Chapter Thirty-Eight: Reuniting Father and Son

Little Iron Buddha, who had once fought with Tang Fei, arrived; Chen Big Pockmark, who had once competed with Tang Fei for prey, also came; even the entire family of Elder Chen, who barely had any contact with Tang Fei, showed up; so did Skinny Monkey, Fatty’s best friend...
Madam Cheng was there, Widow Li came, and Aunt Wang from next door joined as well...
These were all rumored to have been the old man’s lovers.

All along, people had quietly abided by the rules of survival among the ruins: each tends to his own doorstep, ignoring the frost on his neighbor’s tiles.

So long as the fist didn’t fall on your head, you pretended not to see the violence.

But now, the entire village opened their gates and came out, bringing along the old, the young, the weak, and the sick. Years of malnutrition had left their skin sallow and their hair withered.

They had no understanding of cultivation, nor did they possess any martial strength.

Yet, as they said: “I will use my body to shield you from a bullet.”

God said, “Let there be light.”

But the flames were not kindled by the divine, but by humanity.

The men in grey robes felt the pressure. Though they wore the robes, they were still someone’s sons, someone’s fathers. If they slaughtered these ordinary people, how would they answer for it when they returned?

Even the Flame Troops felt the pressure. They were formidable, armed and ready to shoot. But these were just civilians—countless, ordinary folk. If a massacre ensued and word got out, who would bear the blame?

Bian Feng was clearly incensed to the point of laughter, his smile cold and his voice as sharp as a blade.

“What’s this? A rebellion? Do you all believe that by gathering in numbers, I’ll back down? That I’ll simply let this go as if nothing ever happened?”

He thought these people were truly foolish. He’d already told them, these secrets wouldn’t escape.

Why couldn’t they understand?

His original plan was to kill the main culprit first, then have the Predators slaughter the entire village. Everyone knew—Predators left no survivors.

They harbored a criminal; their deaths were deserved. Only by sacrificing the entire village could he appease the rage festering in his heart at the loss of his son.

The Flame Shrine would never sully itself with such dirty work. If those above demanded blood, some Predator organizations would be wiped out in exchange. If there were no complaints, then it would be as if nothing had happened.

After all, why would those in power care about such a trivial matter?

He hadn’t expected the villagers to step out themselves, disrupting all his arrangements.

The old teacher looked at Bian Feng and said, “Even a commoner’s life is a life. Before you take from us, you owe everyone an explanation. Otherwise, pillage and slaughter—who can be certain such horrors won’t befall them next?”

“Why do we stand here today? Because we all know that if, when witnessing murder, we choose to cower and hide, then the next time such injustice descends, no one will stand up for us…”

“Among those you brought are quite a few from the Predator organizations, aren’t there? I recognize several. I know well what they’re capable of… They’ve killed before, and they’ll kill again…”

“At my age, death is no great matter. Life has been little more than torment… But I must stand up and speak for my sons. If you kill one today, and another tomorrow, what hope do they have left?”

“If you want to stand, then stand!” Bian Feng’s face was icy as he barked, “One man roasts the same as a crowd. You’ll only need a bigger furnace and a hotter fire...”

He waved his hand and shouted, “Fire!”

Bang!

A bullet tore through the teacher’s chest.

Bang! Bang! Bang...

Gunfire thundered; bullets rained down.

Countless civilians fell—men, women, the elderly, the sick, and even innocent children—all treated as equals.

“Teacher!” Tang Fei roared.

“Kill them!” Fatty shouted in fury.

Tang Fei’s eyes were bloodshot. The machete in his hand spun with a murderous hum, flying straight toward the ranks of the Flame Troops.

Clang!

His knife was knocked aside by a flying copper coin.

Tang Fei reached out and called the knife back, only to find a fresh chip on the blade.

From behind Bian Feng stepped a skeletal old man, his smile twisted as he looked at Tang Fei. “Qi Manipulator, are you? I’ll play with you.”

Tang Fei didn’t respond. Machete in hand, he charged at the old man.

There was no reasoning with them!

Reason was useless. Only killing could end killing, and blood demanded blood.

Phoenix and Fatty launched their attacks at once. Phoenix rushed the Flame Troops, using her whip to disrupt their ranks. Those who tried to block with their rifles were instantly sliced through, both weapon and body.

Fatty was surrounded by the men in grey robes. Though not powerful, their numbers were overwhelming. For every one he knocked flying, more swarmed forth.

The old man remained still, standing at the back of the crowd, his gaze fixed on Bian Feng, still astride his tall black horse.

Bian Feng noticed him as well, his smile gentle as he said, “I can tell—you’re the real hidden master here.”

