Chapter 388: Are Kings and Generals Born of Noble Blood? The Year of the Goat

Zhang Fan strode over, his cold voice instantly drawing Mao Bai Guang's gaze.

In Bai Yujing City, even the Jiangnan Provincial Dao Alliance would give him three parts of face—not because of his high prestige, but because his surname was Mao, the direct lineage of Maoshan.

"Zhang Fan!?"

At this moment, the Xiong family's senior figures exchanged glances, their expressions complex, yet they said nothing.

They knew a little of Zhang Fan's background—once, the Yinshan Ghost King Xiong Xiong Sanqi had broken his oath, re-entering Jiangnan territory, nearly toppling the entire Xiong family with just one man.

Know that the man Xiong Xiong Sanqi once followed was none other than King of the Great Spirit Sect.

Point by point, the clues linked together—many things didn't need to be stated outright.

The Maos? The Xiong family couldn't afford to provoke them.

This Zhang? The Xiong family couldn't afford to provoke him even more.

"Fan Ge."

As he drew near, Xiong Ba stepped forward to greet him.

"Tsk tsk, haven't seen you in a while—you've gotten stronger." Zhang Fan scanned him once, seeing Xiong Ba's rapid progress: he had made considerable gains in Taiyi Dao, and significant strides in the Xiong family's Yinshan methods.

Such talent was more than enough to inherit the Xiong family's legacy.

"Who are you?"

Mao Bai Guang's voice cut through their exchange; having been so openly ignored in his circles, clear displeasure darkened his face.

"You're a disciple of Maoshan, a famed Daoist house—how dare you force purchases and sales?" Zhang Fan didn't answer, but asked coldly.

"Force sales?" Mao Bai Guang laughed. "What century are we in? Do you think I'd do something like that?"

"Trade is free—they can choose not to sell. I merely help them analyze the pros and cons of refusing."

As he spoke, a cold smile crept onto Mao Bai Guang's face, his icy gaze sweeping over the Xiong family.

"Is that so?" Zhang Fan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Could you do me a favor?"

"What favor?" Mao Bai Guang blinked, asking instinctively.

"Crawl out of here right now."

At these words, everyone froze in shock. Mao Bai Guang snapped back to himself, fury flaring in his eyes.

"Are you mad? How dare you speak to me like that?"

"Unwilling? Then I'll just help you analyze the pros and cons." Zhang Fan sighed.

"What pros and cons?"

CRACK—

A sharp crack rang out. Before all eyes, Mao Bai Guang flew sideways like a severed kite, then crashed to the ground, spitting a gout of blood mixed with two white teeth.

The exhibition hall fell silent. All eyes turned to Zhang Fan. No one had expected this sudden young man to dare strike the Mao family's face in such a setting.

"You—"

Mao Bai Guang clutched his swollen cheek, staring at Zhang Fan in disbelief.

He knew this man was a true expert—he hadn't even seen how the blow was delivered. Such cultivation far surpassed his own.

As a Mao family disciple, though his cultivation was low, his eye for power was sharp—he stayed utterly still.

"What century are we in? Do you think a good surname grants you license to do anything?" Zhang Fan said calmly.

"Have you forgotten our old Chinese saying?"

"What saying?" Mao Bai Guang asked instinctively.

"Are kings and generals born of noble blood?"

The throne rotates; today it's my turn. There has never been a fixed, unchanging rule in this world.

"Are kings and generals born of noble blood?"—this is the most important phrase in China's millennia of history.

Ancestors placed you on high; your descendants can overthrow you. Renewal replaces the old; the realm changes again—only then can heaven and earth be cleared and reborn.

Even if you're born noble, you must hold reverence. Lose reverence, and your life will be taken.

"Fine. I didn't know Bai Yujing City had someone like you. Dare you leave your name?" Mao Bai Guang gritted his teeth.

He knew he'd met a man with nothing to lose—he was porcelain, not meant to clash with bricks and tiles.

"What? Looking for revenge? Unluckily, my family's just me and my father." Zhang Fan said calmly.

"Who's your father?" Mao Bai Guang's eyes flashed with malice.

He'd thought he'd met a lone wolf—if the whole family was dead, with no ties, such a man was dangerous. But if he had family, he had a weakness—especially a father-son pair like this. The father was the greatest vulnerability.

"You want to find my father?" Zhang Fan laughed.

He stepped forward, kicking Mao Bai Guang over, then planted his foot squarely on his chest.

"How dare you!?" Mao Bai Guang growled.

He'd never been humiliated like this—not since childhood, not even in public.

Even the onlookers now stared in astonishment.

The Mao family's status in Maoshan, and across Jiangnan's Daoist circles, was unquestionable. Not just because of their history, but because among them now stood a Tian Shi.

With such a surname, who in Jiangnan wouldn't show respect?

To be crushed underfoot like this? Unthinkable.

"The spawn of Da Lingzong Wang—this family's lawlessness is truly inherited."

The Xiong family's senior figures exchanged glances, eyes down, hearts still—daring not utter a word.

They knew this boy's father had been even more extreme—if the roles were reversed, Mao Bai Guang would already be dead.

"I'm not afraid you'll find my father. I'd welcome it—if you could." Zhang Fan looked down at Mao Bai Guang.

"But if you're thinking of retaliation, you're asking for death."

As he spoke, Zhang Fan pressed down harder. Mao Bai Guang screamed as ribs snapped one after another, crimson blood oozing from his lips.

The sight made the crowd frown.

This young man was too ruthless—his methods weren't those of a righteous cultivator.

In truth, after reaching He Shen, Zhang Fan's personality and behavior had subtly shifted.

This was his true self.

"Insolent!"

At that moment, a sharp cry rang out.

All turned to see a woman approaching—graceful, commanding, her black eyes holding thunder, terrifyingly potent.

"A master!"

Zhang Fan glanced at her—she was no ordinary woman. Her cultivation rivaled Meng Qi's.

"Sister, save me—he's a madman!" Mao Bai Guang saw her and cried out like a drowning man grasping a lifeline.

Mao Mao Baifeng, disciple of Maoshan, direct lineage of the Mao family.

"Who are you? How dare you commit violence at such an event?" Mao Mao Baifeng glanced at her brother crushed underfoot, then finally fixed her gaze on Zhang Fan.

She remained calm, yet made no move to act.

"I don't care who you are—if you walk out of this hall today, Maoshan's thousand-year reputation is forfeit."

As she spoke, Mao Mao Baifeng slowly pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

Everyone understood: on Jiangnan soil, even a Tian Shi-level cultivator must treat Maoshan with respect—how much more this lawless youth?

If Mao Mao Baifeng said he wouldn't leave the hall, he wouldn't leave.

She didn't even need to lift a finger.

"No need to call."

At that moment, a detached voice came from the side—a broad hand pressed down firmly on Mao Mao Baifeng's phone.

"Huh!?"

Mao Mao Baifeng turned—and froze.

"Fang Fang Changle!?"