“Disciple, how is your cultivation of the 'Soul Sutra' coming along?”
The Sweeping Monk silently stared at Shen Kun, who was squatting in front of him. The kid was perched on the doorframe, his large, shiny bald head gleaming. He wore a kasaya robe, but underneath it, he actually had on a skull-print T-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. What was even more exasperating was that he had his hands stuffed into his sleeves, a half-burnt cigarette butt dangling from his mouth, and a polite, gentle smile plastered on his face...
Looking at this posture, which made him look exactly like a convict locked in solitary confinement, one couldn't help but want to take off a dog-poop-stained straw sandal and beat him to death with it!
“Master, let's not talk about the 'Soul Sutra' just yet. This morning, while I was in the Sutra Pavilion, I found a Sanskrit Buddhist scripture. There are a few parts I don't understand. Could you help explain them to me?” Shen Kun had no intention of bringing up the “Soul Sutra” and deliberately changed the subject.
“Cut the nonsense and answer me honestly!” The Sweeping Monk frowned.
“Oh, dear, Master, I was just about to leave. Martial Uncle Zhi Qing from the Bodhidharma Hall asked me to help him sweep up. How about... we talk about the 'Soul Sutra' another day?” Shen Kun feigned a sudden realization, slapped his forehead hard, and stood up to slip away.
“Stop right there!” The Sweeping Monk's brow furrowed even deeper. “The 'Soul Sutra' has nine stages in total. Just which stage have you cultivated to?”
Seeing that there was no escape, Shen Kun resignedly hung his head and held up a single finger. “The... the first stage!”
“And how many years have you been cultivating the 'Soul Sutra'?” The Sweeping Monk stared coldly at Shen Kun.
“Tw... twenty years...” Shen Kun's voice grew even fainter.
“Twenty years, and you've only cultivated to the first stage? Hmph! If I remember correctly, when you were three years old, didn't you already reach the first stage of the 'Soul Sutra' with my help?” The Sweeping Monk smacked Shen Kun's bald head hard. “Then what on earth have you been doing for the past twenty years? Twenty years, and you haven't made a single shred of progress?!”
Smack!
His bald head stinging with a sharp, burning pain, Shen Kun shrank his neck. Like a thief, his eyes darted back and forth toward the doorway, looking for an opportunity to escape...
This place was a meditation room in the rear courtyard of the Shaolin Temple.
The Sweeping Monk was Shen Kun's master. He had no name; because he had been sweeping the Sutra Pavilion of the Shaolin Temple for an untold number of years, everyone simply called him the Sweeping Monk.
As for Shen Kun, he was an orphan whom the Sweeping Monk had picked up. As his closed-door disciple, he was also considered a sweeping monk of the Shaolin Temple.
From the day he was brought in, the Sweeping Monk had acted as Shen Kun's adoptive father. In Shen Kun's eyes, this adoptive father was great in every way, except... his head was a little off!
For example, the Sweeping Monk had once secretly told Shen Kun that he wasn't human, but rather the mortal incarnation of Dizang Bodhisattva!
Furthermore, while the monks of the Shaolin Temple all had opportunities to learn the 72 Consummate Skills—and Shen Kun, sweeping in the Sutra Pavilion, had even more opportunities—this old Sweeping Monk in his secluded corner refused to let him practice a single one of them. He claimed that these were all mortal arts, and practicing them would only hinder Shen Kun's cultivation.
To make up for not being allowed to practice the 72 Consummate Skills, he had passed down a Buddhist mental cultivation method to Shen Kun, called the “Soul Sutra.”
The sweeping monk also said that this "Soul Sutra" was a cultivation method used by Dizang Wang to manage the souls in hell, specifically designed to suppress souls. As long as Shen Kun cultivated it to the limit, he could inherit his title and become the new Dizang Wang Bodhisattva.
Wasn't that just complete nonsense?
