**Chapter 13: The Grand Meeting (Part 1)**
In Eastern movies, zombies are typically depicted as stiff all over, with black, sharp fingernails, green faces, fangs, and pale, terrifying skin. They cannot speak human language, only roar. During the day, they hide in damp, dark places like coffins or caves.
They absorb the Yang energy of living people but fear sunlight, glutinous rice, and fire.
Often appearing alongside these zombies are Maoshan Taoists, who frequently use Maoshan magic to subdue them.
The descriptions and appearances of these Maoshan Taoists are quite similar to the cultivators of Heshan Dao.
However, unlike the Maoshan lineage which upholds righteousness and dispels evil, the reputation of Heshan Dao in the Jambudvīpa World is far from good.
Among the seventy-two techniques of the Heshan Scripture, every single one is a method for seizing people's souls and lives, refining magic tools, and cultivating evil techniques.
Take the Five Poisons White Bone Banner, for example. This technique uses extremely potent poison to harm people. The bones of these people contain poisonous smoke, and these bones are then refined into a long banner. Simply waving it at someone can instantly poison them, turning them into a pool of blood in the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. It is also known as the Corpse Dissolving White Bone Banner.
Such a vicious technique is only ranked thirty-seventh among the seventy-two techniques of the Heshan Scripture. One can imagine what kind of things are recorded in the Heshan Scripture.
The Corpse Refining method is ranked sixth among them. Many Heshan Dao disciples refine Armored Corpses for protection when they go down the mountain for training.
The viciousness of Heshan Dao's guardian Armored Corpses lies not only in the refining method but also in the fact that Heshan Dao practitioners often 'graze' their Armored Corpses.
Zombies feed on blood. To increase a Zombie's strength, they often need to be fed human blood.
Heshan Dao disciples grazing Zombies do not care about the lives of mortals.
In the Jambudvīpa World, there was once a Heshan Dao cultivator who, in order to refine a Golden Armored Corpse, slaughtered six cities, directly annihilating a small country.
Although this evil Heshan Dao cultivator was eventually subdued by a passing old Buddhist monk, the resentment of a million people from the six cities directly turned a hundred-mile area into a ghost domain.
In the cultivation cave, the thirty-six vertical coffins were all open at this time.
The thirty-six Armored Corpses were all in an upward-facing posture.
Pale green moonlight shone in from the silver crystal above the cave, being swallowed and absorbed by these Armored Corpses.
At this time, these thirty-six Zombies were completely stiff. Their exposed skin was like cast iron, emitting a dead black luster.
According to the records in the Heshan Scripture, Tang Song's Armored Corpses had reached the level of Iron Armored Corpses. Ordinary swords could not harm them, and they could even withstand ordinary magic tools to some extent.
They could leap dozens of feet in a single pounce, move like the wind, and tear apart tigers and leopards like child's play.
But this was still not enough. Tang Song walked to the side of the altar, looking at the vast numbers of corpses among the piles of white bone in the abyss below, his eyes flickering.
In a year and a half, the corpses of everyone who died unnatural deaths in New York were here.
Feeding the Zombies with their flesh and blood, and refining Skeleton Demons using the resentment of those who died violent deaths – the flesh and blood of over twenty thousand people allowed Tang Song to cultivate thirty-six variant Iron Armored Corpses and hundreds of Skeleton Demons in a year and a half! This was Tang Song's true method of protecting his Tao.
In the Jambudvīpa World, cultivators seek immortality. Other killing methods are all techniques for protecting the Tao. There's no other way; the path to immortality is simply too arduous.
Fighting against heaven, struggling against earth, those whose killing methods were not powerful enough long ago turned into white bone.
Ordinary people living in such a world might, at any moment, be caught in the aftermath of a battle between two cultivators and be directly reduced to a pile of ashes.
Logically speaking, having come from the Jambudvīpa World to the Marvel World, Tang Song should have let go of his sense of crisis. However, the constant threat of super villains and world-ending disasters in the Marvel World kept Tang Song's heart taut.
After experiencing it once, Tang Song never wanted to feel like his fate was in someone else's hands again! "Still not enough!"
Tang Song looked at the Iron Armored Corpses under the moonlight, which were beginning to show bronze-colored spots. He extended his hand, letting the moonlight fall onto his palm.
His right hand's fingers formed a sword-finger gesture and extended. A nearly meter-long, illusory and hazy sword shadow suddenly appeared. Countless tiny flashes wrapped around the sword body, as brilliant as a comet.
Tang Song's finger slid down gently. The sword qi flashed past, and one of the Iron Armored Corpse's arms was directly cut into two sections, the cut being smooth as a mirror.
