Chapter 110: Soul Palace Meeting: The Consequences of Showing Off

The regular meeting of the Soul Palace began.

The Chu Yang from other worlds explained the situation to the Chu Yang from the martial arts world, then all of them shared their recent memories and abilities.

As planned, the Pirate Chu Yang located the bloodline factor technology and successfully isolated a portion of bloodline factors with Wood Release traits; the Naruto Chu Yang will use this technology to extract the required bloodline factors from the remaining bloodline of the Ōtsutsuki clan.

Then they can attempt to manufacture the Six Paths Sage’s bloodline factors.

The Naruto Chu Yang has already learned Sage Mode.

Combined with the Six Paths Sage’s bloodline factors, he can perfectly replicate Sage Mode.

Besides this, the Naruto Chu Yang has another idea.

“I want to test whether the bloodline factor technology can extract partial chakra from jinchūriki.”

“If successful, we can fuse these chakras to create our own Ten-Tails chakra.”

This idea was intriguing and immediately sparked discussion among everyone.

The Magic Chu Yang said: “Theoretically, it should be possible. The Tailed Beasts themselves originated from the splitting of the Ten-Tails’ chakra, each with distinct traits corresponding to different beasts.”

“The key issue is that fusion may consume enormous chakra, since the Tailed Beast chakra we obtain from jinchūriki is incomplete—we must supplement it to ensure fusion success.”

The Shinigami Chu Yang warned: “Put this plan on hold for now. The priority is figuring out how to obtain Sage Mode.”

“Urahara’s training for me is nearly over; soon I’ll be entering the Soul Society with Ichigo and the others.”

“I’ve never fought a Captain-level Shinigami at full strength—I can’t be sure how effective Sage Mode will be.”

“Sage Mode is a crucial safeguard for me.”

The Naruto Chu Yang nodded.

The Magic Chu Yang asked: “Has Urahara’s training helped Itachi sense your Zanpakutō?”

The Shinigami Chu Yang sighed: “It has helped, but I’m not Kurosaki Ichigo—I can’t do what he did. I must follow the conventional path: join the Shinigami ranks to forge my Zanpakutō.”

The Magic Chu Yang reminded him: “Use Kenbunshoku Haki to your advantage—avoid dangerous opponents!”

“Avoid Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, Aizen Sōsuke, Kyouraku Shunsui, Retsu Unohana, and Kenpachi Zaraki…”

“Itachi can fight everyone else without hesitation.”

The Shinigami Chu Yang scratched his head and chuckled: “When I count them up, I actually have a chance against very few.”

The Demon Slayer Chu Yang suddenly spoke: “Regarding Source Breathing, I’ve recently had some insights—Itachi can reflect on them after Itachi return; it might help.”

The Pirate Chu Yang added: “Though I’ve been busy researching bloodline factor technology, I haven’t neglected Haki training—don’t worry.”

The Shinigami Chu Yang nodded repeatedly: “I know Itachi guys care. I was just joking earlier—I’m confident about my journey to the Soul Society.”

The Marvel Chu Yang suddenly spoke: “The core of Sage Mode is the balance of body, spirit, and natural energy.”

“Does the Soul Society even have natural energy? Isn’t everything there composed of reishi?”

“In that case, how will Itachi use Sage Mode?”

The Shinigami Chu Yang froze.

He had never considered this question.

The Marvel Chu Yang patted his shoulder and comforted him: “Go back and practice immediately—figure out how to construct a new Sage Mode using reishi.”

The Shinigami Chu Yang fell into deep thought.

The Marvel Chu Yang turned to the Magic Chu Yang and asked: “Can your current wandless casting perform the three Unforgivable Curses?”

The Magic Chu Yang shook his head: “Not yet—I can only cast simple spells.”

The Marvel Chu Yang felt disappointed; he had considered joining S.H.I.E.L.D. if his wandless casting could barely manage the Imperius Curse.

If he could use the Imperius Curse to control Hydra's top leadership, he would gain considerable leverage.

After chatting a while longer, they returned to their respective worlds.

…

The martial arts world.

The steel blade before him missed his head by 0.01 seconds; as he opened his eyes, invisible black lightning erupted wildly, and a terrifying force surged around him.

Conqueror's Haki.

The henchmen’s eyes rolled back, and they collapsed straight onto the ground before Chu Yang.

Not just him—all the thugs on the entire street were struck by Conqueror's Haki and instantly passed out.

The muscular man with three large bumps on his head felt as if his skull had been struck by a hammer; he barely reached back to touch the back of his head, rolled his eyes, and fainted too.

He lasted two seconds longer than his underlings.

