35: Chapter 35 Visitors on the Ground

April 30th, 10:00 AM.

Antique Shop, Underground Room.

Yan Zheng sat on a folding chair, the system panel in front of him expanded to full-screen mode, and the number in the upper right corner kept his brow furrowed.

"Time to take stock of my assets."

His fingers slid across the panel, his voice low and hoarse, his throat still carrying the dryness left over from the cold sweat he broke out into last night.

"One Stitched Brute, the chain wound on its left arm and the knife wound under its armpit are regenerating, expected to fully recover in six hours, combat effectiveness reduced to seventy percent."

"Reinforced Skeleton Soldier, zero."

His finger paused on the number "zero" for two seconds.

Yan Zheng: ( ˘ ꒳ ˘ )

"All four self-destructed, not even bone fragments left."

"Remaining material reserves: four sets of reinforced bones, six sets of ordinary human bones, six bottles of blood of the black sky, Dark Energy residue 6/10."

"Four sets of reinforced bones are only enough to assemble one Reinforced Skeleton Soldier, six sets of ordinary bones can only make up two lowest-level cannon fodder."

He stood up, walked to the wall, and looked at the dense annotations and scratches on The Hand-drawn map.

"Mental Power limit is eleven points, the Brute takes three points, assembling one Reinforced Skeleton Soldier takes another point, two ordinary Skeleton Soldiers take two points."

"Five points of margin left, barely enough, but there is no room for error."

Yan Zheng walked back to the chair, sat down, picked up the fountain pen on the table, and wrote a few lines on a piece of white paper.

"Review of last night."

"First, The Hand has already prepared a full set of countermeasures against my tactics. Perception talismans lock the Skeleton Soldiers' positions, incense formations cover the ambush area, and an eight-man annihilation squad is specifically assigned to encircle and suppress."

"Second, the Elite Ninja's Dark Energy daggers can cut through the bones of a Reinforced Skeleton Soldier in one strike; my consumables are like paper in front of them."

"Third, Nogami didn't take action personally, just gave an order from the rear, which shows he has great confidence in his subordinates' tactical deployment."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ᗜ ˘ )

"Or rather, he is testing the depth of my trump cards."

He put down the pen, leaned back in the chair, and folded his hands over his abdomen.

"The window of opportunity for continuing to fight guerrilla warfare underground has passed. They have figured out my methods; going down there again would be just asking to be slaughtered."

"Either change to a brand-new fighting style, or find a new variable that can change the balance of power."

Yan Zheng closed his eyes and went through the existing options in his mind.

"Option one: use six bottles of blood of the black sky and existing materials to assemble a brand-new elite-level Stitched Soldier. But the Mental Power consumption will tighten further, and whether the new soldier's combat power can withstand the Elite Ninja's Dark Energy blade is still an unknown."

"Option two: save up the Dark Energy residue to 10/10, unlock Undead Enchantment, and add mystical erosion effects to the Brute's attacks. But I'm still short four parts, which means I have to kill at least four more ninjas, and right now there are simply no safe conditions for hunting."

"Option three."

He opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the name written at the very bottom of the white paper a few days ago.

[Daredevil.]

"Let someone else pave the way for me."

Yan Zheng: ( ˊ ꒳ ˋ )

"Mr. Matt Murdock has a much deeper grudge against The Hand than I do. If someone were to hand him the location and troop strength of their stronghold, he wouldn't be able to resist."

"He charges in to fight head-on, the ninjas focus all their efforts on him, and the stronghold's defenses will be spread thin."

"I sneak in from the back, pick up scraps, collect corpses, and by the way, empty out the storage room for the blood of the black sky."

"Each gets what they need; he wants justice, I want bones."

Yan Zheng picked up the pen and drew a circle under the words "Daredevil."

"But the way to play this card is tricky; handing the intelligence directly to him is too deliberate. I need to find a reasonable channel to pass it on."

"And timing is also very important. I have to wait until The Hand's attention shifts away from me before acting, otherwise, they will guard against both ends, and the effect will be greatly diminished."

Just as he was about to continue analyzing, his phone rang.

It wasn't a call, but a push notification from the security app connected to the cheap doorbell installed at the entrance of the Antique Shop.

Yan Zheng looked down at the phone screen.

On the surveillance screen at the entrance of the Antique Shop, a figure stood outside the glass door.

A gray trench coat, dark sunglasses, a bald head.

All alone, no entourage, no weapons, both hands in his trench coat pockets, standing in front of the glass door with the "Inventory Check, Closed for Business" sign hanging on it, like an ordinary customer waiting for the door to open.

But Yan Zheng's gaze passed over the figure and landed on a black SUV across the street.

The reflection angle of the car windows was wrong; it was too dark, so dark that even direct sunlight couldn't penetrate it.

Bulletproof grade.

Yan Zheng: ( ꉺ ꒳ ꉺ )

He placed the phone on the table, brought up the high-definition mode of the surveillance, and zoomed in on the visitor's face.

Bald, sunglasses, sharp jawline, skin is dark brown.

Approximately fifty to sixty years old, lean build, the posture of standing there is not the casualness of a customer waiting for the door to open, but a sense of alertness and control carved into his bones after long-term training.

Yan Zheng tapped his fingers twice on the edge of the phone screen.

"Not a gangster; gangsters wouldn't come alone."

"Not Police; Police don't drive bulletproof SUVs."

"Not The Hand; The Hand doesn't use the front door."

He stood up, tucked the fountain pen back into his chest pocket, straightened the front of his suit which had been wrinkled from last night's battle, and picked up the polished gold-rimmed glasses from the table to put them on.

"A bald man who dresses expensively, drives a bulletproof car, and comes to the door alone."

"In a place like Hells Kitchen, a visitor with this kind of profile."

He walked toward the stairs, his pace steady, his leather shoes making clear echoes on the concrete floor.

When he reached the third step, he looked back at the Stitched Brute quietly regenerating its wounds in the corner.

"Mr. Brute, I'm going up to receive a guest; you stay down here and don't come out."

"In case the guest isn't friendly, I'll call you."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ᴗ ꐦ ˵ )

He walked up the stairs, passed through the first-floor storage room, and arrived at the front hall of the Antique Shop.

The lights in the shop weren't on; sunlight shone in through the glass door, casting a long beam of light on the floor, and at the end of the light beam was the shadow of the man in the gray trench coat.

Yan Zheng took an apron from behind the counter to tie it on, adjusted the angle of his gold-rimmed glasses, making himself look exactly like a small shop owner woken up by a customer knocking on the door.

Then he walked to the door, flipped over the "Closed for Business" sign, and unlocked the door.

The doorbell chimed.

Yan Zheng stood at the entrance, smiling slightly at the bald man who was half a head taller than him, his tone as gentle as a warm breeze in March.

"Sir, the shop is currently closed for inventory, is there anything I can help you with?"

The bald man took off his sunglasses.

Behind the sunglasses was an eye. Only one.

The other eye socket was covered by a black leather eyepatch, the texture of the leather worn shiny, indicating it had been worn for a long time.

That single eye looked at Yan Zheng, with no intention of small talk or interest in browsing, only an extremely calm scrutiny.

Yan Zheng: ( ✧ ω ✧ )

One eye. Bald. Gray trench coat. Bulletproof SUV.

Behind Yan Zheng's gold-rimmed glasses, something flashed through his gentle eyes.

The bald man put the sunglasses into his trench coat pocket, his voice deep and carrying the hoarseness peculiar to middle-aged men.

"Mr. Yan, I heard you sell antiques here."

"I've come to see if there is anything worth collecting."