Chapter 29: Cheating—Even the Ancestor's Coffin Lid Can't Keep It Shut

The path of righteousness is paved for geniuses, but it’s brutally competitive;
the useless ones must find another way, a crooked path.
This is not cowardice—it’s pioneering a new track, a unicorn’s strategic wisdom.

Thus,
Feng Mu tossed the manual of “Crane Claw Technique” onto the bed, plopped down on a chair, pinched an iron bead with his left hand, and with the right index finger, whose fingertip was cracked and a bone segment protruding, he reached out.

If the finger can’t hook the iron bead, then I’ll use the bone to hook it.

Fingers are smooth and can’t bear force—there’s no way around it; human fingers are inconvenient that way.

Bones, however, are different; they can be shaped at will. After all, Feng Mu’s bone, which pierced through the flesh, could be molded.

Can’t hook the iron bead with the finger?

Easy—carve a groove inside the bone joint!

If the groove can’t hold, and it’s easy for the bead to slip out?

Simple—raise irregular lines on the bone surface, like anti-slip treads; if that’s not enough, grow barbs around the groove.

Normally, to enter the “Crane Claw Technique,” you need strong bones and comprehension, endless practice, summarizing experiences until muscle memory forms, turning fingers into iron hooks, ultimately imitating the essence of the crane’s claw.

Feng Mu doesn’t need all that. With “Molding,” he doesn’t need to imitate; he can directly shape his claw into a crane claw—or even an eagle’s claw, a cat’s claw, or any bizarre claw.

He can perfectly bypass all the martial requirements of the “Crane Claw Technique.”

All he needs is a bit of physics knowledge, some imagination, and a dash of meticulous patience for craftsmanship.

“If it were another martial art, I might still struggle, but the Crane Claw Technique? Hmph, I’ll crush you completely—believe it or not.”

Feng Mu muttered to himself, the arrogant curl of his lips resembling a villain’s sneer.

The “Crane Claw Technique” master: “...” The founder’s coffin might soon be unable to contain him.

Pinching the iron bead against the bone, he used his will to carve the groove, etched anti-slip textures, grew barbs, then clicked the iron bead snugly into place.

“Let’s try.” Feng Mu returned to the iron basin and hooked with all his might.

The finger hook bit tightly onto the iron bead, the size fit perfectly, not a chance to slip out.

Feng Mu examined it for a while, tried several more times, and like a craftsman, made subtle adjustments to the bone shape.

Each of the ten fingers exerted force at different angles, so each had to be tested and adjusted simultaneously.

Though no tools like hammers or files were needed—his willpower sufficed—the adjustments still consumed mental energy.

Most importantly, the bone wasn’t quite obedient; carving a groove was easy, but raising delicate patterns on the groove’s walls made the difficulty soar tenfold or more.

Feng Mu understood—after all, “Molding” was still in its early, white-stage, with vast growth potential.

And it was already more than enough to handle the “Crane Claw Technique.”

Four hours later, Feng Mu finished sculpting all ten finger bones one by one.

He stood confidently before the iron basin again: “Hooking is no problem. The hardest step is solved. Now I just have to avoid hooking the wrong bead and control strength so as not to affect the surrounding beads.”

He swung his arm, waved his hand, the hooked finger skimmed across like a dragonfly touching water.

The basin surface didn’t move; Feng Mu flipped his finger, and one iron bead was quietly nestled inside the hook.

He plucked out the bead, gently flicked it back onto the basin surface, counting: “Success, once.”

Normally, hooking accurately and controlling strength are extremely difficult, but because the hook bit firmly, Feng Mu didn’t need to focus on that, and the difficulty of the other two tasks dropped sharply.

It was like shooting a gun—normally, you must withstand recoil, but now the device takes the recoil, leaving you to focus solely on aiming and pulling the trigger.

Can you miss the target?

You’d become a sharpshooter in an instant.

One success.
Two successes.
Three successes.
Four successes.
Five—failure!

Well, there’s still some distance from becoming a sharpshooting god.

According to the “Crane Claw Technique” rules, the fifth failure means resetting the count to zero, which is absurd.

Unfortunately, counting is a hurdle he can’t cheat around.

Feng Mu glanced at his phone—3:27 AM, 01:17.

Unconsciously, it was already past one in the morning. Three unread messages awaited.

—Boss, I asked Brother Bin today if I could work with him, and he agreed.
—Brother Bin had people continue investigating the names, narrowing the scope further through confessions. He also highlighted some key individuals. I counted—about fifty remain for close follow-up.
—This afternoon, a constable came to search the bar. Brother Bin let him. Later, Boss Zheng showed up, very angry, and reprimanded Brother Bin.

After reading the messages, Feng Mu pondered: “Ma Wei moves fast—no, rather, Ma Bin is eager for him to get close. After all, keeping those who silence others right under your nose is the safest.”

“Narrowed down to fifty people? Since the circles aren’t drawn based on suspicion, the confession investigation is just a show. Am I in that circle?”

Feng Mu didn’t think Ma Bin targeted him—Ma Bin didn’t even know him.

But Ma Bin was playing the role of avenger thoroughly, inevitably roping in innocent people to cover his true target.

It’s like a certain type of serial killer—you think the victims are random, but he’s expanding the killing count randomly to mask the one specific target and hide the real motive.

Feng Mu worried he was just unlucky, caught in that random circle.

He’s the real culprit, no doubt, but if the Qinglang Gang retaliates this way, it’s a grave injustice.

Staring at the third message, Feng Mu sent two replies to Ma Wei:

—Send me the list.
—Are Ma Bin and Zheng Si on good terms? Ma Bin is hunting the killer; what’s Zheng Si up to lately?

He put down the phone and returned to the iron basin.

His hooked fingers sliced through the air again and again, brushing the basin surface, succeeding repeatedly, until interrupted by failure, then starting anew.

Time ticked by slowly.

Before long, it was 4 AM.

Feng Mu clearly felt the difficulty of mastering the “Crane Claw Technique” had been hammered to the floor; success was within reach.

“The longest streak is eighty-one consecutive successes.”

He let out a long breath, sensing the malice behind “perfect accuracy,” such strict zero-error repetition truly tests one’s resolve.

Unlike the despair of lacking innate talent, this was a torment wrapped in light with a persistent shadow haunting him.

The former is like a pot ruined by an invisible worm; the latter is one worm spoiling the whole pot.

Not just once—Feng Mu had started from zero 119 times, averaging a minute and a half each try. One more attempt, he wanted to hit 120.

The 120th attempt failed, interrupted when his pinky touched the basin on the 67th round.

He exerted force with his finger, the bone creaked and deformed, then he shoved it into his mouth, chewing as if devouring his enemy’s flesh, swallowing it down.

“Sleep my ass. If I don’t die, I’ll grind myself to death.”

Tomorrow is Sunday, but Feng Mu decided not to sleep. He would fight the “Crane Claw Technique” to the bitter end, battling until dawn...