What annoyed him most was that if the sweeping monk really were Dizang Bodhisattva, he could have just casually shown off a magic trick or two, and Shen Kun would have believed him. Yet this old monk... just thinking about it made Shen Kun's teeth itch with frustration! Every time he begged his master to perform some divine magic to prove his identity, the old man would just smile mysteriously and say something like, "The divine arts of the Buddhist path cannot be easily revealed in the mortal realm! Disciple, do not doubt your master's identity. Diligently cultivate the 'Soul Sutra'. When the day comes that you become Dizang Wang, you will naturally understand the wonders of your master's Buddhist arts..."
After the exact same thing happened for twenty years, Shen Kun, whether he wanted to or not, had to admit one thing—his master, the sweeping monk, was actually crazy!
Consequently, it was only natural that Shen Kun didn't take the "Soul Sutra" to heart. When his master had previously handed it to him to cultivate, he had simply stuffed the scripture into the latrine...
Over the past twenty years, Shen Kun hadn't learned even a single move of the "Soul Sutra"!
Finding no opportunity to escape, Shen Kun tactfully knelt on the ground, waiting for his master's lecture.
This exact scenario had happened countless times. Every once in a while, the sweeping monk would check Shen Kun's cultivation progress. Since Shen Kun never made any progress, he naturally received a good beating with his master's ruler!
However, today seemed to be an exception. Shen Kun waited for seven or eight minutes, but his master's ruler never came down.
Shen Kun carefully turned around, only to see the sweeping monk sitting cross-legged on a meditation cushion, his eyes tightly shut, with two streams of tears running down his face.
"Master, is something troubling you?" Shen Kun asked in surprise.
"Sigh...!" The sweeping monk suddenly let out a long sigh. "Since things have come to this, your master has no choice but to tell you the truth!"
Suppressing his grief, he said miserably, "Yesterday, the Ru Lai Buddha sent a decree, ordering me to quickly select a successor for the title of Dizang Wang, and then return to Leiyin Temple to achieve Buddhahood... In a moment, I must return to the Western Paradise. Our bond as master and disciple has come to an end!"
Returning to the heavenly realm?
It looked like his master was having another episode...
Remembering the advice of the psychiatrist—never argue with a crazy person—Shen Kun played along and said with a grin, "Oh my, then I must congratulate you, Master! You can finally return to the heavenly realm to enjoy your blessings!"
"Returning to achieve Buddhahood is indeed a blessing, but I cannot bear to leave you behind, my rebellious disciple!"
The old monk sighed and said, "For twenty years, we have been like father and son, master and disciple! I originally intended to help you fully master the 'Soul Sutra' during these twenty years. That way, when I returned to the heavenly realm to achieve Buddhahood, you would have the ability to inherit the title of Dizang Wang and become the supreme ruler of the Eighteen Levels of Hell... Unfortunately, you refused to work hard, only cultivating the 'Soul Sutra' to the first level! With this level of cultivation, how can you become Dizang Wang Bodhisattva? You don't even have the qualifications to ascend to the heavenly realm with me!"
"Don't worry, Master. You go on ahead. Your disciple will stay in the mortal realm and continue to diligently cultivate the 'Soul Sutra'! Once my cultivation reaches great completion, won't I also be able to ascend to the heavenly realm and reunite with you?"
Chen Kun grinned and babbled, but in his heart, he was calculating. *You can't agitate a crazy person. This poor monk had better play along with Master's nonsense first, then find a way to take him to see a doctor later!*
"Oh?" Hearing Chen Kun's words, the Sweeping Monk's eyes lit up. "Even after I am gone, you are still willing to diligently cultivate the Soul Sutra?"
"Look at you, Master. If for nothing else, then to become the next King Ksitigarbha and reunite with you in the heavenly realm, your disciple must cultivate diligently!" Chen Kun wore a sincere expression, his voice dripping with earnestness.
"Good, good, good! It is rare for you to have such a heart!"
