Chapter 92: Slicing the Wang Heir (Requesting First Subscription)

“Cong brother, you’re all family brothers—speak properly, why resort to knives?”

Jia Cong didn’t lower the knife; instead, he pressed the blade tighter against Wang Yi’s neck, making Wang Yi let out a shrill cry.

Wang Ziteng felt a surge of shame and rage—this useless fool had gone looking for trouble, only to be humiliated like this; the Wang family’s face was completely lost!

“Miss Yuanyang, please tell Grandma what this Wang boy just said to me!”

Jia Mu and Lady Wang both turned to Yuanyang.

Yuanyang saw Jia Cong calmly watching her, his steel blade glinting coldly, and remembered Wang Yi’s vile words just now.

Ignoring Lady Wang’s icy gaze, she gritted her teeth and said: “Just now, the young master called Third Master a bastard born of a prostitute… and that’s why Third Master struck back.”

Jia Mu, Lady Wang, and the others all drew a sharp breath.

Yesterday in Rongqing Hall, Wang Ziteng’s wife had also insulted Jia Cong’s mother, and Jia Cong had publicly humiliated her, leaving her utterly disgraced.

Jia Mu now knew this brat fiercely protected his birth mother.

If not for his current bid for the position of Nine Provinces Commander, requiring Jia family connections to maneuver, he’d never lower himself to speak to a mere boy.

But this lad is a scholar—how did he acquire such methods?

A high-ranking First-Class official, Commander of the Capital Garrison, reduced to silence by a boy—this was enough to make him rage to the heavens.

How dare he show no respect to the Jia family? Back when the Jia family, out of kinship ties with the Wangs, helped him secure the post of Capital Garrison Commander, is this how he repays us?

“Cong brother, you’re just boys playing around—Yi’s words were rude and offensive, but not worth this. Let’s call today’s incident settled.”

Jia Cong sneered: “He insulted my elders—so we just let it go? Does he have no parents or elders of his own? Was he born from a rock?”

Wang Ziteng’s face darkened—he thought his words had already been sufficiently humble, given his status.

Wang Ziteng was so furious he nearly jumped: “You!”

He deserved to be humiliated—after all, the one who got beaten wasn’t a Jia.

Hearing this, Wang Ziteng froze—this brat had a sharp tongue; one sentence dragged the matter into the Jia family’s dignity and honor, clearly trying to incite enmity between the Jia and Wang families.

Jia Cong said: “Grandma, I already said yesterday in Rongqing Hall: anyone who insults my birth mother is my mortal enemy! The Jia family is a martial house, its valor undiminished—we must have the courage of a son willing to spill blood within five paces…”

But Wang Ziteng couldn’t find fault in Jia Cong’s words—his own son had been in the wrong from the start.

Yi had trained in martial arts since childhood—how could he lose to this boy?

In front of Jia Mu, Wang Ziteng held back, afraid to act rashly.

Wang Ziteng’s son was just as despicable as his wife—spewing insults, wasn’t this poking a hornet’s nest?

Jia Cong said sternly: “Yesterday’s words in Rongqing Hall still ring in my ears—yet today, this happens again!”

“I ask you, General Wang: why do your Wang family members keep coming here to humiliate me? Do you think I, Jia Cong, am easy to bully—or that the Jia family has no one left, fallen so low?”

Hearing this, Jia Mu’s expression darkened instantly.

This brat doesn’t remember the kindness the late master showed him—he shows no mercy at all, treating Wang family members this way every time—does he even have the slightest respect for me?

Lady Wang seethed with venom—how could his lowborn mother be so precious that not even a single word could be said against her?

Yesterday, Wang Ziteng’s wife had caused a scene in Rongqing Hall; today, her son went even further, coming here to provoke, uttering words even more vile.

Lady Wang was furious—how could Yi say such things in public? How could they possibly claim moral high ground now?

But she saw Jia Mu’s grim silence—clearly, the boy’s words had stirred resentment against the Wang family.

Wang Ziteng’s hair stood on end—could this boy actually kill? If he dared commit such a murder, the Wang and Jia families would be finished, and he’d lose all standing to beg the Jia family for anything.