Tang Song muttered to himself with dissatisfaction, "It's a pity. Even using physically strong Werewolves as material, the strength of Iron Armored Corpses still can't compare to Bronze Armored Corpses. Ordinary rifles are fine, but resisting heavy sniper rifles and artillery shells is still not possible!"
However, he could change his line of thought, Tang Song mused, stroking his chin as he looked at the Iron Armored Corpse with one arm missing.
...
New York's Underworld has been turbulent recently. First, the rules of the Continental Hotel were broken, and with a bounty issued, large numbers of killers were dispatched, leading to constant gunfights throughout New York.
Then, New York's firearms magnate Viggo went missing, leaving a large gap in the firearms market, causing many gangs to become eager for this opportunity.
In these troubled times, the most absurd thing was that someone even provoked the underground emperor of New York—Kingpin.
...
Lane said in a low voice in the car, "Boss, I'm afraid Kingpin is anxious. After three consecutive attacks on his subordinates and the loss of a large amount of goods, he's summoned all the gangs in New York, big and small. It looks like he wants us to help."
Tang Song looked indifferent and smiled, "It's truly interesting that the dignified underground emperor of New York is actually afraid of a few mysterious people! However, it's more beneficial for us that this nameless hero chose to act at this time!"
"How are things going with Kane and Frank?"
Lane prepared a glass of wine and handed it to Tang Song, who took it and asked casually.
Lane nodded and said, "Very smoothly. Viggo is in our hands. Kane and the others easily dealt with his uncle's men and are currently taking over the armory there!"
Tang Song tasted the red wine, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Have Frank come back first. Also, Lane, recruit people in the Underworld. We have too few capable men we can use right now!"
Lane narrowed his eyes excitedly and said with a hint of coldness, "Boss, are we going to make a big move? I know many veterans; they are all good hands!"
"We need eighty good hands," Tang Song said, a cunning smile appearing on his face. "Also recruit some peripheral personnel!"
The stretched Rolls-Royce slowly stopped. Lane pulled open the car door for Tang Song, who slowly stepped out. He raised his head. Where he stood was the entrance to a super luxurious nightclub.
This was the most luxurious nightclub in all of New York, bar none, because its owner was Wilson Grant Fisk. He had another name—Kingpin! Just like ancient emperors wouldn't allow their officials' houses to surpass their palaces, in New York's Underworld, no one dared to challenge Kingpin.
Tang Song took a cane from Lane's hand and walked straight into the nightclub.
Lane brought two German Men to follow behind, making no attempt to hide the bulging firearms on their bodies.
Two tall black men greeted guests at the entrance to the stairs leading to the second floor. After a slight bow, they said to Tang Song, "Sorry, our Boss said no weapons are allowed upstairs, please..."
Before he finished speaking, Lane had already rushed up and smashed a punch onto his right shoulder. People in the lobby and the second-floor hallway heard the crunching sound of bones breaking. The black man fell to his knees and screamed.
"Is this Kingpin's attitude when asking for help? Lane, kill him!"
The firearms business Tang Song would do in the future would undoubtedly offend a large number of people. To scare away the hyenas trying to snatch food, killing a lion to establish authority was undoubtedly the best way.
What Tang Song was doing now was establishing authority. What could establish authority in the Underworld better than slapping Kingpin's face?
Lane gave a sinister laugh, and his large, hairy hand reached out to choke the black man's neck.
A sharp shout came from above, "Stop... Tang? You are too presumptuous!"
Tang Song glanced up. The one speaking from above was a bald man in a leather jacket. He had a rough face, and a large target was childishly drawn on his forehead, making people unable to resist wanting to shoot him.
Bullseye, Kingpin's top lieutenant. It was rumored he had a hundred-percent accurate dart throwing skill, and anything in his hands could turn into a killing tool.
There had always been a rumor in the Underworld that this guy was a Mutant, and the ability he possessed was hundred-percent accuracy.
Tang Song tapped his cane, looking at Bullseye. "Mr. Wilson invites guests to a banquet, yet arranges for subordinates to search the guests. This is a bit unreasonable, isn't it!"
Cold light flashed in Bullseye's eyes. He stared at Tang Song, his hand reaching towards the row of throwing knives at his waist.
"Lester, please invite Mr. Tang up!" A deep voice suddenly sounded. Behind Bullseye, a figure as massive as a small mountain turned and left, only leaving a back view and a cold gaze fixed on Tang Song.
Compared to this figure, Bullseye seemed like a doll.
Tang Song smiled, brought his people upstairs, and followed Bullseye into a huge conference room.
At this moment, beside the long conference table inside, seven or eight people were already seated. Behind them stood over thirty men with fierce faces, of varying heights.
(end of chapter)