Chapter 06

Greetings, you fu***rs

Exiting the room swiftly, Jon glanced back at Huo Zheng, whispering urgently, "Left or right, big guy?"

"Right," Huo Zheng responded, his voice low and strained. "Be careful not to make unnecessary noise."

"Got it," Jon replied, moving as stealthily as he could. As they progressed, he noticed Huo Zheng's limp, the man's pace uneven but determined.

Concerned, Jon asked, "Hey, are you alright? Nothing serious, I hope?"

Huo Zheng grunted, "I have known worse."

Jon, sensing the potential for a long and painful story, cut him off with a quick "Right." He then shifted the topic back to their immediate challenge. "Let's keep moving. The 'Lesser Hall of Ordeals,' you said? What kind of traps are there?"

"Death traps." came the succinct reply.

Jon, growing impatient with the vague answers, pressed further, "Yeah, that's obvious. I meant what 'kind' as in, is it serpents in pits, spears on walls, giant rocks pursuing us? What is it?"

Huo Zheng sighed, then elaborated with a grim tone. "The hall is laced with concealed pits that drop into spikes, hidden blades that slice through the air triggered by pressure plates, and narrow passageways where the walls are rigged to crush intruders. Each step must be measured, each breath calculated. The traps are designed to be as unnoticeable as possible, blending seamlessly with the environment, and they are deadly upon activation."

"You mean like a pit full of bamboo vipers or dangling razor blades? Pshh, I've seen it all in the flicks. This'll be a cakewalk." Jon responded, trying to inject some bravado into his voice, even though his heart raced at the thought of what awaited them.

Huo Zheng shot him a skeptical look. "You... have seen those traps before?"

"Well, kind of," Jon admitted, thinking of the booby traps he had seen in movies like Indiana Jones, rather than any real-life experience. "I guess you could say that."

Despite his nonchalant response, Jon felt anything but confident about navigating the deadly labyrinth Huo Zheng described. However, he knew all too well the grim fate that awaited them if they were caught by the sect’s disciples.

Faced with the choice between a perilous bid for freedom and certain death at the hands of the Sun Moon Divine Cult, Jon preferred to take his chances with the traps. Better to die trying to escape than wait like a good boy to be slaughtered, he thought.

As they raced through the dimly lit corridors, the sound of pursuing footsteps grew louder, echoing ominously off the walls. "Disciples are right behind us," Huo Zheng hissed, confirming Jon's growing dread.

Suddenly, the footsteps ceased, likely halting at the door of Huo Zheng’s former prison. Jon’s mind raced with anxiety. "They might be wondering where we went. This is not good," he thought, panic edging into his consciousness.

Before he could spiral into further worry, Huo Zheng's hand clamped down on his shoulder, halting him. Jon whipped around, eyes wide, questioning, "What is it? You see something?"

"This is the corridor leading to the Lesser Hall," Huo Zheng whispered, his voice tense. "It undoubtedly has traps in it."

Jon peered down the corridor. It looked innocuous, but he knew better than to trust appearances now. He advanced with exaggerated caution, crouched low like a commando, scrutinizing every inch of the stonework for trip wires, pressure plates, you name it.

Finally, he dropped to one knee, running his hands along the floor and walls."There's no obvious signs, but you know this villain's lair has to be loaded with nasty surprises," Jon muttered. "Snakes, arrows, maybe some good old-fashioned spike pits or crushing walls for nostalgia's sake."

For a while, Huo Zheng observed Jon's actions with a mix of perplexity and resignation. "It’s no use," he finally spoke, breaking the tense silence. "These traps are not even noticeable using Qi detection. They are pure mechanisms."

Jon looked up, a bit sheepish, realizing Huo Zheng might have mistaken his silent examination for an attempt at sensing Qi—an ability he was far from mastering. "Right," Jon muttered. "Say no more, my cultivator friend. You're talking my language now." He rose to his feet, dusting off his hands.

"Hmm. Let's see...if I were an over-the-top, ridiculous movie villain hellbent on slicing and dicing anyone foolish enough to infiltrate my lair, where would I hide the nasty bits?" He recalled scenes from those old movies, where the protagonist navigated through ancient temples littered with ingeniously concealed traps.

Jon scanned the corridor, looking for irregularities in the stonework, floor tiles slightly ajar, or suspicious markings that might betray the presence of a trap, but found nothing.