The Sweeping Monk was overjoyed, but then he suddenly grew worried. "Sigh, the 'Soul Sutra' is my cultivation method for restraining the yin spirits of the underworld. To fully cultivate it, you must interact more with yin spirits. But in today's peaceful and prosperous era, how could there be so many yin spirits in the mortal realm for you to practice on? If you cannot cultivate the 'Soul Sutra', how will you ascend to the heavenly realm and inherit my mantle?"
"Isn't that easy?" Chen Kun was starting to lose patience with his master's delusion. Curling his lip, he said, "Old man, aren't you King Ksitigarbha? You have great divine abilities. Why don't you just send me to a place teeming with yin spirits to help me cultivate?"
"Excellent!" The Sweeping Monk's eyes shone brightly as he hastily asked, "Disciple, if I send you to a place teeming with yin spirits, then..."
"As long as you can send me there, I will definitely cultivate the 'Soul Sutra' diligently!" Chen Kun said with absolute certainty.
He secretly hoped to quickly end this pointless conversation, lest anyone overhear them and think he had gone crazy too. To his surprise, hearing Chen Kun's words only filled the Sweeping Monk with even greater affection. He laughed heartily. "Amitabha, Amitabha! It was not in vain that I nurtured you for twenty years! Chen Kun, stand up, and let me send you to a place teeming with yin spirits!"
Chen Kun nonchalantly stood up.
"Merciful Buddha! I, your disciple, King Ksitigarbha of the Great Vow, shall send Chen Kun on his way!"
Suddenly, the Sweeping Monk's voice rang out like a tolling great bell. Chen Kun turned his head to look, only to see the Sweeping Monk's white beard fluttering, his entire body bathed in a brilliant Buddhist light, and his kasaya robe billowing. Most astonishingly, behind his back, a dharma manifestation of King Ksitigarbha actually materialized. Aside from the facial features, it was identical to the portraits of King Ksitigarbha!
"Master, you... you really are King Ksitigarbha?"
Chen Kun felt as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning!
"I am naturally King Ksitigarbha, the supreme ruler of the Eighteen Levels of Hell, King Ksitigarbha of the Great Vow!"
The Sweeping Monk struck out with both palms, landing them squarely on the center of Chen Kun's back. With a joyful expression, he said, "Disciple, go, go! Once you reach the place teeming with yin spirits, you must intensify your cultivation... Go, and when the day of your success arrives, I shall pass the title of King Ksitigarbha to you... One day, the Eighteen Levels of Hell will revere you as supreme, and you shall roam freely between heaven and earth. Even the gods and Buddhas filling the sky won't compare to a fraction of you! Great Vow! King Ksitigarbha!"
Chen Kun stood frozen like a statue. "Master, damn it, you really are King Ksitigarbha?!"
Nine Provinces Continent, Xinyue City, Chen Family Manor!
On a day in the twelfth lunar month, snow drifted across the high sky. The biting cold had formed a thick layer of icy frost on the ground, and sharp icicles hung from the eaves of the backyard of the Martial Arena.
To ensure the year-end assessment proceeded smoothly, several hundred private soldiers of the Shen family guarded the perimeter of the Martial Arena, establishing a cordon. Although it was a freezing winter night, the soldiers were drenched in sweat. Their helmets were soaked, the cloth armor on their chests was saturated, and even their hands, slick with sweat, could barely grip their weapons.
Facing them was a dense, jostling crowd of about seven to eight thousand members of the Shen family!
"You, step back! Do not cross the cordon!"
"Get back! Don't even think about sneaking in—I see you!"
The private soldiers struggled to hold back the tide of people trying to surge into the Martial Arena. But the crowd was far too frenzied; young and old, men and women alike, all pushed and shoved with all their might. In this chaotic madness, the soldiers felt like ants standing amidst a stampede of demonic beasts, liable to be trampled to death at any moment!
To make matters worse, the year-end assessment inside the Martial Arena showed no signs of ending anytime soon...
