Chapter 28

Feng Yi heard Shui Sheng's words and did not defend himself. How could he not know Su Shi, Su Dongpo? In his previous life, while studying, he had memorized many of his poems and lyrics; he merely did it deliberately.

He well knew that in the original plot, Shui Sheng's fate was not good; a righteous journey took away her father, and she also experienced the greatest evil in the world.

Feng Yi dared not say he could change her tragedy, nor did he want this girl to also stumble because of him.

This was not because he thought too highly of himself, being overly self‑infatuated.

Rather, it was because Shui Sheng was at the age when her emotions first awaken; regarding love, she is blind and does not consider consequences.

His appearance is not bad, and he possesses peerless divine skill; even without trying, it would not be hard to win a maiden's heart.

After all, men are lustful and women admire strength—a truth unchanged from ancient times to the present.

Setting aside the matter of character that everyone values, officialdom's daughters look for talent, whereas daughters of martial families are more easily drawn to men of high martial skill.

Shui Sheng's childhood sweetheart, Wang Xiao Feng, is certainly close because they grew up together innocent and carefree, and he is also an outstanding figure among the younger generation.

After all, Wang Xiao Feng has the impressive record of not being subdued within dozens of moves by the Blood Blade Ancestor, a true combat master.

Even if the Blood Blade Ancestor made a strategic mistake, he could not be taken down within ten moves; this is enough to establish Wang Xiao Feng's standing as the undisputed leader among the younger generation.

Therefore, Feng Yi's action was meant to make Shui Sheng think he was an ignorant, clumsy person.

While Feng Yi and Shui Sheng exchanged words, the crowd fell unusually silent, their gazes wandering or brows furrowed, not caring about anything else as they speculated on Feng Yi's origins.

Wang Xiao Feng's jealousy flared, yet he could not act on it, and he could not help saying, "Shui Mei, let's go!"

Shui Sheng frowned slightly: "Why must we go?"

Wang Xiao Feng looked at Feng Yi and said, "This person injured someone here; this is the territory of the Yangtze Iron Net Gang."

Shui Sheng snorted: "Are you afraid?"

Wang Xiao Feng was stunned, not knowing how to answer.

To say he was afraid would be a little embarrassing; to say he was not afraid would go against his true feelings.

However, his fear was not of fighting, but of something else.

He saw that Feng Yi was handsome and extraordinary, with martial skill far surpassing his own, and unconsciously felt a sense of crisis. After all, although he was childhood sweethearts with his cousin, they were not yet married.

Feng Yi noticed Wang Xiao Feng's embarrassment and couldn't help laughing: "He certainly is afraid; he fears you will transfer your affection elsewhere and not become his wife."

Upon hearing this, both Wang Xiao Feng and Shui Sheng blushed red.

Shui Sheng, unable to contain her shame, pointed at Feng Yi's nose and stammered, "You, you..."

Her jade cheeks flushed crimson; she wanted to speak but held back, finally stamping her foot and turning away.

Wang Xiao Feng hurriedly called out, "Shui Mei, wait for me!"

Glancing again at Feng Yi's smiling face, his anger grew; he snorted, flicked his sleeve, and followed after.

Feng Yi merely wanted to provoke the two into leaving quickly, lest they come to blows later and blame his ruthlessness under the guise of "chivalry," making any response difficult.

After all, Shui Sheng and her companions are the rare individuals in the Liancheng world who possess humanity's light, and Feng Yi also did not wish to make them enemies.

The inn's patrons, seeing this, all began to chatter.

The old man dressed in household attire took out a silver ingot, placed it on the table, rose, and followed them; as he left, he lightly said to Feng Yi, "With such skill, your conduct is hardly that of a gentleman."

Feng Yi considered himself well‑intentioned, but people of this age could not tolerate such words; he quickly smiled and said, "Elder, please calm your anger; if we don't hurry, we won't catch up to those two."

"Shui Fu, let's go!"

Shui Sheng shouted outside, her voice clear as an oriole, delicate as a fledgling warbler.

Shui Fu stepped out briskly.

Then a pleasant, clear bell rang; someone looked up to see Wang Xiao Feng riding a tall, sturdy horse whose whole body was golden‑yellow hair, while Shui Sheng, in white robes that fluttered, rode a white horse with shining coat and not a single stray hair.

The man was handsome, the woman lovely—indeed a fine match. Yet someone couldn't help thinking, "After today, who knows what will happen?"

At that moment, the elder of the Dongting Shuangyi glanced at Feng Yi with flashing eyes, clasped his fists, and said, "My brother misjudged; our defeat is no injustice. I am He Bizheng; we two brothers are known in the martial world as 'Dongting Shuangyi.' May I ask your esteemed name?"

Feng Yi turned his head and saw that he was taller than Wu Shifei, with a rugged visage, sturdy build, thick joints, knotted muscles—very heroic—and he couldn't help chuckling: "Are your names given by your parents?"

