273: Chapter 273 More than a hundred years ago, the Great Xia people no longer had "masters".

He thought for a moment and drove the mecha forward a few steps.

With every step he took down, the ground trembled, and gravel jumped up and fell back down at the mecha's feet.

At two hundred meters, he stopped.

Then the old man spoke, but not with his mouth.

A voice suddenly popped into Zhang Dabiao's head.

It was not transmitted through the ears, but appeared directly in his consciousness—unfamiliar, aged, carrying a condescending tone, as if someone had reached their hand into the back of his head and flicked something.

He subconsciously shook his head.

The voice was not using Mandarin, nor English, nor any language he had ever heard.

But he understood the meaning of every single word, as if those words came with their own translation, directly shoving the meaning into his head.

"This old man is the Spirit-Controlling Daoist."

"A hundred years ago, after a fierce battle with someone, I was heavily injured and fell into this small realm."

"My cultivation was at the Soul Transformation, and due to my injuries, it dropped to the Nascent Soul."

"Hand over the cross-realm teleportation grand array in your hands."

"All Mortals in this small realm, including those people hiding in iron boxes behind you, kneel and honor this old man as your master."

"In return, this old man can guide your cultivation. If there are any among you with outstanding Aptitude—" the voice carried a hint of condescension, "when this old man's cultivation recovers and I ascend to the Upper Realm, I can take one or two along."

The voice disappeared.

Zhang Dabiao's temples throbbed heavily several times.

He loosened his grip on the armrests, moved his fingers twice, and pressed the communication button.

"Group Leader Su."

"Speak."

"He spoke in my head, not with his mouth, more like voice transmission."

There was a brief silence in the communicator.

Zhang Wei's voice popped out first: "Voice transmission? Isn't this..." He didn't finish, probably feeling that saying "things that only exist in novels" coming from a soldier's mouth was not quite appropriate.

Su Mingyuan didn't pick up on that remark and asked directly: "Are you sure it's in your head? Not a loudspeaker or some signal interference?"

"Certain. It didn't pass through the ears, it rang directly in the head. And what he spoke wasn't Mandarin, nor any language, but I could understand every word, and the meaning was directly in my head."

Tao Zhe's voice chimed in from the remote connection: "Information transmission at the conscious level..."

Su Mingyuan didn't dwell much on this topic.

"What did he say?"

Zhang Dabiao sorted out the words and relayed them as closely as possible, "Three conditions. First, hand over the portal to him. Second, everyone kneel and acknowledge him as master. Third, he said he could teach us cultivation, and once he recovers and ascends to whatever Upper Realm, he can take one or two people away."

The corners of his mouth twitched as he said these words.

"Kneel and acknowledge a master?" Zhang Dabiao muttered to himself in the cockpit, his voice not going through the communication channel, "The Qing Dynasty has been gone for more than a hundred years, and there are still people obsessed with this routine."

The communicator was quiet for a few seconds.

Su Mingyuan's voice came over: "Is that his exact words? Telling us to kneel?"

"Kneel, and honor him as master. These are indeed his exact words."

Another few seconds of silence.

When Su Mingyuan spoke again, his tone hadn't changed, but Zhang Dabiao could hear that he had chewed over every single word before spitting them out.

"Turn the loudspeaker to maximum, let him hear what I say."

"It's adjusted."

Su Mingyuan's voice came out from the loudspeaker on S-01's chest, scattering across the wasteland and drifting toward that grayish-white figure two hundred meters away.

"Senior."

Su Mingyuan used this address.

Neither servile nor overbearing, considered a sign of respect for age and strength.

"My people relayed your conditions to me, and I answer you on behalf of Daxia."

"The matter of the portal can be discussed. But kneeling, that cannot be done."

The wind on the wasteland howled, the sound of the loudspeaker being shaved a bit thin by the wind, but every word could still be heard clearly.

"More than a hundred years ago, there were emperors on this land. The emperor called the people of the world slaves, and the people of the world called the emperor master. Later, our ancestors overthrew the emperor. Later still, someone wanted to be master, and they were overthrown again. After repeating this several times, many people died, and finally, we managed to figure out one thing."

"This land does not need a master."

"Everyone is their own master. Those who farm, those who forge iron, those who teach books, those who serve as soldiers—no one is higher than anyone else, no one is lower than anyone else. We call this equality for all."

"You said you are a Cultivator at the Soul Transformation Stage, and very powerful; I believe it. You alone can beat a hundred or a thousand of us; I believe that too. But being powerful does not equal having the qualification to make others kneel."

"Being able to defeat and being able to be a master are two different things."

Su Mingyuan's speaking pace was not fast, saying sentence by sentence very clearly.

"If you are willing to cooperate with us, any conditions can be put on the table to discuss. We are interested in your cultivation guidance. We also want to hear about ascending to the Upper Realm. But the premise is to talk equally, not one side kneeling while the other side stands."

"Daxia no longer has the seat of a master. It hasn't had one for more than a hundred years. Whoever comes, it is the same."

After finishing, he released the communication button.

On the screen, within the drone's footage, the Daoist Spirit-Tamer two hundred meters away stood in place.

A slight change flashed across his face.

Su Mingyuan caught it—not anger, but surprise.

It was like a cat telling a mouse, "Surrender," and the mouse saying, "No," leaving the cat stunned for a moment.

It wasn't the fact of being rejected that surprised him.

This surprise lasted for about two seconds.

Then the expression on his face turned back into disdain.

He raised his right hand.

When Su Mingyuan saw this action on the screen, his back tightened, but he didn't have time to shout out.

An entirely invisible force crashed into S-01's chest armor.

The forty-four-meter-tall, eighty-ton S-01 was blown flying.

It truly was "flying"—its two legs left the ground, the entire mecha tumbling in the air, and the heavenly meteor warblade was flung loose from the buckle on its back, spinning a few times in the air before embedding itself into the distant gravel.

S-01 smashed into the ground three hundred meters away.

The moment it smashed down, a piece of the ground collapsed, and gravel and dust exploded a dozen meters high.

The mecha slid another dozens of meters on the ground, plowing out a deep and wide trench, with the gravel on both sides of the trench flipping outward.

Inside the cockpit, Zhang Dabiao was restrained by the seatbelt, his head knocking against the headrest, buzzing for a moment.

The buckle of the seatbelt embedded into the tactical vest on his chest, leaving a red mark.

The buffer System beneath the seat saved his life.

He blinked twice, his vision recovering from a blur.

Several display panels on the left shattered, and sparks bounced out from the gaps in the wiring.

The mecha status report popped up on the main screen: left arm armor plate shattered, chest armor sunken and deformed to a depth of twelve centimeters, left shoulder joint hydraulic pipe ruptured, flight thruster nozzle number three blocked.

It could move, but the left arm could no longer be raised.

Zhang Dabiao moved his neck, his bones making two clicking sounds.

The communication channel was full of static; he slapped the panel, and the static lessened a bit. Su Mingyuan's voice came in intermittently: "...Dabiao... hear... retreat..."

He heard the last word clearly.

Retreat.

Then he felt that voice shoved into his head again.

This time it was much shorter:

"This old man gives you three days. Think it through clearly."

After a pause.

"If you cannot think it through clearly, this old man doesn't mind flattening you all."