As for the giant who had lured trouble onto Chu Yang, he surprisingly didn’t collapse—instead, he leaned shakily against a pillar.

“Why is my head so dizzy?” the giant muttered, looking as if he wanted to vomit but couldn’t.

“Itachi little brat—Itachi nearly got me killed,” Chu Yang growled as he stepped forward, glaring at him.

“Brother, I’m sorry…” the giant bowed apologetically toward Chu Yang’s side—he was so dazed he couldn’t tell east from west.

“No need to apologize—we’ll settle this in kind,” Chu Yang smiled, then knocked the giant unconscious with a single blow.

Chu Yang searched him thoroughly, taking all the silver and valuables—even the fur-lined coat he wore over his clothes.

“I’m being generous leaving Itachi one set of clothes—next time use your brain and don’t drag innocent people into your mess. Not everyone has luck like mine.”

Chu Yang glanced at him, then walked toward the members of the “Love Funeral” gang with their outrageous hairstyles.

“No grudge, no feud—and yet Itachi kill passersby. Itachi’re clearly no good people.” Chu Yang picked up the steel blade and casually slit one man’s throat. “Then don’t blame me for repaying hatred with hatred and vengeance with vengeance!”

With those words, Chu Yang walked forward, blade in hand.

In an instant, the entire street ran red with blood.

Chu Yang’s expression remained calm.

Had any ordinary civilian been in his place, they would have died without doubt at the hands of these men.

Killing them left Chu Yang with zero guilt.

When Chu Yang reached the last surviving thug, the man with the three bumps on his head suddenly leapt to his feet and sprinted away with surprising speed.

He had some basic qinggong foundation, but it was weak—he ran for a long time yet never left Chu Yang’s sight.

Chu Yang hurled the steel blade; with his overwhelming strength, even the most ordinary weapon became a death-bringing instrument of the King of Hell.

The fleeing man heard the whistle of the blade behind him, turned his head—and saw the steel blade hurtling toward him, its design horrifyingly familiar.

Damn it!

The moment the thought flashed through his mind, the blade pierced his body. The terrifying force carried him aloft, pinning him and the blade together to the street wall.

Chu Yang walked slowly forward and looked up at him.

“Itachi kill me today… my senior brother… won’t let Itachi live.”

The muscular man spat out his threat, then his neck slumped—he was dead, eyes wide open with unyielding resentment.

“So what? Who’s your senior brother? Who ever threatens half a sentence like that?”

Chu Yang sighed helplessly: “Itachi were the one who first tried to kill me—now Itachi’re dead. This is karmic retribution. If Itachi can’t even grasp that basic truth, Itachi’re disappointing.”

Blood dripped down the wall, nearly reaching Chu Yang’s feet when he turned and walked away, stepping over the corpse with bulging, resentful eyes.

As expected, the authorities would arrive soon—the giant had been left behind as the scapegoat.

If the giant was lucky, he might escape before the authorities came.

The scapegoat idea wasn’t absolute.

After a while, Chu Yang, now wearing the fur-lined coat, arrived at the Earth God Temple and searched—but couldn’t find the beggar boy.

He asked nearby beggars and learned the boy never lived there.

He had lied to him.

But Chu Yang understood.

People with unusual orientations rarely find comfort among ordinary crowds.

Chu Yang left some food, then departed the temple.

He searched the entire city—but still found no trace of the beggar boy.

At dusk, Chu Yang went to his usual teahouse for tea and food, still no sign of the beggar boy. He had wanted to share the joy of his power upgrade with the boy—but the little rascal had vanished.

“All this food on the table… no one to share it with… it all went into my stomach…”

“What a relief!”

In high spirits, Chu Yang devoured his meal. Who cared about the beggar boy? To hell with him!

In good mood, Chu Yang listened to the storyteller unusually quietly—even when hearing absurd tales, he remained calm.

"Since the Northern and Southern Beggar Clans clashed at Yanmen Pass, the martial world of the Northern and Southern Song dynasties has grown quiet."

“But the martial world of the Great Ming, bordering both Song dynasties, has erupted into turmoil.”

“Within the Great Ming, the two great demonic sects—Ming Jiao and the Sun-Moon Sect—have long clashed over doctrine, and their disciples constantly feud.”

“Just days ago, Yang Akatsuki of Ming Jiao and Xiang Wentian of the Sun-Moon Sect fought fiercely; both held the position of Light Left Master in their respective sects—second only to their leaders.”

“Their battle once again thrust the sects’ conflict into the spotlight.”

“The cause? Apparently, it involved a female disciple of the Emei Sect’s Abbess Juejue—named Ji Xiaofu.”

