Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

On the sheet of paper where Zhou Mingyuan had made his calculations, the handwriting was messy, but the entries were still fairly clear.

Each item was followed by the specific clause of the Criminal Law and the possible sentencing range. However, almost every clause was assigned the lowest penalty. Even some cases that clearly involved multiple offenses and large sums of money were cleverly explained by him as "minor offenses" or "no serious consequences".

Even so, the total listed at the bottom of the page is still quite considerable:

Approximately five years and two months.

“It’s alright,” the intruder surprisingly didn’t seem to mind. “You decided this yourself.”

and then?

Force yourself to turn yourself in to the disciplinary authorities? Release this recorded video to the public?

As a bureaucrat, I was just incredibly unlucky to run into this mess. None of the people involved have been touched yet; and what I'm dealing with is this inhuman entity that would obviously be classified as a top-priority "special case"...

If they were to be convicted, their official status would create another layer of legal resistance, and their triad affiliation would create yet another. Even if they were imprisoned, they would still live a very comfortable life...

If we add your special circumstances to that, maybe... hehehe...

Just as he was lost in thought, the young man opposite him suddenly raised his hand, put his index and middle fingers together, and gently touched Zhou Mingyuan's forehead, right in front of the pineal gland.

The moment his fingertips touched his skin, Zhou Mingyuan did not feel any pain or impact.

He felt a soft "hum," as if something extremely subtle was being stirred deep within his skull.

Then, the world began to peel away in ways he couldn't comprehend.

First, there were sounds—the distant sounds of traffic outside the window, my own heavy breathing, even the faint sound of blood flowing in my eardrums—as if suddenly wiped away by an invisible hand, quickly plunging me into silence.

Then comes the visual. The living room lights, the intruder's figure, my own trembling hands, even the coffee table so close at hand... all colors and shapes rapidly dim, collapse, and fade, ultimately settling into a pure, heavy, and boundless darkness.

The sense of smell disappeared; the lingering fragrance, sweat, and blood odor in the room vanished without a trace.

The taste, the bitterness in my mouth that had been mixed with rust and fear, quietly faded away.

Touch... the support of the sofa beneath me, the friction of my clothes against my skin, even the burning pain at the severed finger on my left hand... all the physical signals from inside and outside my body receded as quickly as the tide.

The five senses were forcibly stripped away from the external world, absorbed, and reduced to nothingness by a gentle yet irresistible force.

There is no reference to the passage of time, no basis for the existence of space, and not even a clear boundary for the "self".

"Five years and two months, that's what you decided yourself."

This was the last message Zhou Mingyuan sensed from Blue Star.

After that, only the purest "existence" itself remains, suspended in eternal silence and darkness.

The "Pushing Oneself Holy Scripture": The Method of Inner Landscape Gathering.

This is an auxiliary secret technique created by the Heavenly Demon Sect to help its disciples eliminate external distractions, delve into meditation, and observe their own minds. It concentrates the practitioner's consciousness into a state of emptiness without light, sound, feeling, or thought.

Hmm, such a supreme and wonderful method is just right for Zhou Mingyu, such a fine seed of demonic cultivation.

29. Condolences

From the woman in the bath towel's perspective, after saying "Five years and three months, this is what you decided," the young man who barged in gently touched Zhou Sizheng's forehead with his right hand.

There was no light, no sound.

Zhou Sizheng felt as if his spine had been removed in an instant.

The body, which had been slightly leaning forward and maintaining a tense posture, suddenly relaxed, like a lifeless sack of grain, and fell straight back into the cushions of the small sofa without making a sound, without even the most basic muscle reflex twitch.

“It’s alright,” the young man said, turning to the woman with a smile and reassuring her as he noticed her wide eyes and increasingly frightened expression. “He’s just too tired and stressed. I’ll help him get a good night’s sleep.”

As he spoke, the young man stretched, his bones making a slight cracking sound.

He stood up and put the pistol away from the coffee table.

"It's getting late," the young man said, looking out at the dark night. "You should all get some rest."

"Yes...yes..." the woman responded subconsciously, her body stiffening from excessive tension. She reached out and untied the bath towel.

“What I mean is,” the young man pointed to the master bedroom, “you can go back to your room, close the door, and go to sleep.”

There was no ambiguity or implication in the young man's tone; it was purely a matter of business.

The woman was stunned for a moment, then realized what was happening. Her face flushed red and then turned pale. She hurriedly lowered her head, whispered "Okay," and then practically shuffled back into the master bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

Leaning against the cold door, she felt her legs go weak and slowly slid to the ground.

That night, naturally, I couldn't sleep.

She strained her ears to listen to any sounds coming from the living room, but there was only deathly silence.

The intruder appeared to be sitting in the living room, making no sound of moving or rummaging around.

This silence is more agonizing than any sound.

She didn't know how much time had passed before her overly tense nerves finally drifted into a light sleep filled with intermittent nightmares.