Hearing Jia Cong’s words, Jia Mu and the others turned pale—what was this brat planning? If he harmed Wang Ziteng’s son, the two families would become mortal enemies.

Jia Cong raised his steel blade; its gleaming edge reflected blinding light in the sun, radiating a chilling aura of killing intent.

Wang Yi sensed the shift in atmosphere and tried to scramble up and flee—but Jia Cong’s kick to his knee joint was strangely effective; he couldn’t straighten his leg at all.

A dazzling blade of light slashed down like lightning…

Wang Ziteng screamed in terror: “Stop!”

Jia Mu swayed, nearly collapsing; Yuanyang rushed forward to catch her, shouting: “Quick, stop him! You wretched brat, stop at once!”

Lady Wang had collapsed to the ground, paralyzed by fear from Jia Cong’s blade.

The maids and old women around them turned ashen-faced—these past two years, everyone in the mansion had said Third Master Jia was formidable, but now he’d grown even more terrifying, always ready to kill with his knife.

The blade flashed like a white ribbon, slicing horizontally across Wang Yi’s head.

Wang Yi saw the blade descend like thunder and lightning.

He felt a chilling numbness on his scalp—as if his skull had been split open—a bone-deep cold swept from his crown down through his entire body, freezing him rigid.

It felt as if his head had already been severed—he screamed in terror, his body convulsing uncontrollably like a sieve, his groin soaked through.

Jia Cong stared at Wang Yi, repulsed by his loss of bladder control—how arrogant and vicious he’d been moments ago, now how pitiful and grotesque.

Everyone saw the blade flash—but no blood sprayed. Wang Yi’s head remained intact.

Jia Cong’s blade had shaved off his topknot, revealing his pale, bare scalp.

The cut was precise in force and angle—the blade skimmed his scalp, completely balding him without touching a single inch of skin.

Jia Cong said coldly: “Today, I spare you out of respect for Grandma. If you’re not afraid of death, come back anytime and speak ill again.”

Jia Cong had no intention of killing him on the spot—that would destroy him completely.

Wang Yi seemed stunned, still whimpering; Wang Ziteng stepped forward and slapped his son hard—Wang Yi finally snapped out of his nightmare.

Wang Ziteng pulled his son up, saw the mess between his legs, and cursed inwardly—worthless brute, started the trouble himself, yet couldn’t even bear the consequences.

This humiliation was worse than death—how could he ever hold his head up again? He’d have been better off just getting cut down moments ago!

Thinking this, he shot Jia Cong a furious glare.

He saw the boy gripping the long blade, meeting his gaze without flinching, his whole body radiating an indescribable malice.

Wang Ziteng’s eyes flickered—he was Commander of the Capital Garrison, daily among soldiers, and had only seen such cold, killing aura on seasoned veterans who’d taken lives.

How could a noble youth under twenty possess such an aura?

And where had he learned the method to subdue Yi?

He didn’t know that two years ago, Jia Cong had fought in a small grove with Qu Hongxiu, slashing to death the Inquisitorial Court’s hounds, one blade after another.

That night’s life-or-death battle had branded him, igniting a boldness and ruthlessness beyond ordinary men.

Wang Ziteng stared at Jia Cong, his hatred beyond words.

Without a word, he dragged his son away, stopping before Jia Mu to bow.

“Old Madam, I apologize for today’s offense.”

As he passed Jia She, he muttered coldly: “Big brother, you’ve raised a fine son.”

Everyone watched Wang Ziteng and his son leave the Jia mansion without looking back—Wang Yi’s hair hung in wild tangles, like a beggar’s, his mind seemingly dazed.

Jia She, hearing Wang Ziteng’s words, felt a surge of rage and shouted: “You wretched brat, how dare you commit violence in public…”

He moved forward, ready to beat the brat as he had in the past—then he saw Jia Cong staring at him coldly, the blade in his hand gleaming with a sinister chill.

The threat died in his throat; a chill ran through him—he realized times had changed; he could no longer control this brat.

(End of Chapter)