Chapter 4: The One Being Slapped Is You

In just a second, Old Zhao’s gaze cooled, irritation seething within him. After all these years traversing the martial world, had he truly been startled by a green little brat? He steadied his spirit, clasped his hands behind his back, and strode to stand opposite Ye Cheng—a posture befitting a grand master.

At the sight of the old man, Chen Yong’s delight turned instantly to dread, a trace of confusion flickering in his eyes. Zhao Wujie? This martial arts grandmaster had come as well? In that moment, Chen Yong reevaluated his entire impression of Wang Yongsheng. To be able to invite a martial artist of Zhao Wujie’s stature—Wang Yongsheng’s influence was far greater than he’d imagined.

It was natural for Ye Cheng not to recognize the old man, but having mingled in Jiang City’s underworld for years, how could Chen Yong fail to know Zhao Wujie? This was a true martial arts grandmaster! He was nothing like the street thugs and rogues who survived by brute force—Zhao Wujie had been renowned across Linjiang District more than a decade ago, once defeating ten men single-handedly in a feat that became legend. Even then, the old man had been over forty. Over forty, and he’d crippled over a dozen young, strong men! Tales of his unmatched skills still circulated in the martial world.

How formidable Zhao Wujie had become since, Chen Yong dared not even imagine. Even if this kid could defeat his bodyguards, could he possibly take on ten at once? So many big names had appeared in one day—wisely, Chen Yong kept his mouth shut.

On Wang Yongsheng’s face, a victor’s smile was already blooming. In his mind’s eye, he could see himself spending a passionate night with this beautiful woman just hours later.

As the old man stood before him, Ye Cheng shook his head inwardly. “So this is the help they've found—a mere Xuan-level stage practitioner.”

Everyone present was stunned for several seconds by these words.

“Has this kid been scared stupid by Old Zhao’s presence?” Chen Yong muttered, rubbing his bald head. He’d never heard of such a thing as the ‘Xuan-level stage.’

"Old Zhao, don't waste time—cripple this brat and hand the woman over to me," Wang Yongsheng said, caring nothing for Ye Cheng’s fate. With a master like Zhao Wujie present, this kid would be on his knees begging for mercy in seconds. His gaze was already greedily glued to Ye Mengxue’s exquisite figure, which stirred murderous intent in Ye Cheng.

Only one person remained silent—Zhao Wujie, who stood rooted and dumbfounded. He... he saw through my cultivation at a glance? An uneasy feeling coiled in Zhao Wujie’s chest. Could this boy be some great power in disguise, here for amusement?

Suppressing his anxiety, Zhao Wujie studied Ye Cheng, confusion mounting. It didn’t make sense—he should know every notable martial artist in Jiang City. Moreover, this youth wasn’t using any sort of disguise technique; he was clearly just in his late teens or early twenties. He racked his brain, but no memory surfaced. He had no recollection of this young man at all.

What was going on? Zhao Wujie dared not strike rashly.

“May I ask your name, young friend?”

“My answer remains the same—you’re not worthy of knowing,” Ye Cheng replied.

Zhao Wujie was instantly furious. Never before had an upstart dared to speak to him so! Yet, try as he might, he could not recall any great master associated with this name. He concluded that this youth must simply be a martial artist who’d heard of his fame. If so, it was no surprise that he recognized his cultivation level.

There were four stages for postnatal martial artists: Heaven, Earth, Xuan, and Huang. In these days of spiritual depletion, a Xuan-level martial artist was already among the strongest. This young man couldn’t possibly be higher than Huang-level.

Zhao Wujie’s heart finally settled; a cold smile appeared on his face.

“Young man, you ought to restrain your arrogance. A little strength, and you become so conceited? It could cost you your life.”

With a casual flick of his sleeve, the oppressive force of Xuan-level cultivation swept outward! Wild winds surged, sending Ye Mengxue into a panic.

“Sir, perhaps we should let it go… This man seems formidable, you—”

“Shh.” Ye Cheng nonchalantly raised his left hand. “The wind is rather strong tonight.”

He waved lightly before his face, and the gale driven by spiritual force split cleanly into two streams, passing harmlessly by either side of them.

What!

Zhao Wujie’s eyes bulged again. This youth had just brushed aside his oppressive force as if it were nothing?

“If you won’t make the first move, then I shall,” Ye Cheng said with a serene smile. In a flash, he appeared before Zhao Wujie. Seeing the look of terror on the grandmaster’s face, Ye Cheng reached out with his right hand, still smiling.

“This slap is for your lack of discernment.”

Slap!

The crisp sound echoed in everyone’s ears. The entire crowd was stunned. They had seen it clearly—the beggarly man had just slapped Zhao Wujie across the face.

He had struck a martial arts grandmaster in public!

Yet, Zhao Wujie offered not the slightest resistance; he had accepted reality. The man before him must be some hidden powerhouse, out for a bit of amusement. He was doomed.

“Old Zhao! Kill him! Damn it, how dare he treat me—”

Slap!

Ye Cheng calmly wiped his hand on his clothes. At some point, he had flashed to stand before Wang Yongsheng.

“This slap is for the lecherous way you looked at the young lady.”

Wang Yongsheng’s face turned green. He—a man of status—had just been slapped by a beggar! What utter humiliation!

“Damn you, what do you think you are! I’ve never been disgraced like this in my life!” He retreated a few steps, clutching his face, hand trembling as he pointed at Ye Cheng. “Whoever brings me that woman gets triple pay this month!”

The bodyguards, cowed by Ye Cheng’s two slaps, were instantly roused at the promise of triple wages. Their eyes gleamed as they all turned toward Ye Mengxue.

Seeing so many men suddenly staring at her, Ye Mengxue’s already fragile composure shattered, and her legs gave out beneath her.

“It’s over…”

She did not doubt the man’s strength, but—one man against twenty or thirty? Impossible.

She closed her eyes in despair, a tear slipping from the corner.

“I’m sorry, sir. If you are harmed because of me, then I, Mengxue, will face death by your side.”

A chorus of men’s screams pierced the night, then silence fell.

Ye Mengxue dared not open her eyes, fearing to see her protector beaten to death.

“It’s safe now. Don’t be afraid.”

A gentle male voice reached her ears. Disbelieving, Ye Mengxue’s eyes flew open. That voice was so familiar. And before her was a face she knew better than any other, even if it had changed a little with time—she could not be mistaken.

In that instant, she finally knew: the man before her was none other than her long-lost younger brother—Ye Cheng.