……

The next morning, to be precise, around 3:30 a.m.

Zhang Qiliang, who had been in a meditative state, actually circulating the "Tongda Sword Scripture" to consolidate what he had gained the previous night, and monitoring the surrounding activity with his extraordinary senses, opened his eyes.

A glint of light flashed in his eyes, then vanished, before he regained his composure.

He walked into the living room, his gaze sweeping over Zhou Mingyuan, who was still slumped on the sofa, lost in the deepest part of his consciousness. Then he went straight to a seemingly ordinary built-in decorative cabinet in the corner of the living room, which matched the overall decoration style.

The cabinet surface is made of wood-grain-look board, without any keyholes or special markings.

Zhang Qiliang reached out and pressed his index finger on a slightly darker, inconspicuous rectangular area on the side of the cabinet—there was a weak passive capacitive sensor there, connected to the internal electromagnetic lock.

This is one of the secrets revealed by Zhou Mingyuan in his candid confession last night.

With a soft "click," the cabinet door popped open a crack.

Inside is a deeper interlayer.

Several stacks of banknotes, all in hundred-yuan denominations, were neatly arranged on the shelf, sealed with the bank's original seals, totaling exactly two hundred thousand yuan. There were also several gold items such as rings and watches.

Next to it were several different passports and several anonymous stored-value cards.

This was Zhou Mingyuan's confession: "emergency funds" stored outside the workplace, intended for dealing with certain "unexpected situations" or when "quick intervention" was needed.

As for the additional "returns," they have long been transformed through complex operations into real estate, equity, and financial products registered under the names of distant relatives or nominees, disappearing into an asset fog that is difficult for ordinary people to trace.

Zhang Qiliang took out the cash and gold jewelry, put them in a plastic bag, and weighed them in his hand.

Just then, as if they heard some noise, the master bedroom door was pushed open a crack very gently.

The woman in the bath towel—well, by this time, she was already dressed.

The woman changed into a well-made off-white knit sweater and dark trousers, her hair was neatly combed, and she even wore light makeup in an attempt to conceal her haggard appearance. She was carrying a small handbag.

Apart from the faint dark circles under her eyes that couldn't be completely concealed, she looked like an ordinary, gentle professional woman preparing to leave for work or run errands in the morning.

"You...are you leaving?" Seeing Zhang Qiliang dressed neatly and carrying a bag, she asked in a soft voice, with a cautious probing tone.

"Mm." Zhang Qiliang nodded.

Everyone has their own choices and circumstances.

Since Zhou Mingyuan's account last night did not involve this woman at all—whether in terms of financial dealings or anything else—Zhang Qiliang did not make things difficult for her or ask her any questions.

"I'm leaving too..." Meeting Zhang Qiliang's gaze, the woman hurriedly whispered her assurance, "I...I won't call the police! I won't say anything!"

"Hmm." Zhang Qiliang nodded again, indicating that he had heard.

After speaking, Zhang Qiliang walked to the door, opened it, and his figure disappeared into the still lingering night and morning mist outside.

The woman stood there for a few seconds, listening to the leisurely footsteps outside the door slowly recede into the distance until they disappeared.

She took a deep breath, glanced one last time at Zhou Mingyuan, who was unconscious on the sofa, her eyes filled with complex and unreadable emotions, and then quickly walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her. She hurried downstairs and left in the opposite direction from Zhang Qiliang.

In the living room, only the unconscious Zhou Mingyuan and the open "Criminal Law of the Great Yang Dynasty" on the coffee table remained, silently reflecting a cold light in the increasingly bright morning light.

--------

4:05 a.m.

On a clear early summer morning, the faint blue light refracted by the atmosphere in the sky, like a semi-transparent veil, loosely enveloped the city.

The streets were empty and quiet, with only one or two taxis occasionally passing by with their "for hire" lights on, their tires making a soft rustling sound as they rolled over the wet pavement.

A group of young people dressed in work clothes, their faces showing signs of exhaustion from staying up all night, walked out of a convenience store with a "24-hour" sign lit up, carrying hot drinks in their hands. They had probably just finished their night shift.

On the street corner, the roller shutter of a breakfast shop was pulled up with a "whoosh," and the dim yellow light eagerly poured out. The figures of the shop owners, a husband and wife, were busy inside, and large puffs of white steam carrying a sweet aroma soon rose from the steamer.

Not far away, the back door of a supermarket was open, and the owner and his employees were unloading boxes of milk and beverages from a minivan and carrying them into the store, the plastic boxes making a dull thud as they bumped against each other.

At this moment, the most striking sight is the figures in bright orange or fluorescent green vests—the sanitation workers.

They are like regular actors in a silent film set in the city, scattered across different street scenes.

Zhang Qiliang walked slowly, his gaze sweeping calmly over the scene:

Fifty meters ahead, an elderly man with gray hair and a hunched back was struggling to drag a pile of stuffed black garbage bags to a collection point on the side of the road. His movements were slow but steady.

