Chapter 7: Detonation

"Pfft!"

The needle-nose pliers pulled the bullet from his chest. A trickle of blood seeped from the wound, but with a slight contraction of his muscles, Zhang Ji successfully staunched the bleeding.

After mastering the "Iron Shirt," one of the additional benefits was a much finer level of control over the toughened muscles throughout his body.

Zhang Ji then extracted another bullet from his right arm. He examined the wound closely. The bullet had only pierced the skin before being halted by the dense tissue. All in all, it was merely a superficial wound—even less severe than the injury Old Kui had sustained earlier.

Zhang Ji applied some medicine, wrapped the area in bandages, and sat down to eat his roasted duck rice.

This was his first time killing a man.

He felt no nausea, nor did he feel fear. In that moment, he had felt anger, followed by a faint trace of excitement. Was it because he now possessed power? Was it true that "once a man holds a sharp weapon, the desire to kill arises"?

Zhang Ji’s swallowing motion paused for a heartbeat. He then looked at the remaining medicinal paste. His injuries were trivial; there should be enough left to refine two more essences.

...

The next day.

Inside the cargo warehouse, the atmosphere was heavy. A deep blue tarp covered a corpse lying on the floor. Uncle Cheng stood nearby, smoking, his expression subtly changed. This was the first time Zhang Ji had seen Uncle Cheng look like this since arriving.

"What's the situation? Who died?" Zhang Ji asked, feeling a sense of unease. He looked around for Gu Ming, but Gu, who usually arrived early, was nowhere to be seen.

Zhang Ji’s heart sank slightly. He had a guess, but he hoped it wasn't true. He stepped forward; no one stopped him. When he lifted the tarp, that familiar face was revealed. Zhang Ji’s hand froze in mid-air. After a moment of silence, he covered the body back up.

Gu Ming was dead.

The cruel reality forced Zhang Ji to re-evaluate this place. Shanli Island—a place that had abandoned all goodness. Any goodness here was destined to be destroyed. Zhang Ji hadn't even had the chance to tell Gu Ming about his son; he had just been planning to let Gu Jie study on his own...

For some reason, a surge of anger rose in his chest. Was it the sorrow of a rabbit grieving for a fox? Or was it the fury of having a friend murdered? Though Gu Ming had been a bit calculating, he had helped Zhang Ji adapt to life here.

After a while, Gu Ming's family arrived. No one knew who his father was, and his mother had died of illness long ago. Now, only his wife, Mu Duo, and his son, Gu Jie, remained. His wife looked to be about thirty, though she was actually only twenty-four; the hardships of life had aged her prematurely.

Mu Duo did not cry when she saw the body. She had grown up here, too. She had lived through the days before Old Kui arrived, and she had endured the chaos that followed before the current relative peace was established. Having experienced so much, she naturally did not wail or cry like an ordinary woman. Even Gu Jie did not cry; he simply stood quietly by the body.

Uncle Cheng provided some money and organized others to help with the funeral arrangements, having Gu Ming cremated into a handful of ash. During this process, Zhang Ji learned the general circumstances: a gunshot wound, dead in an alley. That alley happened to be the very one he had passed through the previous night. In other words, he might have already avenged Gu Ming.

...

In his living quarters.

Zhang Ji struck his body repeatedly with a wooden stick. Once the "water bottle" of his body had been expanded, it was much easier to pour more water in. The same portion of medicinal paste was now ten to twenty percent more effective than before. Zhang Ji could feel that he might no longer need three full days to gain an essence for his "Iron Shirt."

If he continued to train, allowing his body to adapt and his potential to increase, he might eventually be able to recover without the aid of medicine. The ancient method of "Iron Shirt" originally lacked these medicines, relying entirely on the body's own restorative and reparative powers. That method, however, was extremely taxing on the human body. As long as his recovery and regenerative abilities were strong enough, he could certainly train without medicine.

"Bang, bang, bang!"

A knock sounded at the door. After checking the situation, Zhang Ji opened it cautiously. Gu Jie was standing outside. He didn't enter, but said, "Teacher, I won't be coming anymore. My mother asked me to tell you."

"I understand," Zhang Ji replied after a brief silence.

"Goodbye, Teacher." Gu Jie turned to leave.

"Wait!" Zhang Ji called out. He turned back, grabbed a box from inside the room—containing most of his saved batteries—and handed it to him. "Take these. It should help for a while."

His reasoning was simple: he would help where he could. With Gu Ming’s income gone, Mu Duo would inevitably be dragged into the darkness if she couldn't support herself and Gu Jie. This money might help her hold on a little longer. As for what would happen after that... Zhang Ji didn't know. He was barely holding on himself. Having just killed someone, he wasn't even sure if he was being investigated.

"Thank you, Teacher." Gu Jie bowed, took the box, and walked away. Zhang Ji watched his retreating figure, silently closed the door, and resumed his training. He didn't know what was happening outside, but training gave him a sense of security.

