Chapter 706: You finally owe me an explanation, don't you?

The aura was ferocious and scorching, bearing a brute force that seemed to burn from the bones, crushing outward in all directions.

The nearby banquet tables were flipped over, dishes shattered on the ground, and spirit fruits rolled everywhere.

The guests a little closer were pressed by the aura until they could barely breathe, their faces turning deathly pale as they staggered back, only managing to steady themselves when they reached the wall base.

The younger Disciple with slightly weaker cultivation fell onto the ground, his lips turning blue, limbs trembling.

Duan Si Ya stood among the Crowd; he was not pushed back by the aura, but his arrogance had largely subsided, and a hint of solemnity appeared in his eyes.

The target now stood on the High Platform, standing in front of Lin Qinghan, less than three steps away from Zheng Tong.

Zheng Tong's right Fist was already clenched. The Fist was about the size of a clay pot, its knuckles wrapped in a visible layer of dark golden Golden True Qi; Fist Wind had already coalesced on the Fist surface, humming and vibrating, twisting the surrounding air into a vortex.

He took his second step, crushing the floor tiles beneath his foot, and the whole body surged forward like a raging bull toward Jiang Feng, the dark golden glowing Fist bearing a force that could fell trees, slamming toward Jiang Feng's face.

The sheer momentum of this Fist was terrifying; where Fist Wind swept, the red silk curtains on both sides were torn to shreds, and the two Purple Sandalwood Chairs on the High Platform were blown up, crashing into the wall and breaking into piles of broken wood.

Several guests in the hall simultaneously closed their eyes.

It wasn't Fear, it was unwillingness.

They couldn't bear to watch this young man, whose origin was unknown, being turned into mush by Zheng Tong's Fist.

The Half-step Martial Ancestor's Han Nu Strike, even if someone of the same Realm met it head‑on, would strip a layer of skin; let alone that young man, who didn't even seem to have reached the Heavenly Person Peak.

Lin Qinghan's complexion changed in that instant.

Although the seal within her had been lifted, her Golden True Qi had only just resumed circulation, and her body was far from ready for Battle. Yet when she saw Zheng Tong's Fist swing toward Jiang Feng, her Instinct drove her to lunge forward.

"Jiang Feng! You can't beat him…"

Before she could finish, Jiang Feng's hand had already risen.

The palm looked casual, as if swatting away a fly, the five fingers slightly spread, meeting the rock‑crushing Fist head‑on.

The Fist and palm collided.

There was no thunderous sound, no explosion, no fierce clash as one might have expected.

Only a faint, muffled pop, like someone squeezing a balloon.

Zheng Tong's Fist, wrapped in dark golden Golden True Qi, was securely caught by Jiang Feng's palm.

The world‑shattering force on the Fist surface seemed to hit a Mountain, all the impact silently absorbed, dissolving into the air as a faint, almost invisible wisp of white smoke.

Zheng Tong's eyes widened.

He couldn't believe it.

Even the Elders of the Zheng Family wouldn't dare to meet that Fist head‑on. Yet the young man before him neutralized his entire power with just one hand.

He tried to retract his Fist, but Jiang Feng's five fingers held it as if welded to an anvil, unmoving.

Clenching his teeth, he summoned all his strength to pull back, his face flushed red, the floor tiles beneath his foot shattered repeatedly, yet Jiang Feng's arm didn't budge a fraction.

Jiang Feng stared at him.

"Is that all?"

He asked.

The three words were spoken blandly, as if asking about the weather.

Then he flicked his wrist, gently sending it forward.

Zheng Tong's whole body was hurled as if struck by a full‑speed train, his feet leaving the ground, his nearly two‑meter‑tall, over two‑hundred‑jin body soaring straight backward.

He flew over the scarlet long carpet, over the overturned banquet tables, over the air above the guests' heads, and his back slammed heavily into the main hall's front load‑bearing wall.

Boom!

The entire wall split down the middle with a massive crack, shards of brick and plaster cascading down.

