Han Feng—the same good-hearted fellow who had specially delivered the Extreme Flame to him before. No, wait, more accurately, the sneaky little villain who had colluded with the Second and Third Shopkeepers in some shady scheme.
Though only a fresh instructor at Hundred-Li City Mystic Academy, Han Feng carried the backing of the Holy Land Academy.
Yan Zhen had chopped off Han Feng’s hand and seized his Extreme Flame. Later, when he headed to the Holy Land Academy for advanced studies, Han Feng and his powerful allies would make his life hell, joining forces with Mentor Yu Xuan’s obsessed suitors to pile on the external pressure that would force him to grind desperately at his cultivation.
But Han Feng still had roles to play at the Holy Land Academy. Why on earth was he suddenly dead?
Yan Zhen glanced at Sister Ji Ya and saw the same shock reflected in her eyes.
“What nonsense are you spouting?” Ji Ya snapped, clearly displeased. She had planned to spend one more full day doting on Yan Zhen before returning to her duties and tackling the chamber’s mountain of affairs. Time was precious; she had no patience for bickering with these two fossils.
“Barging into Elegant Garden—breaking down the door, no less. Do you old coots think this Chief Manager has no spine?”
Aunt Mu had already positioned herself in front of the Second and Third Shopkeepers, her Nine-Star Mystic King aura surging outward. Her beautiful eyes locked onto them like a predator’s; any sudden move would trigger her full onslaught.
Jin Tong and Yu Nu had drawn their swords as well, flanking Ji Ya protectively—one to the left, the other to the right. Though merely Mystic Masters, the sisters channeled their techniques in unison, their mystic power resonating faintly and growing ever stronger.
Tension crackled in the air like a drawn bowstring.
“What, does the Chief Manager plan to kill us old men too? Bring it on!” The Second Shopkeeper’s sharp, pointed face—looking like some viral meme—twisted with cold fury. He was genuinely pissed. “I’d like to see how far this so-called Chief Manager plans to take her reign of terror!”
The paunchy middle-aged Third Shopkeeper trembled with rage, his flabby cheeks quivering.
“Mentor Han Feng hails from the Holy Land Academy. You—you actually killed him? Are you trying to drag the Golden Jade Chamber of Commerce into open war with them? Ji Ya, you’re a traitor to us all!”
It didn’t seem like acting. Yan Zhen felt a twinge of doubt.
“Come on, you two shopkeepers,” he said. “Is Han Feng really dead? How’d it happen? Did he die of a broken heart after losing his hand? It’s not like he lost his pecker or anything.”
“Shut your mouth!” the Second Shopkeeper roared. “You black-hearted brat—you poisoned your sword, lopped off Mentor Han Feng’s hand, and that wasn’t enough? You took his life too! You’re the murderer!”
—Holy shit! How dare you slander me like that?
If he could take the Second Shopkeeper in a fight, Yan Zhen would have slapped him silly right then and there.
—I’m a professional actor committed to the role. How could I sabotage the plot? You’re questioning my professionalism!
“You said poison just now?” Ji Ya latched onto the key word with sharp instincts. “Was Han Feng killed by poison?”
“Asking questions you already know the answer to!” the Third Shopkeeper bellowed. “It had to be you pulling the strings behind that kid. You just didn’t want us using Mentor Han Feng as our bridge to the Holy Land Academy. Ji Ya, you’re despicable—vicious to the core!”
Poison, huh?
Yan Zhen exchanged a glance with his Good Big Sister, and together they turned to Yi Xian’er. She was calmly eating away, utterly unbothered by these clownish interlopers—as if they were invisible.
—No way, right? Sure, Xian’er was only at the Mystic Practitioner Realm, and her poisons only worked below Mystic Scholar level. Most weren’t even lethal. Unless she’d mixed in baleful qi to brew something truly sinister, like malice poison!
Remembering the “Thousand Fiend Queen” aura Yi Xian’er had unleashed before him the night before, Yan Zhen broke out in cold sweat. Somewhat guiltily, he ventured, “Did the poison on Han Feng carry a trace of baleful qi?”