"Shen Chong, ninth-grade Martial Spirit, advanced!"
A voice echoed from the Martial Arena, announcing that a youth had made impressive progress over the past year. The moment the voice rang out, the chaotic crowd fell silent. Then, an old man burst from the crowd, gesticulating wildly as he cheered, "Advanced! He advanced! Haha, my grandson has advanced! He is going to be an elite disciple of the clan!"
The few unfortunate souls who were accidentally struck by the old man's flailing arms did not get angry or upset. Instead, they looked at him with eyes full of envy and jealousy...
"Oh, Third Master, congratulations on your grandson's advancement! In the future, we beg you and Young Master Shen to look after us brothers!" The private soldiers instantly transformed into the old man's most devout flatterers, even though just a second ago, they had been using the hilts of their sabers to ruthlessly jab this very same old man who kept trying to breach the cordon.
Such was the year-end assessment of the Shen family!
A single step could lead to heaven. Anyone who showed progress during the assessment could rely on their strength to elevate their status within the Shen family, gaining access to more martial arts manuals and earning more gold and silver! Of course, if they failed to show progress, or worse, regressed, then they were escorted to the left—for right beside the ladder to heaven lay... hell!
"Shen Fang, fourth-grade Martial Spirit, advanced!"
Another voice rang out from the Martial Arena, drawing a collective gasp of awe from the crowd. A youth, his face flushed with excitement and tears streaming down his cheeks, rushed out and threw himself into a lady's arms. "Mother, I've advanced to a fourth-grade Martial Spirit! From now on, I can bring home forty taels of silver for you every month!"
The lady was too choked with emotion to speak, tears streaming endlessly down her face.
The assessment inside the Martial Arena would not pause for them. Soon, the same voice calmly called out again, "Shen Xin, failed to advance. Demoted to ninth-grade Martial Spirit; core disciple status revoked!"
"Failed?"
In the crowd, a middle-aged man stood stunned. Suddenly, he pointed at the Martial Arena and cursed furiously, "Shen Xin, you worthless wretch, what on earth have you been doing this past year? I don't have a daughter like you!"
A young girl of fourteen or fifteen stood dazed in the center of the Martial Arena. She stared in disbelief at the testing spirit stone beside her; its transparent color indicated that her cultivation had regressed. She looked blankly at her relatives, whose faces held not only pity but also a hint of mockery, and at her friends, who were gloating over her misfortune...
*Shring!* She drew the sword at her waist and brought it to her neck!
Did she want to die?
The middle-aged examiner standing beside her turned his head contemptuously and gave a wink to the private soldiers. His gesture meant: people committed suicide during the annual assessment every year, and she wasn't the only one this year, so they should just watch the show.
One step to heaven, one step to hell. When you set foot on this Martial Arena, you had to be prepared to fall into hell!
"Father, your daughter has failed you..." The girl cast one last lingering, reluctant glance at her fuming father.
Her father gritted his teeth and turned his head away. Because his daughter had failed to advance, he could no longer hold his head up in the Shen family. Relatives would mock him, friends would ridicule him, their family's taxes would increase by thirty percent, the silver they earned would decrease by fifty percent, and they would even lose the right to enter the Shen family's Scripture Pavilion to obtain high-level martial arts manuals!
It was all this useless wretch's fault!
Seeing her father ignore her, the girl flashed a tragic smile and slowly drew the sword across her neck...
*Grab!*
A fair-skinned hand suddenly clamped onto her wrist and snatched the sword away. The girl turned her head, and upon seeing who it was, she said in frustration, "Shen Kun, just let me die! Why did you save me?"
"Beauty, don't misunderstand. I have no intention of saving you!"
Shen Kun stood beside the girl with a roguish, wicked grin, looking very much like a greedy merchant at a street corner. "I just want to ask you one thing: what happens to your inheritance after you die? Looking at this, it seems your father has no intention of acknowledging you as his daughter anymore. So, when you die, you won't be leaving your inheritance to him, right?"
