?Mobile reading As Qin Feng’s reputation was at stake, he certainly wouldn’t tell Zhou Ming Chu the truth. He also instructed the foreigner not to mention the incident of being beaten, adding that if the matter were to come out, it would be a real embarrassment for a killer like you. The foreigner promised he would keep it confidential—whether out of genuine concern for his reputation or simply yielding to Qin’s formidable authority remained to be seen. Zhou Uncle, far from being naive, glanced at the injuries on the man’s hands and then at the blood-stained bamboo skewers on the ground, and asked with growing bewilderment, “Xiao Feng, didn’t you hit him?” “No, absolutely not,” he insisted, firmly pressing his chest. “Really, no,” Zhou Uncle countered, clearly unconvinced. “Truly, no—I guarantee it with my personal integrity,” he emphasized, pressing his chest even harder. Zhou Daxu shrugged, lowered his voice and said, "That's fine. At least she's not blocking my view, nor is she on my turf. I'll just treat it as if nothing ever happened. You must have secured what you wanted—don't forget to copy the statement and send it to me!" "Understood," Qin Daxiao nodded with a smug smile. Of course he was well aware that, without Qin Feng's sheer strength, even with himself and his team, no matter how hard they tried or how many times they ran, they'd never manage to capture a single terrorist. He thought for a moment, then said, "That sounds good. I believe their stronghold is likely hidden somewhere in Europe or North America. With your European appearance, you won't raise any suspicion among the locals. You'll be a great help as my companion. Once we gather sufficient intelligence, we'll strike at their stronghold!" The female officer, seeing him agree, beamed and said, "Great!" Hmph. A cold breeze blew then, and Qin Feng immediately furrowed his brow. A cultivator—indeed, a high-level one—and one who came with ill intent. He didn't need to guess who it was; it had to be Zero Yuan, the one who suffered a major defeat last time. The old man had nearly been seriously injured by depleted uranium shells—what a humiliation! How could he possibly fail to come seeking revenge? "Shasha, hide yourself first," he said firmly. "How can I just stand by and watch when there's an opponent coming?" the female officer replied, already drawing her dagger. He shook his head and said, "The visitor is a very accomplished cultivator. If he finds out I have a vampire living with me, it will surely cause a major stir. So you'd better stay hidden—don't worry, I can't even run if I can't fight!" The beautiful officer nodded and said, "Very well, I'll be leaving right away!" Just as she vanished, Zero Yuan the True Master appeared on a flying sword at a height of several dozen meters. At first glance, the old man's beard and hair seemed completely restored to their original state, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that they were artificial. Although cultivators excel in many ways over ordinary people, strictly speaking, they are still human—hair and beard grow at a pace similar to that of ordinary people. How could they grow such long hair and beard in under two months? Qin, the young noble, looked up at him with a mocking tone and asked, "Master, at which beauty salon did you get your hair and beard done? The work is quite excellent—must have cost quite a bit!" He hadn't mentioned it before, but as soon as he brought it up, Zero Yuan the True Master grew furious. He truly did go to a hair salon, though they gave their best effort—the final result still fell short, because up close, the flaws were obvious. Precisely because of this, he had never dared return to his sect for the New Year, instead hesitating to go to Pang Mili's place to have a drink and stay for a while; only when he arrived did he remember that the inn in the valley had already been taken over. Floating alone outside, for two months, he was full of simmering frustration. "Young Qin, you're still so arrogant! Today, I must give you a good dressing-down," the old man boomed, "I'm going to pluck every single hair from your body!" I wiped my brow—Young Qin was startled. Such deep resentment from him suggested the old man was truly furious. "Heh, then let's see how it goes. Maybe in the end, it'll be you who ends up with all your hair plucked!" he said with confidence. The old man lightly tapped his feet on the flying sword, hummed, "Show yourself then! Don't hide behind your excuses—come at me head-on! By the way, you're such a soulless kid..." Before he finished speaking, Qin, the young lord, had already vanished. Brother isn't stupid—he knew he wasn't the match, so why would he foolishly fight him? This time, just like last time, he left behind something. The difference was: last time it was a mortar shell; this time, it was a well-sealed metal box. The old man hovered several meters away, smiling, "Kid, think I'll fall down in the same spot twice? That's pure fantasy. If I'm still fooled, then I'm not even a grandson!" The packaging of the metal box looked impressive—clearly valuable. As he activated his spiritual shield, he commanded the flying sword to strike. Crackle. The box was neatly severed into two parts, and the several shells inside were also split in half. Most importantly, the fuze was cut and rendered ineffective. The old man calmly retracted his spiritual defense shield and boasted with pride, "You're still young at playing with me. See how bold you'll be next time when you try to show off!" Inside the small cauldron, Qin, the young lord, held the remote and smiled, "Is that so? Then I'll give you another go!" With that, he pressed the red button. Outside, a thunderous roar erupted, flames shooting skyward. This time, the shells inside the box were not ordinary—they were high-efficiency combustion shells. As long as one remained intact, it would trigger the detonation of all the others.