“And this Ji Xiaofu, the Immortal Lady, is said to be the betrothed of Yin Liuting, the Sixth Hero of Mount Wudang—missing for years…”

Chu Yang stared in shock!

Ming Jiao versus the Sun-Moon Sect?

“Fine, the Southern and Northern Song became two nations—but now the Ming Dynasty is joining in too…”

“Qiao Feng is from the Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, Hong Qiugong is from the Legend of the Condor Heroes and The Return of the Condor Heroes, Yang Akatsuki is from The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber, Xiang Wentian is from The Smiling, Proud Wanderer.”

“The entire Jinxi region has become a boiling mess!”

As Chu Yang headed home, the giant who nearly killed him was rushed overnight to a mansion.

The big fool opened his eyes to see a fierce-looking bald man glaring at him.

It startled him!

“Who are Itachi?”

“Who am I? Itachi killed my younger brother and four disciples—tell me, who am I?”

“Younger brother and disciples? Itachi mean Hou Tonghai and the Four Ghosts of the Yellow River? I didn’t kill them!”

“Still lying? They went out specifically for Itachi—how could they have died at someone else’s hands?”

“I really didn’t kill them!”

The big fool kept protesting, but he was terrible with words.

He could only repeat over and over, “It wasn’t me!”—the bald man wouldn’t listen.

The bald man sneered: “Guo Jing! First Itachi ruined the Prince’s assassination plot against Temujin in Mongolia, now Itachi’ve killed my younger brother and disciples—I won’t spare Itachi no matter what!”

“I’ll keep Itachi locked in the Prince’s mansion and slowly torture Itachi until Itachi beg for death—to satisfy my hatred!”

With that, Sha Tongtian ordered his servants to drag Guo Jing away!

“Old Sha, I don’t think that big fool was lying.”

The man standing beside Sha Tongtian was his close friend, Peng Lianhu—the “Thousand-Hand Butcher”—one of Wanyan Honglie’s five top warriors.

Peng Lianhu said: “Hou Tonghai and the Four Ghosts of the Yellow River weren’t weak. Even if they couldn’t beat this boy, they certainly couldn’t have been killed by him.”

“I examined the wounds—the Four Ghosts all had their throats slit with a single cut; Hou Tonghai was pierced through the chest by a steel blade and nailed to the wall—again, just one strike, no other injuries.”

“Even Itachi and I would find it hard to accomplish that, wouldn’t we?”

Peng Lianhu’s words shocked Sha Tongtian.

He was always hot-tempered; in his rage, he never thought things through—but after hearing Peng Lianhu’s analysis, he finally realized the gravity of the situation.

Leaving the disciples aside, his younger brother Hou Tonghai might not be strong, but he could at least hold his own against Sha Tongtian for a few moves—he wasn’t defenseless…

“Could someone else have done it?”

Sha Tongtian’s face filled with confusion—he wondered when he’d ever angered such a powerful expert.

Peng Lianhu spoke solemnly: “For now, leave that boy alone. If he’s connected to the killer, as long as he’s here, the killer will eventually show up.”

“Once he’s inside the mansion, we can ask Master Lingzhi and the others for help—we’ll surely capture the culprit!”

Sha Tongtian grew more convinced with every word, nodding repeatedly.

Locked in the mansion’s dungeon, Guo Jing grew more and more wronged—he truly hadn’t killed anyone.

But there was no one else at the scene.

Suddenly, a figure flashed through Guo Jing’s mind.

That scholar, dressed in a long robe, seemingly as weak as a paper tiger!

“I accidentally dragged Itachi into this, but Itachi stole my money, took my coat, and now Itachi’re framing me!”

“Itachi bastard—I’ll find Itachi!”

Guo Jing, who couldn’t even curse properly, burst into tears of grievance.

After surviving his near-death ordeal, Chu Yang’s life changed little—he still taught during the day and listened to stories at night.

In the past, Chu Yang had only occasionally visited teahouses to hear stories.

But since Akatsuki Huang vanished, he began going to teahouses far more often.

He’d habitually order a full meal and wait from dusk until nightfall.

He thought: maybe one day, while eating, that brat would suddenly pop up from a corner…

But for days on end, he saw no sign of Akatsuki Huang.

He’d vanished without a trace—as if he’d never existed in this city.

“That brat always talked trash and acted like a fool—maybe he pissed off someone and got beaten to death and dumped in a sewer?”

The more Chu Yang thought, the more likely it seemed—Akatsuki Huang always joked with him, never showing proper respect.

Chu Yang, thinking like a modern man, saw nothing wrong with it—but others, especially those of status, surely couldn’t tolerate it.