Shen Kun clapped his hands. "In that case, let's make a deal! Miss Shen Xin, after you die, I'll help collect your corpse, and you leave your inheritance to me. How about it?"
"You! You!"
The girl was dumbfounded by this heartless proposal. The middle-aged examiner also turned his head, a look of astonishment on his face, while the onlookers burst into a flurry of whispers.
"Is Shen Kun crazy?"
"This kid used to be so well-behaved. How did I never realize he could say such things!"
Shen Kun heard these grating remarks, but his grin didn't fade in the slightest. He turned to the girl and gestured the shape of a coin with his fingers. "What, did I not make myself clear? Don't look at me like that. This is just a transaction. A transaction, understand?"
The girl glared furiously at Shen Kun. Her expression gradually shifted from anger to shock, then confusion, and finally, a deep sense of grievance. With a sharp *smack*, she slapped Shen Kun hard, then ran crying out of the Martial Arena.
"Sigh, severe illness requires strong medicine. If I didn't use such words to provoke you, how could I make you give up on suicide? To save you, this poor monk had to pay the price of a slap. This deal is a huge loss, a massive deficit indeed..."
Sighing inwardly, Shen Kun nevertheless wore a harmless, grinning expression on his face. He walked up to the middle-aged examiner and casually slipped him a red envelope. "Oh, my dear brother, it's so cold, yet you still have to stand here conducting the exam. Hard work, hard work indeed! Just a small token of my appreciation, hehe. Is it my turn next? Please look after me, brother!"
Strange, why had Shen Kun's demeanor suddenly changed? Looking at the Shen Kun before him, who was completely different from his previous impression, the middle-aged man nodded awkwardly. "Yes, it's your turn. Next candidate... Shen Kun!"
In an instant, the Martial Arena fell into absolute silence once again!
Unlike when someone advanced, and different from when someone failed and committed suicide, Shen Kun's entrance brought a silence that carried a hint of the bizarre. As soon as the middle-aged man finished speaking, his lips twitched. At the same time, several hundred private guards turned their heads to stare directly at Shen Kun. Even the excited crowd of seven hundred thousand Shen family members widened their eyes at this moment, staring intently at Shen Kun...
Talk about a fucking center of attention!
However, Shen Kun was extremely pleased with himself. He knew their reactions weren't strange at all. After all, he had transmigrated, and the kid whose body he had taken over was a once-in-a-millennium genius—absolutely deserving of everyone's undivided attention and any kind of special treatment!
In truth, the Shen Kun who had just saved that person was no longer the original Shen Kun of the Jiuzhou Continent. He came from the Shaolin Temple, where he was the personal disciple of the sweeping monk—a naturally greedy little monk who thought of nothing but making money all day long!
Just a few minutes ago, he had been sent to the Jiuzhou Continent by the sweeping monk, becoming a disciple of the Shen family awaiting his year-end assessment.
At first, Shen Kun felt a bit of remorse. *Oh Buddha, in my past life, this poor monk stole scriptures from the Sutra Depository during the day to sell for a bit of cash, and sneaked out at night to set up street stalls, even organizing the Eighteen Bronze Men to open an adult video parlor. After over a decade of hard work, I finally saved up over a hundred thousand in capital. Now that I've transmigrated, those tens of thousands of RMB I earned in my past life have all gone down the drain...*
But once he integrated a portion of the host's memories and realized exactly who "he" was now, his small eyes instantly crinkled into crescent moons of pure joy!
The kid he had possessed was also named Shen Kun, and he was the eldest son of the so-called "Shen Clan"! To put it bluntly, he was the heir to an incredibly massive financial conglomerate—the kind where, the moment his father kicked back and retired, he would instantly shoot to the top of the national rich list...
Wow, I'm rich! I've hit the jackpot this time!
Thinking of his new identity, Shen Kun stood in the corner, letting out bursts of bizarre, snickering laughter. This caused the examiners to instinctively back away dozens of meters, terrified of catching whatever mental illness he had...
