I just broke up with my boyfriend and then I transmigrated into the world of "The Lost Tomb&quo

“Because I…” He doesn’t have the habit of being a father. Before he could finish speaking, Ling Xiao saw a faint handprint on Qi Mo’s face.

He pinched the little guy's face and turned it to the side, offering no comfort for the slap mark. Instead, he patiently asked, "And you, why did your father insist on making me your godfather?" It was obvious whether he had resisted or not.

“Father said you are capable, can protect me, are young and don’t like women, which means you have no offspring, but you have me as your son, so you can teach me a lot.” Qi Mo’s little head drooped down, and then he realized that his father had misunderstood and said, “This is because I didn’t practice properly and talked back. I don’t like Father. Actually, I like you quite a bit. When I practice, you would jokingly correct my mistakes, unlike Father, who only hits me.”

"Interesting, but how did your father determine that I don't like women?" Ling Xiao still smiled gently, ruffling Qi Mo's head, but the way he looked out from behind Qi Mo was filled with murderous intent.

“Father said that you draw in the same notebook every day, and it’s always the same person. It’s a portrait of a man, very handsome. You use it to record the days, and also to record your longing. He said he can tell from your eyes that it’s your sweetheart.” Qi Mo completely betrayed his father in one fell swoop.

Ling Xiao couldn't blame the child; he didn't understand anything. Should he blame Qi's father? In his eyes, that man was now a dead man. But he couldn't bear not venting his anger. So, when Qi's father sat down at dinner that night, the chair slumped, the rice was salty, and the water was sour.

It's obvious that this was retaliation, but what does such a small scuffle mean if it can inspire a wise lay Buddhist to teach his child? Parents who love their children plan far ahead for them.

So Ling Xiao began teaching Qi Mo all sorts of skills, some useful and some not. He taught him a little bit of everything, the kind of teaching whatever came to mind, from gun assembly and shooting to... well, even monkeys stealing peaches. You couldn't say he was wrong, but you couldn't say he was right either. The result was good, though; little Qi Mo accepted everything he taught him without hesitation.

The day of migration arrived quickly. Ling Xiao thought they could take a train or something, but Qi's father suggested that since the whole family was going to travel in secret, a horse-drawn carriage would be more convenient.

Ling Xiao didn't know what to say. He didn't take a penny from the background. He just taught him more because the journey was slower. He explained some theoretical knowledge to him in the carriage, from astronomy and geography to geomancy and feng shui. He talked about the terrain and feng shui along the way. Don't ask why it was so formal and full of practical information in the carriage. The reason is that his parents were in the carriage listening to him!

Qi Mo learned very quickly, and Ling Xiao sighed, "No wonder this is the world of Daomu Biji. Does everyone in it have a natural talent for tomb raiding?"

At first, Ling Xiao didn't think much of it, but later he noticed that every time he taught the child about tomb raiding, his body would inexplicably feel uncomfortable, like he was weak. Sometimes, when he talked about formations, his hands would even become semi-transparent. However, this was not obvious. Ling Xiao thought that he had found a way back, so he became even more enthusiastic in teaching Qi Mo about tomb raiding.

After getting off the carriage, Ling Xiao went to find a nearby church. Most of the churches here were empty, and most of the priests had either hidden themselves or died in the riots. However, most of them were locked. Qi Mo couldn't see how Ling Xiao opened the locks. Ling Xiao didn't let him rest. After demonstrating twice more, he let Qi Mo open the locks himself.

The smoke of battle obscured the morning star. Ling Xiao would always lie on the collapsed stained-glass window of the church, watching the boy in short sleeves firing a Russian revolver.

The two bold people weren't afraid, but Qi Mo's mother was terrified.