Guo Conghu’s gaze locked onto Jiang Feng—curiosity, admiration, but mostly a thirst for dominance.
As Jiang Feng’s words landed, Guo Conghu slowly raised his right foot.
The motion was deliberate, with a wide arc—optimal for unleashing force. Once unleashed, it would strike like thunder, radiating danger.
Jiang Feng sensed an imminent threat.
This would be a brutal fight.
Yet Jiang Feng didn’t move.
A woman stood between them.
Chen Siran, realizing the situation was spiraling, rushed to shield Jiang Feng like an eagle guarding its chick, blocking Guo Conghu’s advance.
“What are you doing, Young Miss?” Guo Conghu asked, exasperated.
To Guo Conghu, gender didn’t exist—only those who deserved a beating and those who didn’t. Pity for women? Not in his vocabulary.
Jiang Feng, daring to tail Chen Siran, wasn’t just asking for a beating—he was begging for it.
Any other woman blocking him would’ve been “gently” kicked aside, beauty or not. But Chen Siran was different—the one he was sworn to protect. If an outsider harmed her, he’d go berserk.
Hurting her himself? Unthinkable.
“Didn’t you hear me? Who told you to start a fight?” Chen Siran scolded.
In Yanjing’s elite circle, Chen Siran was unique—rarely seen in public, avoiding events, her elegance understated. Though her beauty rivaled Ye Qingxuan’s, her low profile kept her fame dimmer, unlike Ye, crowned Yanjing’s flower. But when Chen Siran asserted herself, her presence was formidable, making Guo Conghu shrink back, muttering, “Pretty boy’s true to form. Let’s see how long you can hide behind the Young Miss. One day, I’ll beat you senseless.”
Chen Siran shot him a glare, then turned to Jiang Feng. “Go.”
Jiang Feng grinned faintly. “I know you mean well, but this is between men. Step aside.”
Chen Siran bristled. She knew Guo Conghu’s recklessness and had intervened to protect Jiang Feng, only for him to dismiss her like this.
Guo Conghu laughed heartily. “Got guts, kid.” To Chen Siran, he added, “See, Young Miss? I’m not picking a fight—he is.”
The words sounded sly for someone so outwardly foolish, catching Jiang Feng off guard.
“Jiang Feng, are you sure? Have you considered the consequences?” Chen Siran urged, her tone serious. She held no fondness for him but didn’t want him hurt by Guo Conghu.
“I don’t hide behind women,” Jiang Feng said, frowning slightly.
Chen Siran’s face flushed with indignation. Glaring at him, she stormed toward her car, intending to leave. Hesitating, she stopped nearby, curious how long Jiang Feng’s bravado would last.
If he was grandstanding to impress her, he’d succeeded—but at a steep cost.
Jiang Feng ignored her thoughts. His reasoning was simple: right or wrong, Guo Conghu had no business threatening to break his leg. If Guo Conghu wanted to break his, Jiang Feng would return the favor.
A leg for a leg—fair trade.
“Come on,” Jiang Feng said.
Guo Conghu’s temper flared at Jiang Feng’s calm defiance. “You’re begging to die, and I won’t stop you!”
Whoosh—
Guo Conghu’s foot shot up, slicing through the air with a chilling gust, aimed at Jiang Feng.
Jiang Feng didn’t recognize Guo Conghu’s military combat style but saw the ruthless precision, hinting at Guo Conghu’s background. Guo Conghu hadn’t trained in any cultivation method—just a mortal with raw, innate strength. His ordinary moves, powered by that force, were extraordinary.
With Guo Conghu’s momentum peaking, Jiang Feng avoided a direct clash, stepping back.
Forcing Jiang Feng back brought Guo Conghu no satisfaction. Young Master Jiang’s reputation as a useless fool was infamous in Yanjing—someone Guo Conghu wouldn’t glance at twice. If Jiang Feng’s first dodge and counter were due to Guo Conghu’s carelessness, this second evasion—calm and composed—raised alarms.
‘D*mn, is this guy playing weak to eat the strong?’ Guo Conghu cursed inwardly.
His thoughts didn’t slow his hands. Swift and merciless, he raised his right arm, fist clenched, and swung at Jiang Feng’s face.
Who’d have thought Jiang Feng would push him to use his fist? Even Guo Conghu felt stifled, but he had no choice—losing to this kid wasn’t an option.
Whoosh—
The punch roared toward Jiang Feng’s cheek.
Jiang Feng stepped back again.
“B*stard!” Guo Conghu spat, frustrated. Jiang Feng was slippery as an eel, leaving Guo Conghu’s strength nowhere to land.
Mid-curse, Guo Conghu’s left fist rose, aiming for Jiang Feng’s shoulder. Let’s see how long you can dodge.
“Idiot!” Jiang Feng shot back, a sly grin spreading. At Body Tempering’s first layer, he was outmatched in raw power, but his combat experience dwarfed Guo Conghu’s by leagues.
Survival tactics honed in the brutal cultivation world were beyond Guo Conghu’s grasp.
Jiang Feng had waited for Guo Conghu’s left hand to move. He’d noticed Guo Conghu’s left was far less agile than his right—a critical weakness.
As Guo Conghu’s left fist swung, Jiang Feng struck.
Twisting his waist to dodge the right punch, Jiang Feng’s hands shot out, grabbing for Guo Conghu’s left wrist. Seeing this, Guo Conghu’s expression shifted.
His left hand was indeed weaker—less flexible, thirty percent less force—due to an old gunshot wound. He avoided using it in fights, favoring his feet to hide the flaw.
But Jiang Feng, silent until now, targeted it directly, startling Guo Conghu. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Jiang Feng had dug up his secret just for this moment.
Their few past encounters gave no deep insight—Jiang Feng scorned Guo Conghu’s brute posturing, while Guo Conghu despised Jiang Feng’s uselessness. Jiang Feng didn’t know Guo Conghu’s injury; he trusted his eyes and years of honed battle instinct.
His hands moved like lightning, seizing Guo Conghu’s wrist. With a surge of strength, Jiang Feng yanked Guo Conghu forward.
The grab-and-pull nullified Guo Conghu’s attack.
Guo Conghu’s heart jolted, eyes bulging in disbelief. Realizing his mistake too late, he tried to counter, but
Jiang Feng was faster. Channeling his full power into his arms, sleeves billowing, Jiang Feng roared, swinging Guo Conghu’s left arm outward.
In midair, a figure traced a parabola.
Bang—
Guo Conghu crashed to the ground, kicking up dust.
Chen Siran’s eyes widened in horror, a scream escaping before she clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at Jiang Feng as if he were a stranger.
How—how was he this strong? Even Guo Conghu wasn’t his match.
Dust settling, Guo Conghu sprang up, his chest burning with frustration.
Tall and imposing since childhood, Guo Conghu had always been the king among peers. Raised in the military, he embraced raw force, though he barely grasped what “violent aesthetics” meant. To him, the biggest fist ruled. With brute strength, he dominated, until the army expelled him.
His grandfather, exasperated, handed him to Chen Siran’s grandfather, a revolutionary veteran who admired scrappy youths. The old man made Guo Conghu Chen Siran’s bodyguard and driver— which proved to be a wise move. Guo Conghu’s presence shielded her and deterred suitors.
Chen Siran valued him as well, though she wished he’d temper his explosive nature.
Trained in military combat, Guo Conghu, restless, sought other masters after his injury, mastering external martial arts. Ten or twenty ordinary men couldn’t touch him.
Yet now, this ridiculed Jiang family fool had thrown him to eat dirt!
Though only winded, not badly hurt, fury blazed within Guo Conghu.