It couldn't be helped. Who told Shen Kun to have no other desires but an insatiable greed for money?
Shen Kun's ultimate dream was to become the wealthiest monk in the world!
Of course, greedy as he was, Shen Kun wasn't a bad person at heart. For instance, just now, when he saw Shen Xin trying to commit suicide, he couldn't help but step in to save him... He thought to himself, *This is what you call a long-term investment. Today, this poor monk saves Shen Xin, which means when Shen Xin makes it big one day, he'll definitely reward this poor monk handsomely!*
Cast a long line to catch a bigger fish. Amitabha, this is one of the supreme, miraculous ways to make money!
"Shen Kun, what are you daydreaming about? Hurry up and take the test!" The middle-aged man's urging voice suddenly rang in his ear.
"Ah, right!" Shen Kun sheepishly stuck out his tongue. He didn't have any major vices, except that the moment he thought about making money, his mind would wander endlessly regardless of the time or place. His train of thought could leap from the ticket prices of Shaolin Temple's underground adult film studios straight to how the Gulf War affected oil prices...
"Brother, what should I do?" Shen Kun asked, pointing at the testing spirit stone.
The middle-aged man pointed at the spirit stone and said, "Place your hand on the spirit stone, and think of something in your mind that triggers an emotional response—like anger, joy, or sorrow..."
"Is that all?" Shen Kun grinned and reached out, brimming with confidence.
It wasn't that he wanted to be overconfident or reckless, but he had no choice. The Jiuzhou Shen Kun whose body he had possessed was truly an incomparable, monstrous genius!
Just how monstrous was this Jiuzhou Shen Kun?
Shen Kun couldn't help but let his mind wander again as he quietly reviewed his predecessor's resume in his head.
Jiuzhou Shen Kun. Male. Sixteen years old. Eldest Young Master and first heir of the Shen Clan!
Under his family's influence, Jiuzhou Shen Kun began practicing martial arts at the age of six. That very year, he displayed potential that far surpassed his peers. At twelve, he participated in the clan's year-end assessment and claimed a spot that drove everyone wild—first place!
By fourteen, almost no one in the Shen Clan could match him. He had become a top-tier expert, second only to his father and a few clan elders.
By fifteen, Shen Kun had officially become a "monster" in everyone's eyes!
That year, he broke through his martial arts bottleneck and advanced to the Third Realm: Sheng Yuan Martial Ancestor!
Shen Kun didn't quite understand what a Sheng Yuan Martial Ancestor actually was, but relying on his past-life sensitivity to numbers, he immediately drew a comparison: the Jiuzhou Continent had a population of at least over a billion, with tens of millions of martial artists. Yet out of those tens of millions, only twenty-three people had ever managed to advance to the Martial Ancestor realm before the age of fifteen!
In the three-thousand-year history of Jiuzhou, Jiuzhou Shen Kun was one of those twenty-three elite individuals!
Furthermore, after his advancement to Martial Ancestor, Jiuzhou Shen Kun even drew the attention of the ruling imperial family. The Emperor himself dispatched envoys to test Shen Kun, only to discover a mind-blowing truth!
The reason Jiuzhou Shen Kun's progress was so peerlessly rapid was that he possessed one of the Ten Great Martial Venerable-grade Martial Souls: "A Thousand Miles a Day"!
Martial Soul: A Thousand Miles a Day! (Martial Soul – One Night, One Thousand Miles)
Grade: Martial Venerable-grade, all-around auxiliary martial soul!
Ability: Anyone possessing "A Thousand Miles a Day" is guaranteed to achieve a cultivation speed far beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. No matter what martial arts they practice, they will progress by leaps and bounds, making reaching the Sheng Yuan Martial Ancestor realm a simple matter of time! Barring any unforeseen disasters, they are bound to become a powerhouse of the Fourth Realm—a Chaos Martial Venerable, the likes of which has not been seen for hundreds of years!
