Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"Wow!" The little boy was stunned for a moment, then his eyes widened even more, and more beads of sweat appeared on his nose. "That's great!"

Good-natured laughter rang out from the crowd nearby. Someone raised their phone, the camera focused on the scene. In the distance, a dozen or so film crews were frantically snapping photos, the telephoto lens capturing the bent-over figure and the little boy looking up in a single frame.

The little boy had not forgotten why he had been waiting there.

He tilted his head back and asked, "Superman, can you fly?"

"Yes, I can," Zhang Qi nodded. She couldn't do it yesterday, but she can today. "Do you want to see?"

"May I?"

"of course."

Zhang Qiliang was not carrying a controlled knife.

There's no need for that; using one's body as a sword is merely an introductory technique of the Blood Sword Sect.

Two fingers joined together like a sword, brows furrowed in concentration: Sword Control Technique.

The next moment, as if a black lightning bolt had flashed by, the figure had vanished from the ground before anyone could follow it.

The fastest-reacting people immediately looked up, and in less than a second, Zhang Qiliang was already hovering about two hundred meters in the air.

Sunlight shone from behind, gilding Zhang Qiliang with a thin layer of gold.

Standing in mid-air, Zhang Qiliang made a slight judgment of the direction.

Manhattan unfolds beneath my feet, its dozens of stories high skyscrapers resembling a neatly arranged set of building blocks when viewed from above. The East River glistens with light, while the Hudson River meanders along the other side. Further away, the Statue of Liberty stands silently on the sea, small as a toy.

Zhang Qiliang glanced down.

On the street, people looked up, and the little brown-haired boy stood at the front, his hands raised high, his mouth wide open, completely forgetting to close it.

Zhang Qiliang waved to the crowd below and flew towards Kennedy Airport.

Swift as lightning.

--------

Y City Airport.

"What the hell do you mean by 'American Airlines AA289, requesting diversion to Y city'?"

"This flight is clearly a direct flight from New York to Shanghai!"

"Pah! In a few hours, you'll tell me—because the temperature at Shanghai Airport was 26°C, the wind was level 0, there were no clouds, and the visibility was good, so we had to make an emergency landing, right?"

"Also, AA289, shouldn't it have taken off five minutes ago?!"

"...All passengers unanimously agreed to wait?"

"Pah! I've already checked! There's only one passenger on AA289!"

……

Two minutes later.

The middle-aged man on the phone stared in disbelief at the figure on the camera, which flew swiftly through the skies of New York, taking only 83 seconds to travel from Wall Street to JFK Airport.

The luckiest ABC television station was captured by a helicopter camera:

The guy's expression was incredibly relaxed and carefree.

Like taking a walk.

Like strolling through the streets.

It's like strolling casually in the morning sunlight, only with your feet two hundred meters above the ground.

"1200 km/h..." The middle-aged man's face was full of bitterness: "That's practically hitting the sonic boom line..."

After a silence of more than ten seconds, the middle-aged man looked at the person opposite him and asked, "Do you still have any thoughts now?"

93. Sweet-smelling air

At 8:20 a.m., AA289 took off from New York's JFK Airport and landed smoothly at Y City Airport after a 14.5-hour flight.

Due to the time difference, it is still morning in Y City at this time: 10:30 AM.

As soon as he got off the plane, Zhang Qiliang didn't even bother to take the shuttle bus. He took off directly, ascended to an altitude of about 200 meters, and flew slowly towards the west of the city at a speed as low as 120 kilometers per hour—a speed where the wind pressure barely affected the ground.

—After being stranded in the air for more than 27 hours, Zhang Qiliang had missed a whole day and a half of his work time and was almost numb from sleep. Now he is full of energy.

The wind brushed past my ears, carrying the familiar scent of this city.

The warmth of early summer, the fragrance of locust blossoms by the roadside, and the dust rising from the construction site in the distance—all these mingled together and rushed towards me.

Zhang Qiliang took a deep breath, suddenly stopped, took out his phone, and posted a message on his WeChat Moments:

Returning to my hometown, breathing in the air that carries one-four-billionth share of this land, the air is so fresh and sweet! There's a strange kind of luxury in it!

……

Logistics Park, west of the city.

Huangleme website.

The morning rush hour was basically over, and under the metal shed at the station, seven or eight electric bikes were parked crookedly.

Some of the insulated boxes were still strapped to the back seat, while others had been removed and piled up in the corner. Near the wall, a long row of shared battery chargers had their red lights flashing and occasionally made a slight "buzzing" sound.

There are more people than usual.

Instead of their usual relaxed state of lounging in chairs scrolling through their phones while waiting for orders, almost everyone gathered under the old locust tree by the entrance, chatting away, their faces either beaming with joy or bursting with excitement.

"I'm telling you, I've watched that video at least twenty times!" Xiao Mao's voice was the loudest. He was squatting on a tree root, clutching his phone. "That building—it's so big!—he just—"

He raised both hands upwards in a lifting motion, and the veins on his neck bulged.

And then—

He flung himself to the side, nearly falling off the tree roots.

The person next to him grabbed him.

"Keep your voice down, the whole world saw it." Xiao Hu leaned against the wall, squinting, with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "I watched the live stream at home. My wife asked me, 'Why are you kneeling on the ground?' I said I didn't know."

