?Mobile reading Regarding this pendant, Qin Feng knew only that it had been snatched from the immortal instructor—his only recollection. The "immortal instructor" was the title bestowed upon the beautiful instructor Isabella from Death Island. No one knew her exact age; it was said she had assumed the role of instructor twenty years ago, and her appearance has remained unchanged, as youthful as ever. When Qin Feng was fourteen, he successfully kissed Isabella, an event celebrated as a classic, since no man had ever managed to gain her favor before. The pendant itself was torn from her neck during that moment. As a result, Qin Feng endured a severe penalty—constantly pursued by the immortal instructor and assigned training tasks three times more demanding than those of others. Given the current circumstances, this is clearly no ordinary shark tooth. While shark teeth are not rare, the ability to "draw blood" and change color—Qin Feng had never witnessed such a phenomenon before. Moreover, he felt as though this object could still change. He withdrew a sharp blade from his belt buckle. Though he was now an ordinary man, he still maintained his previous habits, carrying no fewer than ten weapons capable of killing someone. He sliced a shallow incision on his index finger, and blood immediately flowed out. He then dripped the blood droplets onto the crescent-shaped pendant, where the crimson blood emitted a faint white vapor before vanishing. As more blood droplets fell, the pendant's hue deepened—first from its original golden yellow to a deep purple-gold, then to a rich purple-red, followed by deep red, and finally dark red. Ultimately, it turned completely black, glowing with an eerie luminescence like a black pearl. Whoosh— A beam of light surged into Qin Feng’s finger. Before he could react, he lost all sense of consciousness, his head tilting sideways as he collapsed onto the table. The crescent pendant continued to emit a steady glow, gradually weaving itself into his body. Time passed minute by minute, and the pendant's color gradually lightened—first to deep gray, then gray, then light gray—until it returned to its original ivory white. The entire transformation lasted four hours. When the pendant regained its original form, the sky outside had already begun to blush with the pale hue of dawn. A little while later, Qin Feng stirred gently and woke up. "What's going on?" The very first thing he did upon opening his eyes was to grasp the pendant. Now, it appeared exactly as it had before, unchanged in color or texture, and the cord that held it was as pristine as ever. Just as he was puzzled, a low, resonant voice suddenly reached his ears: "Young man, since you have received my transmission, you are now my disciple. From this point on, you must carry forward and promote my teachings. My monastic name is Lingxuan Daren; our sect is known as Tongxuan Sect. Remember to locate our sacred artifact, the Zhun Tian Yin, and restore our sect's prestige. The cultivation methods have already been inscribed within your heart. Remember: the path of the Dao is boundless—only diligence can compensate for any shortcomings." Qin Feng is a materialist and has never believed in gods or spirits. "It must be a hallucination," he tells himself. "Caused by the change in environment, combined with the shock of his parents' deaths." Just as he is about to accept this explanation, suddenly, a scroll appears in his mind, densely filled with classical Chinese characters in traditional script. His mother, who taught elementary school, had required him to memorize classical texts like the *Analects* and the *Rules for the Disciples* since he was just three years old—each recitation felt tedious at the time. After that, such opportunities never came again, and he often dreamed of returning to that moment, dreaming of it for fifteen years straight. With a solid foundation in classical Chinese, understanding the dense, archaic characters on the scroll was nothing short of effortless. As he began reading, he unconsciously rose from his chair. According to the text's instructions, he sat cross-legged on the floor, bringing his hands together and resting them on his legs, with the five centers—palms, soles of feet, and tips of fingers—facing upward. The air in the room began to circulate around him, forming a faint, swirling "cyclone" above his head, somewhat resembling the satellite cloud maps commonly seen in weather forecasts. A gentle current of energy began to flow through his body, warming the areas it passed through and creating a deeply comfortable sensation. He vaguely remembered that the current originated in his lower abdomen, following a specific pathway that traveled through his head, neck, chest, abdomen, and limbs, before returning to the same abdominal region. This process is described in the scroll as "breathing qi." During this breathing qi practice, the person enters a state of clarity and openness, with all six senses becoming remarkably acute. The Third Street Police Station, composed of one main building and dozens of rooms, was fully perceptible to him—down to the exact postures of the officers dozing off in the monitoring and duty rooms, as well as the nuances of their breathing rhythms. A police car was parked in the courtyard. A middle-aged man, broad-shouldered and sweating, stepped down and dialed his phone, saying, "Mr. Long, please don't worry. I promise the incident last night won't happen again. You have to believe me—give me one more chance." The voice from the phone was deep and steady: "Ma Fat, remember this: opportunities always go to those who are prepared. This time, I'm giving you a face. If things don't go well, you'll be on your way out—ring, ring, ring..." Ma Fat swallowed nervously, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and hurried into the office building. As soon as he entered, he called in several trusted subordinates, briefly asked about what had happened the night before, and then immediately said, "We need to officially charge the suspect with intentional harm. Ask the court for a strict sentence. Right away, send that young man to the detention center. Make sure they treat him well—ideally, push him to commit suicide. If that doesn't work, take more decisive action. Just make sure it's clean." "One of the close aides nodded confidently, 'Don't worry—this isn't the first time we've handled something like this. We won't leave any leverage behind.' Another aide looked hesitant, 'Director, Qin Group representatives came last night. What if they get involved?' The fat aide's expression turned stern, 'Then we'll settle things ahead of them. Once the people are gone, it'll be final—what can they say or do afterward?' 'What about Shu Zhong's team? What if she interferes? We'd be in a real bind then,' the aide added. The fat aide replied with disdain, 'She's just an ordinary, dull woman. If she's truly that foolish and insists on getting involved, even if someone above her supports her, she'll end up taking the brunt. You just need to focus on getting things done—any issues I'll handle personally.' 'Understood!' Qin Feng, whose six senses were exceptionally sharp, listened intently to the conversation. It was clear that things were now truly complicated." He had thought that with the involvement of Qin Group, he could remain uninvolved. Now it seemed that they simply didn't intend to give侯宝or Mei Hui a chance. What could he do? If all else failed, he'd just have to escape. After all, when he was a killer, he had been wanted by twenty-some countries in Europe and North America, ranked among the top ten most dangerous figures—sometimes even ahead of the bosses of the Mafia. In fact, it was he who had killed the Mafia bosses. Just as he was about to make his decision and take action, a clear sound of approaching leather shoes came from afar, growing louder and closer. It must be Police Officer Shu Yajing. He instantly shifted his strategy, thinking of a new course of action.