Chapter 86

• What people today call a grandmaster is mostly a body-technique grandmaster. After the dragon veins were ruined and the Nine Cauldrons were stolen by foreign countries, only three cauldrons remained. The Nine Cauldrons array map vanished, spiritual energy drained fast, and by the late republic and early founding years, it became a true age without magic—thin aura, no miracles. Even yellow-tier grandmasters were hard to find. Later generations of ancient martial grandmasters turned into body-technique grandmasters—the beginner tier for ancient martial artists. Hit Bruce Lee’s level, or make major contributions to martial arts like Ip Man of Wing Chun or Yang Luchan of Tai Chi, and you’d be called a grandmaster. So a true ancient martial grandmaster means an inner-energy grandmaster, while a modern grandmaster means a body-technique grandmaster. Worlds apart. Don’t lump them together. Still, some are the real deal—like the Chen clan, and the family of Sullivan’s father. “If you want answers, ask Uncle Rujin,” Chen De said. The Uncle Rujin he meant was his uncle—Chen Xu’s father. “Got it. I’ll make a trip up northeast when I can.” Chen Xu walked Chen De back to the clinic, then they headed into the small courtyard. “Sulli, whoever taught you what you know—we’re grateful to him, for real. As for your dad… it’s been so many years. He never came back to see you. Better not dig into it…” Chen Xu said it gently. “Yeah. Cousin, I’m a little wiped. I’ll rest first.” He closed the door. Sullivan Carver stared at the photo on the nightstand of him and his mom, then picked it up like it was glass. “Who the hell was that man? Was he really worth it?” he murmured, grief and anger twisting his face. He never wanted a father. Sullivan didn’t need one. But he had to find that man and ask him why. Why abandon Mom and him! Sullivan pulled out his phone and reached out to the same PI who’d helped him dig up Benedict Huxley. “Can you check which ancient martial big clans are in Qego?” The reply came in seconds. “7.500 dollars.” The price was surprisingly low. Before he could send the money, the guy added, “Ancient martial clans? Got a grudge? Drop it. Keep your head down and live quiet.” “Forget the big clans. Even a third-rate small clan in Qego isn’t something regular folks like us can mess with.” It was a warning. That info wasn’t worth much anyway—ancient martial clans weren’t secret. You didn’t even have to pay to hear it. “Keep my head down and live quiet?” Sullivan snorted. “You selling or not?” He wasn’t planning revenge. He just wanted the truth. But the guy’s tone pissed him off. Since when did big clans get to treat lives like trash? “Door’s open for business. Money walks in, I don’t turn it away. I’ll send the list.” Sullivan read through it. First was the Lee clan—one of the mysterious ancient martial clans. Wide connections, but not fond of social ties. Specific abilities unknown. Second was the Carvers. Not just an ancient martial clan, but one of Qego’s four top powerhouses. Tons of members, though their focus had shifted to business. Word was the younger generation had weaker talent these days, and a few old monsters were holding the fort. Then came the Chen, He, and Xiang clans. Second-tier families: the Ma, Zeng, Mo, and Zhuge clans. “Is that Chen clan the same one tied to Benedict Huxley?” Sullivan stared at the Carver name, irritation rising. “Yeah, that Chen clan. The Carvers and the Chens are linked by a prearranged marriage. Together, they’re top of the heap in Qego—not just because they’re ancient martial families, but because they’ve built huge business empires.” “We work smooth together, so here’s my advice: if you want revenge on the Carvers or the Chens, might as well end it quick. It’ll be easier.” The guy tried again to steer him off. “He smirked, eyes flashing with mockery…” The Carvers. The Chens… Sullivan had never connected either house to himself. Yet the man on the other end kept hinting he had beef with them. Then he thought about Benedict Huxley’s crap and that woman from the Chen clan. Something clicked. “I want the Carver patriarch’s file. Especially before he got married…” Sullivan needed to test his gut. “Can’t help you. We don’t have the chops to pry into the Carver patriarch’s past,” the PI—Sangyu—said, staring at his screen, suddenly curious who his client even was. Ask for the Carver patriarch’s file? With Qin Gucheng’s rank, past records were a fortress. Even tomorrow’s travel schedule would cost lives to dig up. Business was business. He wasn’t dying for a paycheck. “Add money, and we talk.” Sullivan didn’t buy that money couldn’t get it done. People said cash could make ghosts grind. He had close to 200 thousand saved now.