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

Chapter 138 The Road Home

The air in the dark martial arts academy was too thick, so thick that it was hard to breathe. The fighting, scheming, and conspiracies were like a thick film of oil, sticking to the lungs, impossible to cough up clean.

The air outside was clear, even though it was winter and cold. It was as clear as mountain spring water; one sip and you could feel the coolness flowing from your throat all the way to your stomach.

He stood outside the school gate and glanced back.

The gate of the Dark Martial Arts School appeared exceptionally tall in the winter mist, its iron railings rusted, and the blood-dripping sword on the school emblem gleamed dimly in the morning light.

He looked for a while, then turned around and walked along the road.

The road was lined with bare poplar trees, their branches rustling in the wind. There were no cars, no people, only him, carrying a sword, walking step by step.

After walking for about half an hour, he arrived at the nearest bus stop. A timetable was posted on the sign; the next bus was in fifteen minutes. He sat down on a bench at the platform, placed his sword on his lap, and gazed at the hazy horizon in the distance.

The phone rang.

It was a message from Dong Dahai: "Squad leader, let me know when you get home. Be careful on the road."

Sun Fan replied with a single word: "Okay."

Then he sent another message to Feng Congyun: "Teacher Feng, I've left school."

Feng Congyun replied quickly: "The wine jug is empty, remember to bring some wine back."

Sun Fan smiled and put his phone back in his pocket.

Sun Fan sat on a bench in the train station waiting hall, surrounded by people coming and going—people dragging suitcases, carrying children, and talking on their phones—a cacophony as noisy as a pot of boiling porridge. He placed his sword across his lap, covered it with his coat, and looked down at the train information on his phone screen.

The city where the Dark Martial Arts School was located was small, and the train station was old. Several sections of the waiting hall's ceiling leaked, and sunlight streamed through the cracks, falling to the floor like shards of broken golden glass. Sun Fan looked up at the cracks in the ceiling through the beams of light and suddenly remembered something.

The memories of the previous incarnation regarding their parents were indeed too vague.

It's not that I don't remember at all, but rather that feeling of "remembering but not being specific".

It's like looking at something through frosted glass; the outline is there, but all the details are gone.

He knew his father was a martial artist, but he didn't know what martial arts his father practiced, what level he had reached, or what organization his father worked for.

He knew his mother taught him to read, but he didn't know what she had studied, what she had done, or where her family home was.

This ambiguity doesn't seem like something that fades naturally over time; it's more like it's been artificially "blurred."

Sun Fan closed his eyes and carefully searched his mind for memories of his predecessor. Elementary school, junior high school, martial arts training, exams, classmates, and teachers were all quite clear, but the memories related to his parents were like holes eaten away by something, pitted and hollow everywhere.

He recalled more details.

My parents disappeared in the spring of 62 (lunar calendar). I don't remember the exact date, but I do remember the season. The ginkgo trees in the yard were just sprouting, their tender green leaves swaying in the wind. When I came home from school that day, no one was there. There was a note on the table that read, "Mom and Dad went out. Eat by yourself." And then, nothing happened.

The second day, the third day, the fourth day. His parents hadn't returned; he couldn't get through on the phone. He asked the neighbors, but they said they hadn't seen them. He called the police, who came, asked a few questions, took a statement, and told him to wait for news. Half a month passed, still no news. Another month passed, still no news.

Then he was framed and imprisoned. Then the person who claimed to be a close friend of his parents appeared and suggested that he fill out an application form to enter the Dark Martial Arts School, and then he went in.

Every step felt like it was pre-arranged, like stepping on someone else's script.

"Attention passengers traveling to Jiangcheng, boarding for your train K532 is now open—" A female voice announced over the loudspeaker. Sun Fan opened his eyes, stood up, tucked his sword under his arm, and followed the flow of people toward the ticket gate.

The ticket inspector, a middle-aged woman, glanced at his student ID, then at the long, narrow object he was hiding under his coat, and frowned. "What's that?"

"The sword," Sun Fan said.

The ticket inspector paused for a moment, staring at him for a few seconds.

Sun Fan took out the bronze medal given to him by Feng Congyun and waved it in front of him.

The ticket inspector quickly bent down, cut a hole in the ticket, and handed it back to him: "Next time, you'd better check it in."

Sun Fan took the ticket, nodded, and walked onto the platform.

The train was a slow, green-skinned train, taking twelve hours to travel from the city where the Dark Martial Arts School was located to Jiangcheng. Sun Fan had bought a hard seat, a window seat. He slipped his sword into the gap between the seat and the carriage wall, sat down, and looked out at the platform.

Across from me sat an elderly couple, who looked to be in their seventies. The old woman was dozing off, leaning on the old man's shoulder, while the old man, holding a newspaper, flipped through it for a long time without turning a page, also dozing off. Next to them sat a young mother, holding a two- or three-year-old child in her arms. The child kept crying, and the mother tried to soothe him for a long time without success, eventually bursting into tears herself.

Sun Fan watched the mother and son for a while, then took out a piece of candy from his pocket. Mu Xue'er had given it to him, saying he should eat it on the way, but he hadn't eaten it yet, so he handed it to her.

The young mother paused for a moment, took the candy, unwrapped it, and put it in her child's mouth. The child stopped crying, looked at Sun Fan with teary eyes and said indistinctly, "Thank you, brother."

Sun Fan smiled, turned his head, and looked out the window.

The train started moving.

The scenery outside the window changed from the platform to bungalows, from bungalows to farmland, and from farmland to hills. The winter fields were bare, with only the stubble left after the harvest, patch after patch, like shaved hair. Smoke rose from the distant village, the grayish-white smoke spreading in the wind and merging into the grayish-white sky.

Sun Fan leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He was pondering why the mastermind behind this was targeting him so relentlessly. Yan Gaojiang, Yan Gaotian, Shen Wuxiu—one after another, they wouldn't stop until they achieved their goal. If Yan Gaojiang's actions were accidental, and Yan Gaotian's were revenge, then what about Shen Wuxiu? Shen Wuxiu had no grudge against him, so why did he agree to kill him?

Is it worth it for a complete set of Returning to the True level gun techniques? Yes, it is.

But for the mastermind behind it all, is it worth paying such a high price just to take his life?

not worth.

All those things combined are enough to buy ten of his lives.

If he really is just an ordinary student at a dark martial arts academy.

Unless Sun Fan has something more valuable on him.

Sun Fan opened his eyes and looked down at his right hand. The scar on his hand was still there, left from his fight with Blood Blade Ancestor. It had turned into a thin white line, almost invisible unless you looked closely. He turned his palm over and looked at the lines on his palm, one by one, like rivers on a map.

What does he have?

From an outsider's perspective, this sword possesses a mysterious and profound skill, along with considerable internal strength.

However, his sword and his internal energy were never secret manuals, but rather serendipitous encounters.

Moreover, the targeting of him started a long time ago, so the timing doesn't match up.

What exactly does the mastermind behind this want?

Perhaps it's something he himself doesn't know.

The train stopped at a small station, and several migrant workers carrying large and small bags boarded, their clothes still covered in construction dust.

They squeezed into the aisle, stuffed a burlap sack under their seats, leaned against the seats, and pulled out their phones to watch short videos on speakerphone. The noise filled the carriage, waking the child who had just fallen asleep, and he started crying again.