Chapter 53: Sir, this way please!

Probably because that massive swarm of mutants had already gathered the vast majority of the surrounding creatures, the group encountered only a scattered few along their three-day journey, and those were exceptionally weak.

The elderly monk pulled out an ordinary Barrett, taking them out one by one with clean, decisive shots to send them straight to ultimate nirvana.

After the old monk shot down yet another mutant, Su Qinghong could not help asking, "I've been meaning to ask this: since you don't practice Buddhist scriptures, but instead study gun-fu and battle aura, won't the Buddha blame you for defiling the serenity of Buddhism?"

"Amitabha. The Buddha has no fixed form, hence the Buddha manifests in all forms of sentient life. The Buddha does not mind whether his disciples practice traditional Buddhist arts," the old monk put away the Barrett, then chuckled and explained in plain terms.

"Cultivating Buddhism is about cultivating one's true heart. Just as Buddhist precepts forbid the consumption of meat, but for the sake of saving the world and delivering humanity, I do not mind eating muscle-flesh."

"As for those so-called monks in the secular world who appear to eat a vegetarian diet and chant scriptures, while secretly engaging in commercial operations and land annexation behind the scenes, what good is their cultivation of Buddhism?"

"Precepts are merely a method to constrain the moral quality and mindset of monks, a quick way to curb human baseness, much like cramming education for rapid learning."

"You cannot say it is wrong, but it certainly does not suit everyone; it only suits the majority."

"Precepts are not the key, and Buddhist scriptures are not the key either. The heart is."

"That sounds so profound..."

The snowy fox ears atop Su Qinghong's head drooped down, completely overwhelmed and dazed.

"Master Ruhuo's meaning is probably similar to what that ancient monk from Shenzhou said: 'Wine and meat pass through the intestines, the Buddha remains in the heart,'" Anthony, the fake foreigner, seemed to understand, wearing a sudden look of enlightenment.

At that moment, he was holding a small white saucer in his left hand and sipping a fragrant, sweet cup of black tea with his right, taking leisurely little sips.

It was an overcast afternoon, and as a vampire, Anthony declared it quite comfortable.

If one ignored his college-student attire, he finally bore a slight resemblance to an authentic, old-London-gentleman British aristocrat.

Kassandra was as reticent as ever, or rather, afflicted with such extreme social anxiety that she dared not speak.

Meanwhile, Lu Wenwu, who was normally at the very frontlines of eating melons and watching the spectacle, was equally reticent.

This was mainly because he had been distracted by playing rhythm games while walking, entirely engrossed in boosting his strength, leaving him no heart to bicker with his fox-man brother from the Northeast.

In the distance, a "settlement" finally came into view.

It seemed to have endured a fierce battle.

Ragged, improvised high walls covered in sheet metal stood precariously, riddled with alarming, shocking cracks.

Dried blood stained the earth brown, setting off the chilling skeleton—at least ten meters tall—ahead like green leaves beneath fresh flowers.

This was the skeleton of a Tier 7 mutant, slain by the founding leader of the Giant Bone Settlement.

And that was how this settlement got its name.

Well... back then, it was still called the Giant Bone Sanctuary.

Before the group even reached the battle-scarred gates of the settlement, a gatekeeper let out an incredulous gasp.

"Oh, my god! It's Aoying the Shrine Maiden and Old John! And Takeda! Unbelievable, they actually came back alive, and they even brought a few outsiders with them!"

"Holy shit, it really is them! That old geezer and Takeda must have made a fortune on this trip!"

The two guards were merely Tier 1 (C-) evolvers, slightly stronger than ordinary people in the wasteland.

Yet compared to "big shots" like Aoying, who held the dual status of shrine maiden and Tier 2 (C) evolver, the gap was vast.

Therefore, these two fellows—who clearly profited off others regularly—did not even mention Aoying, grinning from ear to ear as they headed straight for Old John and Takeda, preparing to fleece them heavily.

"Ahahaha! If it isn't our great archaeologist Old John and his lackey Takeda! I congratulate you on striking it rich!"

Takeda, usually scrawny, withered, and peaceable, completely reversed his usual demeanor this time.

He smiled grimly, stepped forward, smoothly drew a Type 92 modified pistol from his bosom, racked the slide with practiced ease, and jammed the barrel right against the forehead of the speaker.

"You bet I did. Look at this old-world pistol in my hand—doesn't it look just like your cheap, bully-fearing, worthless life!"

The old monk was kind-hearted.

He had given Takeda and Old John each a pistol along with a few boxes of ammunition as payment.

He had a massive pile of these things in his backpack; they weren't precious items at all.

Old John likewise calmly produced a Type 92, racking it with a sharp click.

"Calm down, calm down, pal!"

The evolver being pointed at immediately raised both hands, breaking out in a cold sweat.

A Tier-C- evolver might not necessarily evolve scales or shells, and even if they did, those defenses might not cover their vital spots.

Given his current physical defense, taking a bullet point-blank meant only one outcome: having his head blown off.

"I was sincerely congratulating you on making a fortune, truly!" the evolver said with a ingratiating smile. "You and Old John have really lucked out this time. You've got old-world firearms and even survived the recent mutant wave. You're living the dream."

Takeda retracted his pistol expressionlessly. "We've both been foxes for a thousand years, so stop playing games with me. Don't I know what kind of scoundrel you are?"

The fox ears beneath Su Qinghong's hat twitched as she asked curiously, "Do you guys have *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio* and fox immortals here too?"

"Cough... Sister Hong, I have no idea what *Strange Tales* is, nor have I ever seen a fox," Takeda flashed an awkward smile. "I only know it's a common saying; I must've picked it up somewhere along the way."

"Oh..."

The Northeast fox-vixen instantly lost interest in the topic.

The three men in the group, however, exchanged glances, each reading a hint of information in the other's eyes.

If the book *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio* existed here, coupled with the Mandarin Chinese they spoke, could this place be another Blue Star?

A Blue Star... that had suffered a nuclear war?

Yet what about those so-called deities?

Were they real, or merely fantasies created by wasteland dwellers in despair?

Finding this place rather pointless, Lu Wenwu couldn't be bothered to bicker with these bullies who judged people by their status. He immediately circulated his vital blood and released his own power.

A crushing pressure slammed both guards and the onlookers watching the spectacle nearby flat onto the ground.

Even a Tier 3 (C+ grade) evolver lurking in the shadows was no exception.

Fortunately, no cliché tropes occurred where someone was blinded by lust over beauty, forcing Lu Wenwu's group into a face-slapping scenario.

In the apocalyptic wasteland, strength was justice, and might brought freedom.

As long as you were strong enough, you could endlessly and arbitrarily trigger Zhao Gao's locking skill: *Calling a Stag a Horse*.

The severely terrified Tier 3 evolver politely inquired about the purpose of Lu Wenwu and his companions' visit, respectfully escorting them toward the settlement leader's residence.

Brother Wu's vigorous, punch-packing reasoning was far more effective than any rhetoric, surpassing a thousand words.