He Bizheng straightened his face and said, "We brothers make a living with no capital; from the day we debuted, we changed this name ourselves!"

Feng Yi glanced at him, nodded, and his impression of the so‑called Dongting Shuangyi shifted; he thought they were ignorant fools unaware of heaven's height and earth's depth, and he believed the elder brother was a good-for-nothing who, as the leader, ought to be superior.

Feng Yi fell silent for a moment, then said, "I just want to have a proper meal first."

The yellow‑faced man beside He Bizheng clasped his hands and said, "I am Wang Shaohua of the Yangtze Iron Net Gang; may I first ask which school you belong to?"

Capable of being the most influential chief of Hua Rong County, he not only possesses considerable martial skill but is also smooth and accommodating in his dealings; these two sentences he spoke were neither humble nor arrogant, asserting his status while retaining respect.

Feng Yi smiled and said, "I am a new‑era youth walking the Hua Rong Grand Road."

This inappropriate answer made Wang Shaohua rather embarrassed.

Wang Shaohua shifted his rat‑like eyes, a flash of harsh light passing, and said in a low voice, "You dare to bully people in our Hua Rong County like this—could you be the Feng Yi who has stirred the Jiangnan martial world into turmoil?"

The crowd instantly startled, each gripping their weapons, some even rising to their feet.

Feng Yi felt a surge of disgust. He realized that in this world, things do not always go as one wishes; he had wanted to eat a proper meal first, yet he was still guessed at.

Feng Yi turned his body, his gaze like cold electricity shooting at Wang Shaohua, and said coldly, "You are so clever—do you not know that one should not recklessly waste one's youth?"

Wang Shaohua and the others stared fixedly at him; Wang Shaohua shouted loudly, "Everyone, attack together! What's there to fear? He's just one person—can he possibly withstand our all‑out assault?"

Someone lunged forward, but seeing no one else move on either side, he stopped again.

Feng Yi coldly snorted, "No more talk—I'll first cut you down to open shop!" He pressed his hand on the table, lifting himself and the chair into the air, then with a backhand grab seized Wang Shaohua's chest.

Seeing Feng Yi still seated yet coming at him like wind, Wang Shaohua hastily struck his palm toward Feng Yi's arm; the palm wind howled, its force not weak.

He Bizheng, who was on good terms with him and also bore a grudge for his brother's severed arm, drew his saber with a swish, rose, lifted his arm, and aimed a downward slash at Feng Yi's head.

Feng Yi gave a cold snort; his left hand did not dodge or block, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, he grabbed straight for Wang Shaohua's heart, while infusing his right sleeve with the inner power of the Divine Illumination Skill and swept it toward He Bizheng's single blade.

Before Wang Shaohua's palm strike could reach Feng Yi's arm, only a swishing sound was heard; Feng Yi had already pierced through his palm wind and seized his chest.

At the same instant, his right sleeve brushed He Bizheng's saber, producing only a humming sound.

He Bizheng then felt waves of pain and numbness surge in his tiger's mouth, and his saber involuntarily slipped from his grasp.

At that moment, Wu Shifei also let out a loud shout and threw a punch; although he had lost one arm, seeing his brothers already engaged in combat, he did not want to lag behind.

Feng Yi shouted "Go!", his arm jerked, and with a flick of his finger he lightly flicked the single blade aside.

Wu Shifei hadn't even waited for a punch to strike before the blade's light came like lightning, shocking him so much his soul fled, and he barely managed to avoid it.

But although his arm strength was astonishing, his agility and leaping were not his forte; in the midst of maneuvering, he suddenly felt a cold chill in his right chest, couldn't help but shout, his eyes widened, carrying that single blade that had pierced through his chest, he staggered back several steps, fell flat on his back on the ground, blood gushing like a spring.

And Wang Shaohua, casually tossed aside by Feng Yi, curled up on the ground like a heap of rotting mud, already dead.

Feng Yi then struck another palm toward He Bingzheng's chest.

He Bingzheng had his blade snatched away by Feng Yi's sleeve flick, his whole body went numb. His brothers and Wang Shaohua also died on the spot; only frightened stupid, he stared blankly, completely forgetting to advance or retreat.

Feng Yi could have easily slapped He Weizheng to death with a casual palm, but midway through his strike he thought of something, formed the intention to spare him, yet his speed did not diminish, and he still struck toward his chest.

He Bingzheng silently cried out: "My life is over!"

Feng Yi's palm landed on his body; with just a bit of borrowed force, he and his chair floated back to their original position, his posture and position unchanged.

He Bingzheng felt no pain in his chest, but suddenly the clothing over his chest turned into black butterflies, fluttering down to the ground, leaving a clear palm print on his clothes.

In an instant, his face turned deathly pale, sweat pouring down like rain.

(End of chapter)