The bald man was just about to respond when the thick-eyebrowed cultivator from earlier interrupted, confidently striding over to the table.
“Thirty spirit stones,” the thick-eyebrowed man declared, his voice dripping with arrogance.
The bald man’s eyes gleamed with excitement. He hadn’t anticipated luring in two competing buyers so easily.
Feng Zhiming slowly turned his head to the thick-eyebrowed man, his expression darkening. Gone was the playful, casual demeanor he often displayed; instead, a deep hostility radiated from his gaze.
“Orthodox doves should fly away before they get their feathers plucked and cooked into roast meat,” Feng Zhiming said, his tone casual yet laced with threat, dismissively waving his hand.
The restaurant’s patrons, sensing the tension, erupted in mocking laughter directed at the orthodox cultivators.
“Thirty spirit stones, bald fool. Are you going to sell or not?” the thick-eyebrowed man demanded, his voice laced with impatience as he glared at Feng Zhiming.
Feng Zhiming’s patience was wearing thin. He had been eager to gather information and move forward with the hunt, but this man’s interference was grating on his nerves.
“Are you saying this is an auction?” Feng Zhiming asked the bald man, his irritation barely concealed.
The bald man, clearly hoping to escalate the bidding, responded in a nonchalant tone. “It’s just business. Please understand.”
“Forty spirit stones,” Feng Zhiming said, his voice now edged with anger.
“Forty-one spirit stones,” the thick-eyebrowed man countered, his tone smug, clearly relishing the opportunity to outbid Feng Zhiming.
Feng Zhiming’s grip tightened on the table, causing it to crack slightly. His expression shifted to a small, unsettling smile before he began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny? Too poor to bid higher? Typical of unorthodox scum like you,” the man sneered, his grin widening as he looked around for approval.
Feng Zhiming slowly rose from his seat, his eyes never leaving the thick-eyebrowed man. The tension in the room thickened as the restaurant’s patrons began to back away, sensing the impending violence.
“So much for keeping a low profile,” Anissa thought to herself as she calmly sipped her tea.
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Feng Zhiming closed the distance between himself and the thick-eyebrowed man with deliberate slowness, every step echoing with menace.
“You know, it’s funny,” Feng Zhiming began, his voice low and dangerous. “No matter where you go, there will always be fools who forget their place.”
Without warning, Feng Zhiming’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by the mouth with a crushing grip. The man’s entourage of disciples tried to intervene, but the sheer force of Feng Zhiming’s aura brought them to their knees, immobilized by fear.
The thick-eyebrowed man struggled violently, trying to pry Feng Zhiming’s hand from his face, but it was futile. Feng Zhiming’s rage simmered just below the surface, his thoughts darkening. He was tired of others getting in his way, tired of making concessions for fools who thought they could challenge him.
With little effort, Feng Zhiming lifted the man off the ground. Despite the difference in their cultivation levels, it was clear who was the superior force. The thick-eyebrowed man had been raised on pills and privilege, his strength hollow and his confidence a flimsy shield against the true predators of the world.
“You tried to play games with someone who doesn’t see you as a player,” Feng Zhiming said coldly, tightening his grip on the man’s face. Tears welled up in the man’s eyes as he finally realized the chasm of power between them.
“Trying to appeal to my mercy? You’d have better luck praying for a god to save you,” Feng Zhiming whispered, his voice dripping with contempt. His hand crushed down harder, rupturing the man’s cheek under the pressure.
Feng Zhiming was done with words. He began to smash the man into the ground repeatedly, each impact shaking the floorboards.
“Maybe in…”
SMASH!
“…your next life…”
SMASH!
“…don’t be…”
SMASH!
“…born an…”
SMASH!
“…arrogant fool.”
SMASH!
By the time he was done, the man’s body was unrecognizable, reduced to little more than a bloody pulp. The only intact part was the area around his mouth where Feng Zhiming had held him.
Blood splattered across his robe, Feng Zhiming turned his gaze to the bald man, who was now cowering under the table, shaking with fear.
“You said it was an auction, so I shall bid,” Feng Zhiming said, his voice calm as he walked back to his chair. Each step he took sounded like the tolling of a death knell to the bald man.
“I bid your life.”
The bald man, terrified beyond reason, crawled out from under the table and clutched at Feng Zhiming’s leg like a desperate dog. “Sold! Sold!” he cried, eager to avoid the same fate as the thick-eyebrowed man.
Now that the matter was settled, Feng Zhiming turned his attention to the four remaining orthodox disciples, who were trembling with fear as they knelt, their courage shattered.
“I will let you live, not because I am merciful, but because I truly believe that in your weak, petty, insignificant lives, neither you nor anyone connected to you could ever dream of harming me,” Feng Zhiming declared, his words striking terror deep into their hearts, cracking their Dao foundations.
He lifted his aura, releasing them from the crushing pressure, but he wasn’t done with them yet. They still had a purpose to serve.
“Let it be known that Dao Lord Fury vows to wipe out the orthodoxies in his lifetime,” Feng Zhiming announced, his voice echoing through the room as the four cultivators bolted from the restaurant, their minds consumed with fear. The shadow of Feng Zhiming’s threat would haunt them for the rest of their days.