Frustrated but not defeated, Jon’s thoughts took a wild, unconventional turn. "In movies, the hero often uses something to trigger the traps safely," he mused. "But what if the trap isn’t on the floor or the walls... what if it's the ceiling?"

Without warning, Jon grabbed a loose stone from the wall and hurled it with all his might at the ceiling of the corridor.

He threw himself backwards as the stone struck with a sharp crack, and immediately, a segment of the ceiling swung open, releasing a cascade of deadly darts that shot downward, embedding themselves in the floor where Jon would have stepped had he advanced.

Both men stared in stunned silence at the now-obvious trap, its mechanism spent and harmless. Huo Zheng looked at Jon as he rolled back to his feet, dusting off his hands.

The cultivator's expression was one of bewilderment. "How did you...?"

Jon shrugged. "Sometimes, you've just got to think a little differently. Let’s move, and watch out for the ceilings, huh?"

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Sure enough, their progress was continually impeded by a sadistic gauntlet of mechanized deathtraps. Miles of pressure plate floors that triggered clouds of blinding powder. Crossbow turrets hidden behind statues' vacant eyes. Even hallways with grinding steel blades that slammed together with bone-pulverizing force every few seconds, requiring insane timing to slip through.

But Jon stayed one step ahead, his encyclopedic knowledge of cheesy action movies providing both the warnings and counter-measures. He'd pause, stroke his chin contemplatively, then disarm each trap in increasingly unorthodox ways.

At one point, they came across a floor that appeared normal but felt slightly off to Jon. "Ooh, I know this one. 'The floor is a lie,' am I right?"

Trusting his instincts, he threw another stone ahead of them, (there was always, for some reason, an object that could be used as a projectile somewhere) only to watch in grim satisfaction as the seemingly solid ground collapsed into a deep pit filled with spikes. Earning a surprised glance from Huo Zheng.

Further along, they encountered a corridor lined with statues. Jon eyed them suspiciously, Flickering memories of those classic action movies came to him, providing a dire mental warning– never trust seemingly innocent decor in cursed ancient ruins.

On a hunch, he picked up a discarded piece of armor–Hey, if this place was consistent about anything, it was conveniently littering the area with makeshift projectiles– and tossed it down the corridor. The statues’ eyes lit up, and they simultaneously launched a barrage of darts and arrows. "Guess they’re not just for decoration," Jon remarked dryly as they carefully navigated past the now-disarmed guardians.

By the time they reached the Lesser Hall, Jon had disarmed a variety of traps with a mix of cunning and sheer dumb luck, leaving Huo Zheng in awe. "You are a trap savant the likes of which I've never seen before," Huo Zheng exclaimed, his respect for Jon growing with each thwarted danger.

Jon couldn't help but grin, feeling oddly flattered. "Dude, I'm basically a trap expert at this point. Portals, pitfalls, arrows, poisoned everything...you name it, I've seen it a thousand times." He puffed out his chest with pride. "I'm like a Lord of the Rings elf with how sharp my senses are now."

Huo Zheng clearly didn't understand given his puzzled expression.

"Pardon me?" Huo Zheng asked, confusion written all over his face.

"Nevermind," Jon said, waving it off, causing Huo Zheng to regard him as if he were a strange creature from another world.

Inwardly, Jon couldn’t help but marvel at their luck so far. Plot armor really did work so far, he mused. No disciple, every trap countered... Hell, I might even get a power-up if this continues.

Once they arrived at the Lesser Hall, Jon turned to Huo Zheng, the tension evident in his voice. "So, Huo Zheng, where do we go from here?"

Huo Zheng, his gaze sweeping the area meticulously, replied, "The outer gardens... But it's odd. We did not encounter any disciple at this point. How is that possible?"

Jon, sensing the unease in Huo Zheng's tone, tried to keep the atmosphere light. "Let's not worry about something we can't do anything about for now. It would be unproductive to think instead of proactively fleeing," he advised, masking his own growing concern with practicality.

Huo Zheng nodded, though his expression remained troubled. Meanwhile, in Jon's mind, a sense of foreboding loomed large. His experience with stories and movies whispered that when everything was going too well, it was often a prelude to disaster.

After navigating the treacherous Lesser Hall of Ordeals, Jon and Huo Zheng finally emerged at the edge of the outer gardens. It was beautiful. The gardens bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Mist clung to the meticulously trimmed bushes and elegant stone paths.