Transformation: Can evolve into a legendary-grade support martial soul—A Hundred Years in an Instant (Chana Bainian). Can also regress into an innate martial soul—Half the Effort, Twice the Effect (Shiban Gongbei)!
…
What is a genius? This is a genius!
What kind of genius is best suited for making a fortune? Jiuzhou Shen Kun!
After reading this profile, how could Shen Kun not have confidence?!
Shen Kun began his test. Instantly, everyone held their breath; only in the most remote corner could a few low, quiet whispers be heard.
"What do you think? To what level can Shen Kun advance this time?"
"Probably still low-stage White Origin Wuzong, right?"
"No way. Last year Shen Kun was already a low-stage White Origin Wuzong. If you ask me, he must have advanced to at least mid-stage White Origin Wuzong!"
"You all underestimate Shen Kun. I bet he has become at least a high-stage White Origin Wuzong..."
"High-stage? Bah, I don't think he can do it this time! There are over twenty thousand people in the Shen family, yet there are only two high-stage White Origin Wuzong experts. No matter how formidable Shen Kun is, he's only sixteen years old. It's impossible for him to be that strong!"
"Oh my god!"
Suddenly, a sickly groan rang out, cutting off the quiet chatter of those few people!
The crowd hurriedly looked over, only to see that as Shen Kun's hand descended, a faint layer of white light appeared on the testing spirit stone. This was the mark Shen Kun had achieved last year—White Origin Wuzong. As Shen Kun closed his eyes to meditate, the white light on the spirit stone grew deeper and deeper, darker and darker... until finally, it unexpectedly turned into a deep white that was almost gold!
"Shen Kun, high-stage White Origin Wuzong! Advanced!"
A dry, middle-aged voice announced the result, casting a strange look at Shen Kun. "Congratulations. Within a single year, you have continuously risen by two stages. Now, in the entire Shen family, only your father is at a level above yours!"
"Am I really that strong?" Shen Kun scratched his head, his eyes suddenly lighting up as he muttered to himself, "Oh my, I'm rich, I'm rich! Just with my level, even if I can't get enough to eat, I could make a lot of silver just by performing street tricks..."
What on earth is this kid thinking?
The middle-aged man's face darkened. "Shen Kun, I don't care how much money you can make. Get down immediately, the other examinees are still waiting!"
"Hehe, sorry, my bad!" Shen Kun stuck out his tongue and ran off the Martial Arena.
To be honest, his behavior during the test just now was truly foolish, but Shen Kun didn't care at all. Right now, only one thought remained in his head—this poor monk is the heir to a massive financial group, after all. Surely there must be a lot of private savings? Hurry home, finding the secret stash is more important...
How much private savings do you think Jiuzhou Shen Kun could have?
Is it one thousand taels, or ten thousand taels?
Oh my, could it be as much as over a hundred thousand taels? If so, this poor monk might have to count until morning!
"Forget it! I'm letting my mind wander again!"
Shen Kun slapped his forehead hard and quickened his pace. But when he returned to his residence, his eyes suddenly went wide. His greedy heart sank bit by bit, turning so cold it almost froze into ice!
In the memories of Jiuzhou Shen Kun, running from the Martial Arena and walking five hundred paces to the east should lead directly to his residence.
But the moment Shen Kun looked at his quarters... what appeared before him was a dilapidated little courtyard, cluttered with tattered brooms, rotten fruit, and urine-soaked diapers scattered everywhere... A mountain of miscellaneous garbage was piled high. Fortunately, it was currently winter; otherwise, the sheer amount of pathogens breeding here would have been enough to make a perfectly healthy adult fall ill and die!
What was most outrageous was that over a dozen manure carts sat prominently in the courtyard, with one parked right in front of the door. Wafts of a bizarre stench drifted out from them, mercilessly invading Shen Kun's nostrils. The sheer destructive power of it was immense...
Oh, Lord Buddha!