng Congyun stared at him for a long time, then put down the wine pot and leaned back in his chair.

"You want to investigate your parents' affairs?"

Sun Fan did not deny it.

Do you think your parents' disappearance is related to that "boss"?

"I don't know." Sun Fan shook his head. "But I feel that the series of events that happened before I entered the Dark Martial Arts School—my parents' disappearance, being framed and imprisoned, being advised to fill out an application form—don't seem like a coincidence. Someone was pushing me, pushing me into the Dark Martial Arts School, pushing me onto the fighting stage."

He looked into Feng Congyun's eyes.

"I want to know what that person really wants."

Feng Congyun remained silent for a long time. The infirmary was quiet, with only the sound of water flowing from the radiator, gurgling like someone sighing softly.

"Sun Fan," he finally spoke, his voice a few decibels deeper than usual, "Do you know what your parents did? I mean—what were they doing before they disappeared?"

Sun Fan paused for a moment, then frowned.

In his past life's memories, his impressions of his parents were very clear—his father was a martial artist, and so was his mother. His father taught him to practice boxing, and his mother taught him to read. They had no worries about food or clothing, and their family was well-off. They lived in an old house on the outskirts of the city, with a ginkgo tree in the yard that turned the ground golden in autumn.

But what about something deeper—what exactly did the father do for a living? What was the mother's family background? Why did they disappear?

Was there anything unusual before the disappearance? These memories are blurry in the original body's mind, as if they had been deliberately erased by something.

Sun Fan hadn't thought there was anything wrong with this before. But now, looking back, this "ambiguity" itself was the biggest problem.

An eighteen-year-old should not have such vague memories of their parents.

Unless, this memory itself was tampered with in the previous life.

"Teacher Feng," Sun Fan looked up at Feng Congyun, "Do you know something?"

Feng Congyun did not answer. He stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to Sun Fan, and looked at the gray sky outside.

"No, I just have some guesses."

"Teacher Feng," Sun Fan looked up at Feng Congyun, "I want to go home. I need to find the answer."

Feng Congyun stared at him for a long time, then sighed.

"Go ahead." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bronze plaque, and handed it to Sun Fan.

The bronze plaque was small, not much bigger than a coin. The front was engraved with the Dark Martial Arts School's emblem—a blood-dripping sword—and the back was engraved with Feng Congyun's name and number.

"This is my pass. You can take him and come back whenever you want."

"Since you're leaving, stay a little longer. Don't rush back."

"The third graders are gone, and those second graders aren't going to amount to anything. Rushing things too much for you isn't a good thing."

"be safe"

Sun Fan took the bronze medal and held it in his hand. The medal was still warm from Feng Congyun's body heat.

"Thank you, Teacher Feng."

"No need to thank me." Feng Congyun waved his hand, got up and left.

The door closed.

Sun Fan sat on the bed, looking at the bronze plaque in his hand, and remained silent for a long time.

Then he lifted the covers and got out of bed.

His left shoulder still ached a little, but it wasn't serious. He moved his arm, his knuckles cracking. He changed into clean clothes, hung his longsword at his waist, tucked the bronze token of "Wind From Clouds" into his robes, and went out.

The corridor was quiet; most students had already left the school, with only a few nurses chatting at the nurses' station. Seeing Sun Fan emerge, a young nurse looked up, as if to say something, but seeing the sword at his waist, she swallowed her words.

Sun Fan walked out of the medical building, stood on the steps, and took a deep breath.

The air in winter is cold and fresh; it feels cool but comfortable when you breathe it in.

He looked up at the sky.

It was hazy and you couldn't see the sun, but you could feel the light.

He walked down the steps towards the school gate. He encountered several people along the way—some from lower grades, some from higher grades, some he knew, some he didn't. Each person glanced at him briefly before stepping aside. No one greeted him, no one spoke; only their eyes met, and in those eyes, something unspoken.

He stopped when he reached the school gate.

The school gate was made of iron bars and was usually closed, only opening when someone was entering or leaving. There were two guards on duty in the guardhouse; one was dozing off, and the other was looking at his phone. The one looking at his phone looked up, saw Sun Fan, paused for a moment, and then picked up the registration book on the table.

"Name."

"Sun Fan."

"Grade and class".

"Class 5, Grade 1"

Reason for leaving school.

"Going home for the holidays."

""

The gatekeeper nodded, made a note in his notebook, and then pressed the switch. The iron gate slowly opened with a muffled hum. Sun Fan stepped out.

As he stepped out of the dark martial arts school, he suddenly had a strange feeling—like he had floated up from the water and could finally breathe again.