The Second Shopkeeper’s gaze sharpened.
“How did you know the poison had baleful qi in it? Hmph—looks like an admission of guilt!”
It really did.
Yan Zhen felt a headache coming on. He shot Yi Xian’er a subtle glare, his meaning clear: Why’d you go and kill the guy? Was that necessary?
Ji Ya gave Yi Xian’er a look of speechless exasperation too. Killing Han Feng quietly like that was satisfying, sure, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.
With no one speaking up, the Third Shopkeeper pressed his advantage aggressively.
“Murder demands blood. Surrender now and come with us to Hundred-Li City Mystic Academy to explain yourselves! You too, Ji Ya! If you can’t get their forgiveness, you’ll resign as Chief Manager and cut all ties with the Golden Jade Chamber of Commerce. We won’t let you drag us down!”
Ji Ya’s delicate brows furrowed; she was about to retort when Yan Zhen cut in ahead of her.
He wore a mocking smirk, eyeing them like a pair of fools.
“Who knew? Two big shots like you, with such pathetically narrow worldviews. You can’t even get something this simple right.”
The Second and Third Shopkeepers flew into a rage at his words. If not for Aunt Mu blocking them, they might have lunged at Yan Zhen and beaten him senseless.
“You dare call our experience lacking? Brat, you have some nerve!”
“Little punk, what more excuses do you have?”
Yan Zhen spread his hands innocently.
“Yesterday’s duel should have been recorded. Just check the footage. I used Extreme Flame Sword Transformation—how could I poison a blade forged from it? Gold-Silver Fire is pure yang and unyielding. You don’t seriously think poison could coat a sword condensed from Extreme Flame, do you? That’s some next-level stupidity. It leaves me utterly speechless.”
“Silver-tongued devil!” The Second Shopkeeper glowered at Yan Zhen. “Who knows what dirty trick you pulled?”
The Third Shopkeeper demanded, “If you didn’t plant the poison, how’d you know it contained baleful qi?”
“I guessed,” Yan Zhen replied leisurely. “The Extreme Flame Han Feng tamed was phosphorus fire, right? The weakest ghost fire, a rare yin-attribute flame often laced with toxic fumes, miasma, baleful qi, and the like.”
“What are you getting at?”
“You’re not about to claim the poison on Mentor Han Feng came from his own phosphorus fire, are you? Who do you think you’re fooling!”
Fooling bloodsucking capitalists like you two!
“See? Your ignorance is astounding,” Yan Zhen said coolly. “Han Feng’s phosphorus fire resided in his palm. Once I severed his hand, he lost control of it. The flames lingering in his body ran wild unchecked, slowly poisoning him to death without him even realizing.”
“Impossible!”
“You expect us to swallow that?”
“Believe it or don’t,” Yan Zhen chuckled. “Think about it—poison lethal enough to drop a Mystic Master dead? That’d be at least a Fourth-Order Strange Poison. If I had something like that, do you think you’d still be yapping at me? I’d have wiped you out already. Pfft!”
The Second and Third Shopkeepers faltered, their faces stiffening as doubt crept in.
Yi Xian’er eyed Yan Zhen oddly, thinking he sure knew how to spin a yarn.
But Yan Zhen pressed on.
“If anyone’s to blame for Han Feng’s death, it’s you two. Without the Second and Third Shopkeepers egging him on to challenge me, I wouldn’t have been forced to hack off his hand in the duel. He wouldn’t have lost control of his phosphorus fire, and it wouldn’t have killed him with its own toxicity… Oh, I get it now. You’re scared the Mystic Academy will pin Han Feng’s death on you, so you’re trying to dump the blame on me and Sister Ji Ya instead. Right? Tsk tsk tsk, how insidious. The world’s gone to hell—no decency left.”
Their faces flushed alternating shades of green and white under his barrage, drawing a stifled laugh from Ji Ya. She fired back, “Well? Does Little Brother Yan Zhen have a point, you two?”
The Second and Third Shopkeepers felt their scalps tingle.
