PD -Chapter 145 The Missing One Sect

After two hours on the highway, we arrived at a third-tier city and stopped in front of a run-down old steel mill on the outskirts.

“You’re telling me the expert you’re looking for lives here?” I couldn’t help frowning as I asked Shentu.

Shentu nodded indifferently and shot back, “What, you don’t believe me?”

Of course I couldn’t say that. We had already come all this way, and since all the information was in her hands, whatever she said went.

She grabbed a bottle of Moutai and a bottle of Wuliangye from the car, tore the rusty lock off the gate with one hand, and swaggered inside with us.

The steel mill had clearly been abandoned for a long time. Vegetation had overtaken the surrounding area, and weeds covered much of the facility itself.

Following Shentu, we passed through one dilapidated building after another until we stopped in front of an abandoned workshop.

I quickly noticed that this workshop was different from the others. Not only was the area around it much cleaner, but there were obvious signs that someone had been living there and maintaining it for years.

Standing before the workshop’s iron door, Shentu turned to look at Liu Xiaopeng, Zhu Zhu, and me.

After a moment’s thought, she said, “Old Que doesn’t have the best temper. You kids better watch what you say later. If you annoy him, you can forget about getting your weapons.”

“Old Que?” I frowned. What a strange nickname. In some dialects, “Que” was practically an insult.

“He’s the only remaining inheritor of the Missing One Sect in the world today,” Shentu said as she stared at the rusted iron door before knocking on it.

I froze.

The term Missing One Sect sounded strangely familiar, though I couldn’t immediately place it.

The iron door rattled loudly, but nobody came to answer.

Shentu frowned and knocked even harder.

Still no response.

Behind me, Zhu Zhu had already begun suspecting that nobody lived in the workshop at all and whispered a few words to Liu Xiaopeng.

With an irritated sigh, Shentu stopped knocking. Instead, she casually opened the bottle of Moutai and slowly poured the liquor through the gap beneath the door.

Instantly, the rich aroma of alcohol filled the air.

Then we heard movement inside the workshop beyond the iron door.

It sounded as though someone was running toward us.

A moment later, a filthy, calloused hand emerged from beneath the door.

The owner dipped a finger into the spilled liquor before immediately pulling it back inside.

We then heard loud smacking noises from behind the door.

The guy had literally tasted the liquor by licking it off his finger.

What kind of hopeless alcoholic would do something like that?

Watching the dirty hand emerge again, I couldn’t help frowning.

Shentu, however, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She simply shook the bottle in her hand, causing the fragrance of the liquor to become even stronger.

“Open up, Old Que. I’ve got both Moutai and Wuliangye. Pick whichever you want. I brought several whole cases today!”

The hand inside clearly hesitated.

But in the end, it couldn’t resist the temptation of good liquor.

The iron door swung open.

A middle-aged man appeared before us.

He wore an old-fashioned long gown. His hair was a mess, he wore glasses, and his face was covered with unkempt stubble.

The first thing he did after stepping outside was reach for the bottle in Shentu’s hand.

Shentu smiled faintly and stepped backward.

The man watched helplessly as the bottle slipped just beyond his grasp.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, he looked at her.

It was obvious he knew Shentu. He didn’t seem surprised to see her at all.

Instead, he briefly examined the three of us standing behind her, his face showing slight confusion before his gaze returned to the bottle.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Old Que, after all this time, that’s the attitude you’re giving me?” Shentu lifted the bottle and took a sniff. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have been reincarnated in the Underworld long ago. Have you forgotten?”

Old Que sighed.

Knowing he was in the wrong, he had no interest in arguing.

“Come in.”

Shaking his head, he stepped aside.

Shentu smiled and handed him the bottle of Moutai, which was now only two-thirds full.

Old Que led us into the workshop.

I quietly observed the surroundings.

Though the steel mill had been abandoned for years, the machinery appeared to be regularly maintained. None of it looked particularly worn down. Some machines had even been polished until they gleamed, and fresh black grease coated their gears.

Without question, this had to be Old Que’s handiwork.

He led us into a break room deep inside the workshop.

There was only a bed and piles of miscellaneous junk.

Old Que sat down on the bed and pointed toward several oil drums nearby.

“Sit wherever.”

“I’ll pass.”

Shentu frowned and placed the unopened bottle of Wuliangye on one of the drums, looking visibly disgusted.

Today she was wearing a white sundress, clearly unwilling to risk staining it.

“Old Que, I’ve brought you a job this time,” she continued. “If you do it well, the secret arts of your Missing One Sect will become famous once again. You won’t have to worry about having no successor anymore.”

“Oh, spare me.”

Old Que took a long drink.

After letting out a long, satisfied sigh, he continued, “Lady Shentu, since I’ve accepted your liquor, just tell me what you need. But if you’re here to pitch that world-domination nonsense again, then you’d better just kill this old man and get it over with.”

I was startled.

So Old Que knew all about Shentu’s ambitions.

Judging from his reaction, she had probably tried recruiting him during her rebellion centuries ago, but failed.

Then another realization hit me.

The man looked scruffy and perhaps fifty or sixty years old.

Yet if Shentu had already approached him hundreds of years ago…

That meant he was likely another immortal monster.

As for the term Missing One Sect, I had been racking my brain ever since hearing it.

At that moment, I finally remembered.

The Missing One Sect was none other than the Lu Ban Sect.

The legendary Lu Ban Book recorded countless lost crafts involving architecture, mechanisms, formations, and mystical arts.

Like my family’s inherited Heaven-Piercing Mysteries Record, it was considered one of the world’s great secret texts.

And another name for the Lu Ban Book was precisely The Missing One.

The strange title came from the fate of its inheritors.

According to legend, the craftsmanship and techniques recorded within were so miraculous that they surpassed mortal skill itself, drawing down a curse from the heavens.

The Lu Ban Book was divided into two volumes.

The cursed portion was the latter half.

It was said that anyone who wished to study it had to swear a blood oath and choose among the five afflictions: widower, widow, orphan, loneliness, or disability.

In other words, if you wanted to learn these heaven-defying secret techniques, you had to pay with your own destiny.

You would either die young, become crippled, or leave no descendants.

That was likely why the Lu Ban Sect had once been famous throughout the world yet eventually lost nearly all of its successors.

What I hadn’t expected was that, in my lifetime, I would actually meet a living inheritor of Lu Ban’s legacy.

And not only was he alive—aside from his alcoholism, he appeared perfectly healthy and might very well have already lived for several centuries.