Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1189 - 577: The True Master

"Have you reached out to Uncle Lin yet? What did he have to say?"

"I have."

Lin Chuqiao let out a heavy sigh.

"He performed an examination, but Red Hair is in a truly critical state. Rapid failure is occurring in both his liver and kidneys."

"Uncle Lin stated that his survival through the night hinges entirely on the patient's internal willpower."

"If he remains unconscious by dawn, we... must prepare ourselves for the worst."

"Understood."

Fang Cheng’s response was devoid of any emotion.

In reality, the significance he placed upon the Fire Dragon was far less than what Lin Chuqiao had assumed.

While it was true that the organization’s establishment required significant capital—and the assets left by the Masked Guest were indeed alluring—risking too much of his own effort or exposing his identity for this individual was clearly unjustifiable.

Furthermore, it was entirely possible that this man had no real knowledge regarding the location of the ancient civilization relics or how to access them.

After brief consideration, he instructed Lin Chuqiao as follows:

"Do your utmost to keep him alive. Tell those black market doctors to utilize the finest medicine and equipment; cost is not an issue. If he can be saved, beyond the previously agreed compensation, our Illuminati will pledge to ensure their security within East Capital."

"Understood, I will relay your message to the physicians immediately."

Lin Chuqiao replied in a soft voice.

At the other end of the line, Fang Cheng’s eyes glimmered as he calculated the situation.

Procedures must be followed, and he should not abandon the Fire Dragon lightly.

After all, the life of such a man was worth at least several billion.

Saving him would be ideal, but if nature takes its course...

Then he would leave it to the heavens.

They chatted briefly about recent developments, ranging from the base's construction status to minor, trivial affairs.

As their conversation continued, their tones became progressively relaxed, and the earlier tension began to dissipate.

Glancing at the time on his phone, Fang Cheng looked out at the late night and remarked:

"Chu Qiao, it is nearly midnight. You should retire early and stop staying up late; it is detrimental to your complexion."

Lin Chuqiao had intended to keep talking, but the mention of her skin caught her off guard.

"I almost forgot! I was just about to apply a facial mask and start my beauty regimen."

She instinctively touched her cheek, sounds of urgency creeping into her voice:

"Brother Cheng, let us stop here for now. I still have a contract that needs reviewing for the contractor tomorrow."

"Work can wait until the morning."

Fang Cheng’s voice softened, yet his command remained firm:

"I have no desire to become the type of heartless boss who exploits his staff."

These words carried the weight of a stern yet caring supervisor.

"I understand, Boss."

Lin Chuqiao felt a surge of warmth in her heart and replied with a coy tone:

"Then you should get some rest as well."

"I am going to sleep immediately."

Fang Cheng answered.

"Hmm... well then... good night?"

Lin Chuqiao’s voice held a lingering note of longing, as if she were waiting for further displays of affection.

"Good night."

With those words, Fang Cheng promptly ended the call.

.........

Miles away, inside a lavish apartment on the opposite side of the city.

Lin Chuqiao remained still, holding her phone to her ear even as the dial tone sounded, lost in her own thoughts.

After a long interval, she finally set the device aside and walked barefoot across the cashmere rug toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She gazed toward the district where Fang Cheng lived, her eyes filled with deep tenderness mixed with lingering concern.

She poured herself a glass of red wine from the table and swirled it gently.

The deep, rich bouquet of the wine filled the room.

"Brother Cheng, you always give people cause to worry..."

Lin Chuqiao murmured before finishing the glass in a single gulp, a lovely flush blooming across her features.

Soon after, she returned to her desk, though her enchanting eyes kept drifting to the window, unable to maintain her focus.

.........

Old Factory Street, tubular building.

In the pitch-black bedroom, only the neon glow from the streets cast faint outlines in the room.

Fang Cheng stood by the window, his brows knit together slightly.

The call concluded, he turned his attention back to the Evil Ghost Mask sitting on his desk.