A burst of laughter.

“My nephew called me,” another young rider, Ahui, chimed in. He had only been in the business for three months. “He said, ‘Uncle, is that superman at your station still there?’ I asked, ‘What superman?’ He said, ‘The one who delivers food.’ I said, ‘Everyone here who delivers food is a superman. They’re always late.’”

Another burst of laughter followed.

Xiao Mao held up his phone, screen facing everyone: "What do you think he's doing right now?"

"They should still be sleeping on the plane, right?" Ahui leaned over to look. "It takes more than ten hours to fly from New York to Da Yang."

"So far?"

"What do you think!" Ahui snorted. "It spans the continental United States, plus the entire Pacific Ocean, tens of thousands of kilometers!"

"Tsk tsk tsk..."

"More than ten hours, that's hard to sleep," Xiao Hu guessed. "Maybe he's signing autographs for passengers right now. I've seen Americans in movies who are pretty outgoing."

"Impossible!" Xiao Mao sneered.

Several people looked at him.

"What?" Ahui asked, "Is there any explanation?"

“Of course there’s a reason!” Xiao Mao shoved his phone into his pocket and straightened up. “This is Superman’s autograph! Didn’t you guys see the news? That black driver in New York begged him like that, and Ming wouldn’t agree. How could he give an autograph to someone he’s never even met?”

Ahui blinked: "So?"

"So?" Xiao Mao's voice rose eight octaves, "Why should we give benefits to foreigners for nothing?"

"Surely not?" Ah Hui clearly didn't believe it. "Ming-ge isn't that stingy... He even brought your nephew a fishing rod."

"This isn't about being petty!" Xiao Mao exclaimed, his face turning red. "This was a statement! It was broadcast live globally, do you think it was just casual conversation?"

"What statement?"

Xiao Mao took a deep breath and started counting on his fingers:

"First, the first thing he said in America was, 'I am a food delivery rider from Da Yang'—this was a statement: I, Ming, have always been self-reliant and do not rely on superpowers to make a living."

"Secondly, he doesn't use his superpowers to make money. He even refused to sign an autograph for a taxi driver he had only met once—and incidentally, he refused the vanity of knowing how much his autograph was worth."

"So, think about it: would such a superman allow you international hyenas to use his superpowers to benefit the people while he stirs up trouble in the Da Yang market?"

The group of people looked at each other in bewilderment.

Ahui scratched his head, seemingly lost in thought.

Xiao Hu took the cigarette from his mouth and stared at Xiao Mao for a few seconds.

Old Li nodded, a rare occurrence: "That makes sense."

Another rider couldn't help but exclaim, "Wow, Xiao Mao, you've got some serious ideas!"

Xiao Mao proudly raised his chin, about to say something modest—

"Tch! Don't listen to his nonsense!"

Old Zhao's voice came from the side.

He had been leaning against the wall without saying a word, but now he slowly walked over, carrying a large tea mug that had just been filled with water.

"This kid spent all day on his phone yesterday, and hasn't even closed a single deal today. He's just been standing here chattering away!" Old Zhao pointed at Xiao Mao with his teacup. "Just what he said earlier. He already told me this morning—and you argued with me about which big influencer's analysis it was?"

"Whether it's my idea or not is unimportant," Xiao Mao laughed, completely unconcerned about being exposed: "As long as the logic is sound!"

Ahui was amused by him.

Old Zhao shook his head, took a sip of tea, and said nothing more.

"In short, this is a form of isolation," Xiao Ming said, having already been exposed, he simply took out his phone and read aloud, "It ensures that when Brother Ming acts domestically and has an impact on certain regions, situations, or industries, he will not be interfered with by international forces!"

"This is the real reason why Doflamingo traveled all the way to New York to throw a tantrum!"

A fellow rider joked, "Couldn't it be to help the guys get better off?"

"Of course there's land involved! That's the second truth."

Another rider asked with a smile, "Can't it be because you can't stand seeing people from Da Yang being bullied?"

"That's definitely true!" Xiao Mao's expression instantly turned serious. Normally it would be one thing, but at this point in time, he dared not make things up. "This is the third truth!"

Everyone laughed.

"Hahaha--"

"You're a wholesaler of the truth, aren't you?!"

The air was filled with a joyful atmosphere.

A few seconds later, the other rider, who hadn't spoken until now, suddenly spoke up.

His surname is Li, he is in his early forties, and he usually speaks very softly, but he is generally reliable when he does.

“Do you think,” he said slowly, “he’ll come back to deliver food?”

Several people looked at him at the same time.

"……What's the meaning?"

Old Li flicked his cigarette ash: "It means exactly what it says. In his current state, would he still come back to deliver food?"

Xiao Mao opened his mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it back.

Old Zhou squinted, looking into the distance, and said nothing.

Ahui scratched his head, unsure how to answer.

They had actually thought about this problem.

No one said it out loud.

Would someone who would throw a building into the sea come back to deliver food?

Will they still be like them, squatting at the station entrance waiting for orders, racing against time for a few dollars in delivery fees, and having to smile apologetically even when customers scold them?

Will it happen again?

Old Li's question remained unanswered, hanging in the air.

Just then—