“You deserve to die,” the old man replied, his face expressionless. Suddenly, he leapt into the air, slamming a fist down toward Bian Feng’s position.

Within a tremendous sphere of white energy, two dragons and two elephants roared toward Bian Feng.

The Art of Subduing Demons with Dragon and Elephant—Second Stage.

Boom...

Bian Feng was blasted backward, the black horse beneath him reduced to pulp in an instant by the dragon’s and elephant’s force.

The old man’s strike missed its target, but he borrowed force in midair, pursuing Bian Feng as if flying, manipulating the very energy around him.

Bian Feng’s eyes filled with terror as he saw this.

This manipulation of energy was far beyond the ordinary Qi Manipulation realm.

Qi Manipulators used their inner yin-yang energy to move objects or weapons.

But this man could move his own body freely—his skill had reached perfection.

Unfortunately, no matter who he was, dead men told no tales.

Bian Feng beckoned, and a leaf fell into his palm.

He flicked it into the air, sending the leaves swirling around, transforming into a flurry of flying knives aimed at the old man.

The old man punched again—dragons soared and elephants charged, crashing through. The flying leaves were smashed to the ground, the energy within them instantly dissipated.

Seeing the dragon-elephant force still surging toward him, Bian Feng grabbed a massive rock and hurled it at the energy.

Bang!

The force was finally broken.

The old man gave Bian Feng a cold glance and charged again.

This battle would not end until one of them was dead.

Tang Fei was already lost in a killing frenzy, heedless of status or cultivation.

In that moment, all he wanted was blood.

Every slash of his machete was aimed to kill, every strike targeting the old man’s vital points, each blow seeking to end him quickly—so that Tang Fei could move on and personally behead Bian Feng.

He kept praying that the old man would move slower, that Bian Feng would still be alive when he got there.

But the old man before him was no ordinary foe.

His name was Ma Youji, known as the Copper Coin Assassin, a highly paid enforcer for the Flame Shrine.

In his hands, a string of copper coins could take a hundred forms: scattered, they served as daggers and hidden weapons; gathered, they could become serpentine arrays or even a shield.

A thousand transformations—all at Ma Youji’s whim.

Every attack Tang Fei made was blocked by the copper shield formed of countless coins.

When he retreated to gather strength, the coins shifted into serpents or blades, launching their own attacks.

Worse, as they struck, the coins rang out with a jarring clatter.

At first, Tang Fei thought it was merely the sound of metal colliding.

Then he realized the noise formed a vast, enveloping soundscape, ensnaring him, disrupting his mind, confusing his movements, weakening his assault—even shaking his will to win.

Cold sweat burst from Tang Fei. This was the true killing move of the Copper Coin Assassin.

His movements slowed, his face twisted with pain and struggle.

The sonic assault was taking its toll.

Knowing his killing technique was ready, the assassin pressed his hands together. The coins swept in from all sides, ready to crush Tang Fei between them.

Tang Fei’s blade flashed, but he couldn’t keep all those coins at bay.

Bang!

A coin struck his chest, and blood gushed from his mouth.

Seize the moment—kill the wounded.

The assassin knew the time had come. He lunged, a dagger formed of coins stabbing straight for Tang Fei’s heart.

“Now!”

Tang Fei’s eyes blazed. He punched straight into the encroaching formation.

As he scattered the coins, his machete spun and buried itself in the assassin’s skull.

Fear contorted the assassin’s face. How could this be? He’d already enveloped Tang Fei in his soundscape—why was it ineffective?

Tang Fei wasted no words. He wrenched his blade free, used it to fell a sneaking grey-robed man, and charged straight for Bian Feng.

But the old man hadn’t noticed Tang Fei’s intentions at all.

Another punch—dragons and elephants manifested.

And his energy was solid, unlike Tang Fei’s illusory shadows.

At first, Bian Feng could match him with cunning moves and clever force.

He knew that if he could exhaust the old man’s energy, he’d have a chance to strike back.

But as he realized the old man’s yin-yang energy was vast as a river, unceasing and inexhaustible, he began to falter.

The old man showed no mercy. Each punch was a crushing blow of absolute power and overwhelming mastery.

Bang!

Bian Feng was sent flying.

The old man pursued relentlessly, landing another heavy blow.

Bian Feng’s body flew even farther.

Without pause, the old man caught up, smashing another fist into Bian Feng’s chest.

Bang!

Suspended in midair, Bian Feng spat blood relentlessly.

His chest caved in, every rib shattered by that punch.

Crash!

His body slammed onto a massive rock, then slid slowly down the cliff face.

Tang Fei reached him, seized his white hair, and drew his blade across Bian Feng’s throat.

Why mourn, when you can meet again?

As Phoenix had said, Tang Fei was happy to reunite father and son.