Chapter Sixteen: Has Master Passed Away?

At school, Jiang Xiaotian was still feeling rather frustrated. He had originally planned to return to Old Street for revenge, but now he was too embarrassed to do so. In the blink of an eye, he had somehow become Brother Long’s guardian deity.

Still, just as he’d said, he had no intention of caring about the fates of those ruffians on Old Street—he was just lending his name, nothing more. If he weren’t afraid of causing real trouble, he would have loved to stir things up again.

After school, he headed straight for Old Street to check out the situation. As soon as he entered, he unexpectedly ran into Big Slicked-back Hair and his group.

They spotted Jiang Xiaotian as well, and after a moment’s stunned silence, they rushed excitedly toward him, calling him “Brother Jiang” with a familiarity that was even warmer than with their own fathers.

“How do you all know my name?” he asked.

Big Slicked-back Hair was especially worked up. “Oh, come on! Everyone knows Mr. Jiang Xiaotian is the master that Brother Long invited! Thank you so much for yesterday! To protect us, you lured Ye Wan’er away all by yourself. And thinking about how you deliberately took that kick for us—makes my own slap seem like nothing at all!”

This fellow’s name was Yang Feng—a classic lackey. He was convinced that Jiang Xiaotian truly was a martial artist, probably straight from Shaolin, and must be incredibly powerful!

After all, people like them had only the vaguest idea about martial artists.

Jiang Xiaotian, however, was about to explode! Wasn’t the whole point that martial artists hid among the crowd? Wasn’t nobody supposed to know? Now look at this—how was he supposed to keep a low profile, let alone preserve his reputation?

He immediately thought of that man. It had to be him! He must have spread the word on purpose! This was like being shoved onto the stage—now there was no turning back, even if he wanted to!

“Where’s Brother Long? I want to see him!” Jiang Xiaotian, though fuming, knew he had to take care of some things, so he decided to play along.

Yang Feng hurried to lead the way, not daring to show the slightest hint of negligence.

But when they arrived, Jiang Xiaotian realized he had underestimated the clout Old Street wielded.

Brother Long’s location was in an office building—he was clearly no mere street thug.

In the end, without some real power, one would never have had the chance to come into contact with martial artists.

As for Brother Long himself, he looked quite ordinary—bald, with features that would blend into any crowd. Yet his eyes were unusually sharp, and the watch on his wrist was clearly expensive.

As soon as he saw Jiang Xiaotian, Brother Long’s face broke into a broad smile. He personally came to the door to greet him, his enthusiasm boundless.

“Oh, Mr. Jiang! You’ve finally agreed to meet me! Since I spent so much to invite you, this is your first time showing up!”

Jiang Xiaotian smirked. No wonder that guy wasn’t worried about being exposed—they’d never met in person.

Clearing his throat, Jiang Xiaotian put on the airs of a master and said deliberately, “You tell me, do you know why I’m here?”

To be honest, I have no idea; whatever you say, I’ll just agree.

Brother Long gave Yang Feng a look, and Yang Feng promptly left and closed the door. Brother Long then sighed, “Yes, I know. Your master has passed away, after all.”

“Yes, exactly! Huh? My master died?” Jiang Xiaotian nearly choked on his own spit.

Brother Long frowned in confusion.

“Oh, yes, of course! My master’s presence still lingers, as though he’s alive in my heart. I’m already heartbroken. Why must you bring him up?” Jiang Xiaotian heaved a mournful sigh.

But who the hell was his master, and how could he suddenly be gone?

Brother Long looked rather wronged. “But you’re the one who asked me…”

Jiang Xiaotian was left speechless, glaring at Brother Long, who immediately cowered. “Oh, it’s my fault—please don’t be angry! How about this: I’ll personally accompany you back to pay your respects to your late master!”

“Uh… there’s really no need for that…”

At this moment, Jiang Xiaotian’s mind was consumed by three questions spinning in circles:

Who am I? Who is my master? How did he die?

Brother Long just assumed Jiang Xiaotian was still upset. After all, he’d been in hiding all this time, and only showed up now—wasn’t his reason obvious?

So Brother Long made the decision for him, not giving any chance to refuse. “Alright, Mr. Jiang, it’s settled. Your master was a grandmaster; we should go back.”

As if he, Brother Long, had any qualifications to mingle with people like that.

In fact, he’d spent millions just to bring a martial artist in to keep the peace, but since the man never appeared, he dared not disturb him at all.

Basically, the money was spent just for the connection.

And he certainly wasn’t qualified to meet Jiang Xiaotian’s supposed master, but now that the master had died, he knew plenty of powerful people would show up at the funeral—a great opportunity to make connections.

But Jiang Xiaotian didn’t dare go. What if someone recognized that he was an impostor?

He didn’t agree right away, but neither did he refuse outright. Instead, he seized an idle moment to send a message to that guy: Hey! Your master’s dead! Aren’t you going back to pay your respects?

The reply was truly exasperating: Oh, then you go. You have to—just act well. Nobody knows you.

And then he stopped replying altogether. Jiang Xiaotian felt a chill—things were spiraling out of control.

“Mr. Jiang? Are you alright? Don’t be too upset. If you’re free in the next couple of days, let’s set off together?”

Jiang Xiaotian snapped back to reality, offering an awkward smile, and could only nod.

In truth, he was there for another reason.

“By the way, a few days ago, your men injured my friend.”

Brother Long was stunned, then immediately flew into a rage. “Which blind fool did that! Damn it! Mr. Jiang, just say the word—should I break his arm or his leg? Once we find him, he’ll be lucky to keep his life!”

People in their world spoke crudely, and Brother Long was no exception. He knew all too well what kind of thugs prowled Old Street. Now they’d accidentally hurt a martial artist’s friend—what a disaster!

If a martial artist got angry, who was he, Brother Long, to stand in the way?

Which was why, even though “Jiang Xiaotian” had been absent all this time, he hadn’t dared to utter a word of complaint. Now, the first thing Jiang Xiaotian said was that his friend had been hurt—clearly, he wanted an explanation.

Jiang Xiaotian was taken aback. He did want to teach those people a lesson, but breaking arms and legs was far too brutal for him.

So he described what had happened that day, as well as Zhang Wei’s injuries and which hospital and ward he was in, simply asking them to visit and apologize in person.

Jiang Xiaotian wasn’t the least bit worried that Brother Long would try anything funny—his fear was obvious.

Clearly, the image of martial artists was deeply ingrained in Brother Long’s mind.

Brother Long dared not be careless. He immediately called someone to investigate.

Jiang Xiaotian, meanwhile, seized the next opportunity to slip away. Brother Long didn’t dare stop him, just left his own phone number, and said to call whenever he planned to return—he’d be there at a moment’s notice.

In another city, a young man was practicing his punches when someone rushed in, flustered, and explained the situation. The young man stopped, wiped his sweat, and said,

“Ling Zhi, that old dog, is dead? So suddenly? Well, so be it. Scum like him—better off dead.”

“He said before he died that he still had a disciple.”

“Oh? That makes it even more interesting.”

“Maybe he’ll show up. After all, his own master’s dead.”

“A rat’s disciple is still a rat. I want to see for myself—whether he’s a big rat, or a little one.”