The mask was now a deep, vivid crimson, reminiscent of fresh, congealed blood, appearing somber and intimidating.

Two curved horns protruded from its forehead, etched with intricate ancient patterns that looked as if they had grown from the material itself rather than being carved by human hands.

The mouth was stretched into an exaggerated, wide arc that reached toward the temples.

Within the jaw, sharp fangs glinted coldly, perfectly integrated into the dark, textured surface of the mask.

Staring at the now silent crimson Evil Ghost Mask, Fang Cheng’s eyes glowed as he whispered:

"Perhaps, a name change is in order. I can no longer go by White Owl..."

He raised his hand and placed the mask against his face, where it aligned perfectly with his jawline, the cool surface adhering as if it were a second skin.

Fang Cheng tilted his head, observing his reflection in the glass through the mask’s eye holes.

In the mirror, the crimson mask appeared to be his own flesh, covering his face with absolute precision.

The ferocious design coupled with the dark red hue emitted a suffocating, violent pressure.

The sense of oppression was leagues beyond what the white version had produced.

However, the frantic surge of consciousness and the intrusive illusions that usually plagued his mind remained absent.

Maintaining his composure, Fang Cheng gripped the sides of the mask and pulled it off.

His eyes flicked toward the pile of shards left by the clown mask on the floor.

The strange object was now dim and lusterless, no different from any mundane pile of debris.

A memory surfaced regarding the origin of the Evil Ghost Mask.

It date back to his time in the Yong’an Island trench, where he had been refining his body and practicing Qigong while enduring immense deep-sea pressure.

A sudden atmospheric shift caused a massive surge in ocean currents and undercurrents.

He had encountered a team from the Noah Organization in specialized diving gear, attempting to salvage relics from the seafloor.

The mask had been swept upward by an undersea vortex, mingled with fragmented ancient skeletal remains, and he had simply gathered it up.

Upon reflection, a daring theory began to take root in Fang Cheng’s mind.

Could the base of that trench contain an entrance to an uncharted ancient civilization? Was the Evil Ghost Mask itself an artifact recovered from such a place?

Fang Cheng’s eyes narrowed as he recalled past rumors.

Whether whispered by Noah Organization executives or members of the Special Search Team, all spoke of a notorious, inhumane killer known as "White Owl."

History dictated that every sighting of the mask heralded a bloody carnage across the underground world. Records claimed that those who wore the white Evil Ghost Mask gained immense power but suffered a complete degradation of their temperament.

As these individuals wielded such power, their inner desires were slowly consumed, transforming them into mindless monsters driven only by slaughter, entirely indifferent to morality.

It was clear the mask acted as a bridge between the wearer and the Lord of Slaughter lurking behind it.

This power was never truly a free gift; it was merely a snare cast to draw in prey.

Yet, after donning it, aside from a minor tightness, he had faced no repercussions.

That changed tonight, when the destruction of the "clown mask" had unleashed the creature parasitizing inside it.

The Evil Ghost Mask had seemingly activated, driven by an inherent compulsion to kill, and had devoured that creature entirely.

Through this consumption, Fang Cheng had made contact with the vast, negative will hidden behind the relic.

Without his formidable willpower and his Inner World serving as a mental bulwark, he surely would have been corrupted, enslaved by its nature, and turned into just another monster.

Now that the mask remained in this permanent crimson state, he realized one thing:

"Perhaps it is not you who chooses the person."

Fang Cheng muttered, his fingertips tracing the crimson surface.

"Rather, you are waiting for the individual who can truly serve as your master."

He gazed into the glowing red eye holes, the corners of his lips lifting into a smirk:

"And as for you, Lord of Slaughter—trying to use this mask to select a puppet, to be your Angel Envoy?"

"Too bad—you chose the wrong mark!"

The evening wind drifted through the open window, brushing through his hair.

Fang Cheng’s gaze burned with a fierce, defiant light:

"My fists shall crush anyone who dares to block my path, yourself included!"