...

That night.

Lying on his bed, Zhang Ji heard gunfire again.

"Bang!" "Bang!"

Some sounds were distant, others very close. Uncle Cheng had given them two days off, though the cafeteria remained open, albeit with significantly reduced rations. Zhang Ji had stopped training because he had run out of medicinal paste, and there was nowhere to buy more.

"Bang! Clang!"

This sound was very close, possibly hitting his container. Zhang Ji’s movements stalled, a look of ferocity flashing in his eyes. He sat up, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so hard that the cardboard warped and twisted under his fingers, and his joints cracked audibly.

"Bang!"

Zhang Ji looked up, his gaze piercing through the container toward the direction of the sound.

...

Chu Xiangwen stood in a high-rise building, looking down. Below was the site where the battle had erupted. Old Kui’s core team was in a firefight with the men brought by Hong Kang. As a disciple of Old Kui, Chu Xiangwen respected him, even in his old age. However, he also believed in the law of the jungle. The current reality was that a tiger was coming to devour a vicious dog, and he had wisely chosen to side with the tiger. Old Kui, however, was not so smart; he was still struggling against the dog sent by another tiger. He failed to realize that even if he won, it would only invite a more ferocious dog, or even the tiger itself.

Suddenly, he saw a figure dash out from the darkness. Amidst the hail of bullets, a crowbar smashed into a man’s head. In an instant, the man’s skull was shattered. As Zhang Ji prepared to strike a second person, a gun aimed at him.

"Bang!"

The bullet hit his skin, but his internal energy, driven by his breathing, gathered naturally, and his toughened skin deflected the projectile. Zhang Ji felt nothing more than a dull pain. His "Iron Shirt" wasn't just mastered; he had refined two extra essences! That meant twelve levels of power—exceeding the theoretical limit of the technique.

"Are you done yet?!" Zhang Ji roared.

His voice exposed him, drawing everyone's attention. Zhang Ji raised his crowbar and charged into the group.

"Whoosh!"

The crowbar swept out, striking a man. In an instant, bones snapped. The man flew into a wall and slumped to the ground.

"Bang, bang, bang!"

Zhang Ji shielded his eyes with one hand, sprinting fast, his right arm swinging the crowbar at another target. The man was startled, but he couldn't outrun Zhang Ji. He fired. The bullets hit Zhang Ji, distorting his movements, but he kept charging.

"Whoosh!" "Pfft!"

A head exploded before Zhang Ji like a crushed watermelon.

"Whoosh!" "Bang!"

No one could withstand the crowbar, and Zhang Ji could withstand their gunfire!

"Go! Retreat! Now!"

The remaining dozen men scattered and fled. Zhang Ji didn't chase them; he looked at the other side for a moment, then turned and vanished into the darkness.

Up in the high-rise, Chu Xiangwen fell silent. Even Old Kui didn't possess that level of hard-body skill. The two warring sides were equally stunned, having no idea where such a master had come from.

Wu Chen stared at the figure disappearing into the shadows, finding him vaguely familiar. Then, a thought struck him. "He was hiding his strength that well?" He couldn't imagine how someone who fought for scraps of dog food could possess such power. Why would someone like that compete for dog food? This person didn't seem to be helping either side; it looked more like he had been disturbed and come out to vent. "I need to tell Old Kui. If we can win him over, that would be for the best!"

...

"What? He charged through gunfire and killed four of your men?" Hong Kang said, his face full of disbelief. He had seen hard-body masters before, but even Zhao Kui couldn't do that. Did this mean another master had suddenly appeared out of nowhere? The variables had suddenly increased. The man had given him a two-month deadline. If he didn't successfully take over the Kui District, he was a dead man.

"Investigate this. I'm going personally," Hong Kang said.

...

Impulse feels good for a moment...

Zhang Ji took off his tattered clothes. His lean, muscular torso was covered in bruises. Despite his ferocious charge, he wasn't truly unscathed. Most of the bullet's force had been dissipated, but some impact had still transferred to his body, leaving him bruised. Still, it was better than having holes in him.

Zhang Ji now had a rough idea of his strength. He had firmly stepped into the D-rank, the level of a professional fighter—though perhaps only at a first or second-degree level. In the age of cold steel, he would be a monster, but in this age of firearms, while he had combat power, he couldn't just rampage blindly. His strength was still too weak!

He applied some medicine and lay down in a fresh set of work clothes. The sudden transmigration, the unexpected attack, the death of a friend—these had kept his nerves stretched so tight that the slightest spark made him explode like a powder keg. Of course, the prerequisite for that explosion was that he now had enough power to protect himself. If he were still the fragile person he had been before, he never would have been so reckless as to charge straight into gunfire.

"Bang, bang!"

A knock at the door suddenly echoed through the room.