At the fork in the road diagonally opposite, a middle-aged female worker was looking down, rhythmically sweeping a large broom in her hand, gathering the fallen leaves and scattered trash brought by the night wind into a pile. The "swish" sound of the broom scraping the ground carried far in the quiet.

Further away, by the bus stop, a younger-looking worker was using a high-pressure water gun to wash the ground around the trash cans, the water splashing into tiny specks of light in the dim light.

They worked silently, keeping their distance from each other, forming the most solid yet easily overlooked stroke in the urban landscape before dawn.

Zhang Qiliang stopped in front of a steamed bun shop where steam was just beginning to rise.

The shop was warmly lit, and the aroma of noodles filled the air.

"Boss, five big meat buns and a bowl of soy milk."

"Okay, just a moment!" the proprietress replied briskly.

Zhang Qiliang took the steamed buns and soy milk in the plastic bag and sat down at the simple folding table set up at the entrance of the shop.

The table was a little greasy, but he didn't care.

He ate his steamed bun slowly, his gaze fixed on the other side of the street.

There, a sanitation worker, who looked to be in his fifties, had just finished sweeping a short section of the road and was taking a short break, leaning on his long-handled broom.

He took off his orange work cap, wiped the fine beads of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and his breath condensed into a small cloud of white mist in the cool air.

Zhang Qiliang swallowed the food in his mouth, raised his voice slightly, and greeted him in a calm tone, "Sir, you must be tired from your work. Would you mind having a chat for a bit?"

The worker turned around at the sound and saw a young man sitting by a breakfast stall. He looked slightly surprised, then gave a simple smile as usual: "You've worked hard too, up so early?"

"There's nothing I can do, it's part of my job," Zhang Qiliang said with a smile.

"Work requires it?" The worker's surprise deepened, and he glanced instinctively at the still empty street. "Starting work so early?"

“Sir, come and sit down,” Zhang Qiliang waved his hand and placed the inconspicuous black plastic bag next to him on the table. “It’s like this. I’m a staff member of the Urban Management Department of our Municipal Bureau. Recently, the department took the lead and, in conjunction with the Public Service Office, arranged a visit and condolence program for ‘employees working during special morning hours’.”

"Condolences?"

That's a good word. A glimmer of light appeared in the worker's eyes, and he unconsciously moved closer. "That sounds like a good thing..."

“It’s definitely a good thing. The higher-ups understand that everyone works hard from dawn till dusk.” Zhang Qiliang finished speaking just as the worker walked to the table. “You see, I’m the youngest and least experienced person in the company, so this job of running errands and making on-site visits has fallen to me.”

"No, no," the cleaner quickly waved his hand, his words carrying the habitual, slightly obsequious humility of a working-class person when facing "people from above," "You're young and promising, valued by the leaders, and have a bright future."

"Thank you for your kind words," Zhang Qiliang replied with a smile. "Judging by the time, you probably haven't had breakfast yet, have you? Please have a seat... Boss, another order of steamed buns and a bowl of soy milk, please!"

"Oh dear, this won't do!" the cleaner quickly declined. "It's not right for you to spend so much money. Besides, I haven't finished sweeping this area yet, I still have other work to do."

"It's alright, no rush." ​​Zhang Qiliang warmly pulled over another small stool next to him, gesturing for him to sit down. "I see you swept that section quite cleanly, there's not much left. Besides, have something to eat first, and I'll help you out later, two people can finish quickly."

The cleaner was forced to sit down, albeit reluctantly.

Seeing that his coworker was still a little uneasy, or rather, still had some doubts, Zhang Qiliang reached out and took out two bright red 100-yuan bills from the black plastic bag, gently placed them on the table, and pushed them in front of the worker.

"Sir, it's like this. The department is very grateful to everyone for working so hard so early to keep the city clean. In addition to visiting and understanding the situation, we have also prepared some practical consolation money for everyone. Well, the standard is two hundred dollars per person. It's not much, but it's just a small token of our appreciation."

The cleaner's eyes widened suddenly, her gaze fixed on the two banknotes, somewhat incredulous.

"However..." the young man continued, "I'm not familiar with the workers who get up early to work, and I don't know how to find them... Could you do me a favor?"

"Help? What kind of help? Tell me!" The cleaner snapped out of her daze and readily agreed. Her hands, already trembling slightly, instinctively picked up the two bills that belonged to her as a token of appreciation and clutched them tightly.

"I just need your help to let the workers you know who are still working at this time know about it, and ask them to..."

"Understood, understood!" The sanitation worker nodded immediately. "Is this a gesture of goodwill towards our Zhongshan Road area? Or does it include the neighboring Biange Lane?"

The young man shook his head, his smile unchanged: "All the workers who are already at work this morning at this time."

The cleaner was stunned.