# 461
**Chapter 461 – Running Away**
Lin Qiye and the others exchanged blank glances. They didn’t disturb Zhou Ping, instead quietly beginning to prepare lunch.
By the time all the dishes were laid out on the table, Zhou Ping finally set down the book in his hands. He sat alone by the doorway, staring blankly at the sky.
“Um… Sword Saint senior, it’s time to eat.” Lin Qiye walked over and said softly.
Zhou Ping snapped out of his daze. Seeing everyone at the table looking at him, he wiped his face—traces of tears still clinging to it—and the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly…
He… had cried reading a book… in front of all these people?
Zhou Ping froze in place, as if his mind had shut down.
“Uh… Sword Saint senior?” Lin Qiye called out cautiously, seeing him frozen.
“You… you all eat first.” Zhou Ping suddenly shot up from his stool. “I’ve got something to take care of!”
His figure flickered and vanished.
Lin Qiye stood there, stunned, eyes full of confusion.
“Qiye, where did the Sword Saint senior go?” Baili Pangpang asked from the table, puzzled.
“No idea. He said he had something to do.”
“What could he possibly need to do now… don’t tell me a major ‘Mystery’ appeared nearby?” Cao Yuan said worriedly.
“Qiye, why don’t you use your mental perception to check?”
Lin Qiye hesitated. “That doesn’t seem right… he’s a Human Apex. It’d be rude.”
“Just a peek!” Baili Pangpang said eagerly. “The Sword Saint’s always so mysterious. Don’t you want to know what he’s up to? Just a quick scan, then pull back. Maybe he won’t even notice.”
Lin Qiye wavered.
“I think we should check,” An Qingyu added. “If the Sword Saint senior really is in trouble, maybe we can help.”
“Well… alright then.”
Lin Qiye sighed and quietly extended his mental perception.
A moment later, he froze.
“So? Did you sense him?” Baili Pangpang asked curiously.
“I did…” Lin Qiye’s expression was beyond strange.
“What’s he doing?”
“He… he… he looks like he’s running away with luggage?!”
“？？？？”
…
Outside the warehouse.
Zhou Ping dragged a suitcase, wearing a baseball cap and a mask that covered his entire face. He glanced around sneakily, then bolted.
The military officer stationed nearby blinked in surprise, then rushed to block his path—but Zhou Ping’s form turned ethereal, flashing hundreds of meters away in an instant.
“Sword Saint sir…” the officer stared blankly, then quickly dialed a number.
Ring ring ring ring—!
The phone rang from Zhou Ping’s pocket. He paused, hesitated, then pulled it out.
“…Hello?” he whispered.
“Zhou Ping…” On the other end, Ye Fan’s voice was exasperated, accompanied by the clatter of dishes and running water. “We agreed, didn’t I? I’d wash dishes, you’d train Lin Qiye and the others. Why are you running off again?”
“You know I can’t deal with people… let alone teach.” Zhou Ping sighed. “Find someone else. I’ll go back to washing dishes…”
“Zhou Ping.” Ye Fan’s tone turned serious. “People need to socialize. Your swordsmanship is unmatched, but your mindset is your only flaw. Until you overcome it, you’ll never break through to that unreachable realm. I didn’t just send you to teach those brats—I wanted you to learn from them too. Great Xia is in danger. We desperately need someone to hold it up. Lu Youwei isn’t strong enough, I’m swamped, Guan is still in seclusion, and Master Chen is better at defense than offense. You’re our best hope…”
Zhou Ping fell silent.
He stood there for a long time before finally speaking. “Then… I’ll try again?”
“Good.” Ye Fan exhaled in relief. “If they bully you, tell me. I’ll drill them into the ground…”
“…”
Zhou Ping hung up, sighed deeply, then turned around and dragged his suitcase back toward the warehouse.
As he reached the entrance, he froze.
Lin Qiye and the others sat at the door, all looking up at him with strange expressions.
Baili Pangpang leaned over and whispered something. Everyone nodded and casually walked off, pretending they hadn’t seen a thing.
Zhou Ping gritted his teeth and dragged his suitcase back inside.
Just then, Lin Qiye’s voice rang out.
“Sword Saint senior.”
Zhou Ping paused.
“If you’re done, come join us for lunch?” Lin Qiye said earnestly. “I tried making tomato scrambled with tomato today. Could you taste it and tell me how it compares to my third uncle’s?”
Zhou Ping turned, saw Lin Qiye’s smile, and after a moment, nodded.
“Alright.”
Thirty minutes later.
All six set down their chopsticks, full and satisfied.
No one mentioned Zhou Ping’s earlier suitcase incident. Instead, they smoothly shifted to discussing past battles, asking Zhou Ping for input. He offered brief replies, keeping the conversation flowing.
“Now that we’re done, let’s start afternoon training.” Zhou Ping checked the time.
He brought out a new cardboard box, opened it, and handed Lin Qiye a thick stack of over thirty handwritten pages.
“What is this…” Lin Qiye flipped to the first page and froze.
Every word was handwritten.
The handwriting wasn’t beautiful, but neat and clear—about four hundred words per page, filling thirty pages.
“Analysis of yesterday’s combat,” Zhou Ping said. “After sparring with you, I reviewed each of your fighting styles, strengths, and weaknesses. I compiled them into reports. I don’t know how to use a computer, so I wrote them by hand. Some words might be unclear…”
Lin Qiye’s mouth opened slightly. He ran his fingers over the thick stack. “You… wrote all this?”
“That’s just yours.”
Zhou Ping pulled four more stacks from the box—each thicker, around thirty-six pages—and handed them to the others.
Everyone stared at the hefty handwritten files in stunned silence.