Chapter 707: When Does the Show End?

Jiang Feng lifted his head, his gaze passing through the carved railing and landing on Lan Jue.

The breathing of the hall's guests at this moment was at its lightest.

The hundreds of people in the main hall were now quieter than when Zheng Tong was knocked flying earlier, quiet enough to hear the tiny clatter of the Beads in Lan Jue's hand turning one by one.

Lan Jue came down from the second floor.

She did not use the stairs; she floated down from behind the railing, her moon‑white robe unfolding in mid‑air like a jade magnolia falling from a branch.

When the tip of her Foot touched the ground, it made no sound, as light as a feather.

Her gaze fell on Jiang Feng's hand holding Lin Qinghan, her Pupils narrowing slightly, then shifting to Jiang Feng's face.

"His Seat asks you again."

Her voice was not loud, but every word carried a pressure that seemed to emanate from the Bone.

"You took away our Qingxiao Sect's saint, smashed the Zheng Family's wedding banquet, injured the Zheng Family's Young Master… How do you intend to settle this account?"

Jiang Feng did not release Lin Qinghan's hand.

He turned, facing Lan Jue, his gaze calm as a mirror.

"Lin Qinghan is not merchandise of your Qingxiao Sect; no one needs to decide for her."

His tone was light, as if stating an obvious truth.

"She may go with whomever she wishes. As for Zheng Tong… he was the one who moved first."

The faint Laughter at the corner of Lan Jue's mouth finally vanished.

The Beads in her hand stopped.

The Beads hung on her Fingers, no longer rotating; the air in the hall at that instant seemed pressed down by an invisible palm, and everyone felt a heavy, oppressive pressure from above, tightening their chests and making Breath difficult.

That was the aura of a Half-step Martial Ancestor.

Though it was only a Silk, that Silk was enough to make the guests' faces change dramatically.

Those who had been sitting on Chairs involuntarily stood, some stepping back two paces, their backs pressed against the wall.

Jiang Feng remained where he was, not retreating.

He did not even move a muscle.

"Half-step Martial Ancestor's aura fully opened, indeed quite intimidating."

He spoke, his Tone still flat.

"Unfortunately, it's only intimidating."

Lan Jue's expression finally changed at this moment.

A faint anger rose on her usually placid face, like a crack appearing on an ice surface.

The Beads in her hand began to spin again, this time more than ten times faster than before, each bead emitting an extremely faint, almost inaudible hum as it turned.

"How dare you."

When she spat out those two words, the aura around her exploded.

It was not a simple, brute crush like Zheng Tong's, but unfolded layer by layer, like cracks spreading across ice—silent, unseen, yet everywhere.

The red lanterns in the hall went out one after another, the side curtains moved without wind, and the cups and dishes on the tables emitted a fine Trembling sound, as if shivering.

Lan Jue struck.

Her right hand slipped out from her sleeve, five long Fingers, the tips surrounded by a faint greenish light halo.

The halo was thin, almost transparent, yet Jiang Feng could feel the power contained within…

It was Martial Ancestor's true Qi compressed to the extreme, seemingly light‑touching but capable of slicing off the peak of a small Mountain.

Her palm pressed toward Jiang Feng's direction.

No wind, no roar, not even a ripple in the air.

That palm's momentum was far smaller than Zheng Tong's fist, yet the seasoned old Jianghu's faces all turned pale.

Because this was a true master's move. When a true master moves, no power leaks a single iota; all destructive force is locked within the technique, released only at the moment of impact.

A Martial Ancestor's palm, even a Half-step Martial Ancestor's palm, is not something just anyone can withstand.

Jiang Feng caught it.

He raised his palm, using the same posture as when he caught Zheng Tong's fist, his five Fingers slightly spread, meeting Lan Jue's palm.

The two palms collided in mid‑air.

This time, there was sound.

The sound was not an explosion nor a roar, but a deep, muffled low hum, like someone striking the inner wall of a bronze bell with a fist.

That sound pierced every person's eardrum, drilling straight into the Brain, shaking the faces of those with weaker cultivation pale, some even covering their ears and crouching down.

The two forces violently twisted each other between the palms.

The greenish halo and the white true Qi tangled, forming a fist‑sized vortex in the tiny space where the palms met, its core light so bright one dared not stare.

Lan Jue's Pupils snapped shut.

She could feel the depth of the power on Jiang Feng's palm was bottomless.

Her palm had already pushed the Half-step Martial Ancestor's power to the extreme, but striking Jiang Feng's palm was like hitting a bottomless well; all the power was silently swallowed, leaving no echo.

She had felt this sensation on only one person before…

Her master, the previous Master of a Sect of the Qingxiao Sect, a true Martial Ancestor Strongman.

An inconceivable thought flashed through her Brain.

Could it be that Jiang Feng had already…

She could not finish the thought.

Because Jiang Feng's arm thrust forward, a white pillar of light burst from his palm, instantly engulfing the greenish halo on Lan Jue's hand, then surged toward her body with crushing force.

Lan Jue's body flew out like a kite whose string had been cut.

Zi Xuan flew over the overturned Tables, over the guests frozen like wood chickens, over the scarlet long carpet. Her back hit the stairwell column, cracking a thick red Wood pillar that could be embraced by two people, and then the Throughout person slid onto the ground.

Zi Xuan propped one hand on the ground, the other hand covering her chest, a strand of fresh blood spilling from the Mouth corner, dripping down her chin onto her moon‑white robe, a vivid red.

Zi Xuan's face turned paler than a dead person.

Master of a Sect!

Zi Xuan let out a startled cry, rushed from the Crowd and grabbed Lan Jue's Shoulders.

Lan Jue raised a hand, signaling her not to come. She lifted her head, and for the First Time those eyes that had always been as calm as an ancient well showed an expression of incredulous Divine.

She looked at Jiang Feng, her Mouth lips moved, and her voice was hoarse.

"Your cultivation… is more than a Half-step Martial Ancestor?"

Jiang Feng withdrew his hands, letting both arms hang naturally at his sides. He stared at Lan Jue, his gaze showing not even a ripple of movement.

"I never said I was a Half-step Martial Ancestor."

Lan Jue was stunned for a moment, then suddenly laughed. The Laughter was low, carrying an indefinable mix of bitterness and self‑mockery.

After finishing her laugh, she drew a deep breath, lifted her head and looked toward the direction of the side door of the main hall.

"Zheng Family Head… how long do you all intend to keep watching the play?"