The space was tranquil, with a few sakura trees scattered around, their petals occasionally drifting in the gentle breeze. Below, a small pond reflected the glow of the moon. And around the pond. Simple stone paths wound through the neatly trimmed grass, and glowing fish added a touch of magic to the water,

Mom would love this place, Jon muttered under his breath.

The thought of his mother intensified the ache in his heart. How long have I been missing? She must have called at least 100 times, he worried, hoping she was managing her anxiety. I'll be back soon, Mom, I promise. As soon as I find a way to get out of this shithole.

Huo Zheng, ever vigilant, scanned their surroundings, the initial relief of evading their pursuers giving way to cautious observation. For a moment, the garden seemed a peaceful sanctuary, but as they delved deeper, the illusion shattered.

First, one figure appeared in the mist, then two, then three, quickly followed by more, each step revealing the presence of the sect's disciples.

Huo Zheng's voice was resigned as he stated, "It seems we have been caught in the end."

Jon's heart thudded wildly, the absurdity of his naked predicament hitting him anew amidst the rising tension. "Man, what about my plot armor?" he said despairingly.

At the forefront was a young man, his stature short but his presence undeniably commanding, muscles evident beneath the fine fabric of his robes. As Jon shivered, very much aware of his 'au naturel' state, he couldn't help but envy the lavish embroidered robes adorning the cultivator's frame. It must be nice not freezing your family jewels off out here... he thought, his fists clenching, rage slowly building up in his chest.

This leader exuded a formidable aura, something Jon had become sensitive to since awakening in this strange world. It was an energy he couldn't quite understand yet, Qi, and this young man had it in spades, marking him as the most potent threat among the assembled disciples. "It took you long enough," he taunted.

Without thinking, Jon adopted a traditional martial salute, fist against palm, just like in the novels.

Then, his mouth opened...and the most monumentally ill-advised words came tumbling out with a total disregard for propriety or self-preservation: "Greetings, you fuckers," he said, the words cutting through the night air.

The reaction was immediate and universal; shock registered on the faces of the disciples, and even Huo Zheng stared at Jon, mouth agape.

Jon's internal turmoil, a storm of frustration and rage at his situation, stripped away any facade of civility.

His mother was his only immediate family, likely frantic with worry over his disappearance. His life, devoid of significant troubles until now, seemed unfairly upended by these events. Now here he was, cold, humiliated and dodging death traps like a contestant on the world's worst game show, only to end up facing these robe-wearing, smug-faced cultivator jerks. Seriously?

The injustice of it all, the abruptness of his capture and the bizarre nightmare he'd been thrust into, ignited a fierce rage within him. In his mind, these were the people responsible for his predicament, and all he felt was blame and the burning desire to confront them. Plus, they took his clothes. Was that even necessary?

In this moment, he had nothing left to lose—except maybe his dignity, but that ship had sailed the moment he woke up in this xianxia circus.

The young man's eyes narrowed as he surveyed Jon, his gaze taking in the defiant stance and unexpected nakedness. The surrounding silence was palpable, filled with tension and disbelief.

"...What did you say?" the young cultivator finally uttered, his voice a controlled calm. His dark eyes bored into Jon with an intensity that should have reduced any sane person to a apologetic, quivering puddle.

But Jon merely grinned wider, a spark of defiance igniting his features. He locked eyes with the young man and retorted sharply in Mandarin, ensuring each of his words were crystal clear, "Are you deaf? I greeted you, motherfucker. Greet me back."

The young man’s gaze flickered to Huo Zheng, seeking some semblance of explanation or solidarity, only to find the the big man equally taken aback. Turning his attention back to Jon, he remarked coldly, "You have a foul mouth, summoned one... in addition to your lack of decorum and shame, it would seem..." He paused, picking his nose, "And quite the stench."

That did it. A vein bulged on Jon's already reddened forehead as the insult hit him low.

But rather than getting mad, his smile only widened into a manic grin. His eyes blazed with over-the-top outrage. "Yeah? Take a good look then. Bitch. This is the ideal male body. You may not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like!" he shot back, his voice dripping with contempt.

The young cultivator's expression twisted, caught between offense, surprise, or perhaps a mixture of both, as he struggled to process Jon’s brazenness and the bizarre spectacle before him.