Zheng Tong's body lodged in the fissure, limbs limp, a gush of fresh blood spewed from his mouth onto the ground before him, a vivid scarlet.

He moved his lips, trying to speak, but nothing came out; then his head tilted and he passed out.

The entire venue fell dead silent.

So quiet one could hear the sand grains falling within the wall crack.

The guests who had just been terrified by Zheng Tong's Fist now stood with mouths agape, as if their throats were being strangled, unable to utter a sound.

Duan Si Ya's hand rested on the hilt, his knuckles paling.

He stared at the young man on the High Platform, whose clothing remained untouched, his throat feeling blocked, unable to utter a single word.

Long Bad Dao stood in the center of the hall, arms crossed over his chest, his mouth corners stretched almost to his ears.

He watched the terrified expressions on the faces around him, feeling an indescribable delight.

He knew.

Every time he followed Jiang Feng, there was good drama to watch.

Zheng Yuanshen stood at the side of the High Platform, his aged face drained of color.

His lips trembled as his gaze shifted from Zheng Tong embedded in the wall to Jiang Feng, then from Jiang Feng to the shocking fissure on the wall.

Two moves.

Not quite; strictly speaking it was only one and a half moves. The first caught Zheng Tong's Fist, the second flung the person away.

That's all.

A Half-step Martial Ancestor, even the Young Master cultivated by the Zheng Family for decades, couldn't even block two moves.

Zheng Yuanshen suddenly felt that his earlier decision not to intervene had been extremely wise.

If he had acted just now, more than just Zheng Tong might now be embedded in the wall.

Jiang Feng neither looked at Zheng Yuanshen nor at the unconscious Zheng Tong lodged in the wall.

He turned, facing Lin Qinghan.

Lin Qinghan stood in place, the watery sheen in her eyes finally forming tears that slid down her cheeks. She did not wipe them.

She looked at Jiang Feng's still expressionless face, her lips moving repeatedly, and finally uttered a single sentence.

"Jiang Feng……"

Jiang Feng nodded, humming.

Then he reached out, grasping her hand.

Lin Qinghan's fingers were icy and slightly trembling, but the moment he grasped them, she quieted throughout.

She lowered her head, looking at the hand holding her, another tear bead fell from her eye socket, but she Laughter.

That Laughter was faint, faint enough that only Standing in front of her, Jiang Feng could see it.

"We go."

Jiang Feng said, turned, gripping Lin Qinghan's hand, and walked toward the main hall's grand doorway.

His stride remained unhurried, as if nothing had happened earlier.

Hundreds of guests in the hall watched the two backs, no one dared to stop them, no one dared to speak, not even anyone dared to gasp loudly.

The crowd automatically split to both sides, yielding a passage, like a swarm of ants giving way to an elephant.

Long Bad Dao jogged after them, his Mouth still not forgetting to turn and make a goofy face at Zheng Tong in the wall.

"Young Master Zheng, happy wedding!"

After he shouted that, he laughed so hard he could not catch his breath.

Jiang Feng, holding Lin Qinghan's hand, passed through the automatically yielded passage, through the scarlet long rug, through the overturned banquet tables and shattered dishes on the floor, toward the main hall's doorway.

The guard at the entrance watched them approach, his long spear trembling with a clink, yet no one dared to shift the spear tip Forward by an inch.

Just as Jiang Feng's Front Foot was about to step over the main hall threshold, a voice from above his head fell down.

"Jiang Feng."

Jiang Feng's steps halted.

He lifted his head.

On the second floor of the main hall, a moon‑white figure stood behind the carved railing.

Lan Jue lowered her head, watching the three shadows at the doorway about to step over the threshold, the string of Beads in her hand finally paused for a moment.

"You took away my Qingxiao Sect's saintess…"

Her voice floated down from the second floor, echoing in the hall so quiet that a pin drop could be heard.

"Shouldn't you give His Seat an explanation?"