If he’d offended some high official, the outcome was obvious.

In this ancient world, where life was as worthless as grass, no one would care if a beggar like Akatsuki Huang died—even if a hundred died, no one would notice.

“Even if I report it to the authorities, they won’t care about a beggar’s life. If I want to find him, I have to do it myself.”

After so long in this world, Chu Yang had no friends besides Akatsuki Huang—he couldn’t just stand by.

The gap between modern and ancient values was enormous; finding someone he could talk to was harder than winning the lottery.

If Akatsuki Huang was truly dead, Chu Yang would soon be back in the same lonely silence he’d endured at first.

Returning to that mental wasteland was terrifying.

After quickly eating dinner, Chu Yang headed again to the Eastern City Earth God Temple—Akatsuki Huang wasn’t there, but most of the city’s beggars gathered there.

When it came to finding people, the Beggar Sect’s disciples were unmatched—no other faction dared claim first place.

As Chu Yang stepped inside, a stench hit him like a wall—he nearly vomited his dinner.

“Master Chu.”

The beggars inside all lit up when they saw him.

They surged forward, surrounding him in moments.

The beggars at the Earth God Temple knew Chu Yang well—he often gave them food, making him one of their top benefactors.

Chu Yang didn’t disappoint—he’d bought plenty of tasty food on the way; after all, asking for favors meant showing up with something.

After tossing roasted chicken, steamed buns, and a pile of colorful snacks to the beggars, Chu Yang explained his purpose.

Hearing he wanted to find someone, the beggars straightened up, shedding their lazy, slouching demeanor and becoming utterly serious.

“Master Chu, rest assured—if your man is still within the Southern Song borders, we’ll dig up the earth three feet deep to find him.”

The temple’s leader, a Six-Bag disciple named Da Yong, swore solemnly, slapping his chest loudly.

“Then I rely on Itachi all.”

Chu Yang bowed respectfully to the beggars—acting as the well-known teacher of the region, he gave them full honor.

Da Yong grinned ear to ear; his vanity satisfied, he took the matter far more seriously.

Before Chu Yang even left, Da Yong began ordering his Beggar Sect disciples out to search.

The beggars scattered, and the temple grew instantly quiet.

Finding someone wouldn’t happen overnight; seeing this, Chu Yang didn’t linger—he left the temple before nightfall.

Three days later, at dawn, as Chu Yang began his morning lesson, a knock came at the gate.

Chu Yang opened the door to find Da Yong standing there.

But Da Yong no longer looked confident—he spoke in a low, grim voice: “Master Chu, we found your man… but the situation isn’t good.”

Chu Yang frowned: “Brother Da Yong, what do Itachi mean?”

Da Yong took a deep breath: “Our brothers, following your clues, traced your friend’s trail—he was taken by a young expert.”

“Our men tried to rescue him, but the young man was too strong—they were all injured….”

“I’m sorry, Master Chu—we’re not strong enough to help Itachi.”

Chu Yang said nothing—he turned inside, fetched a money pouch, and shoved it into Da Yong’s arms.

Da Yong opened it and gasped at the sight of the wealth inside—he immediately tried to return it: “No, Master Chu! We failed to rescue your friend—I’m already ashamed. How can I take so much silver?!”

Chu Yang pushed his hand back: “Take it. Treat your brothers’ wounds. Winter’s coming—if they’re injured, they might not survive.”

“Heal them properly—don’t let any of them suffer lasting damage.”

Da Yong’s eyes welled up; he trembled as he took the pouch: “Master Chu, Itachi’re a good man—I thank Itachi on behalf of my brothers. But don’t worry—I’ll ask the Grand Headquarters’ elders for help.”

“No need,” Chu Yang shook his head. “Tell me everything Itachi know about Akatsuki Huang. I’ll handle the rest myself.”

Da Yong panicked: “Master Chu, don’t be reckless! That man is a true expert—Itachi’re just a scholar—Itachi can’t fight him!”

Chu Yang smiled: “I’m not that foolish. I’ll get someone else to handle it.”

Da Yong didn’t know who else Chu Yang knew—but seeing his calm confidence, he stopped urging.

“The man who took your friend isn’t from the Central Plains martial world—his techniques have traces of the Western Regions.”

“They’re currently holed up in a mansion in Yanjing…”

Da Yong detailed everything—he spoke, and Chu Yang grew increasingly puzzled.

Logically, if Akatsuki Huang had angered someone, he’d have been killed on the spot—why would a powerful expert drag a beggar all the way to Yanjing?

“Damn it, could these two be entangled in some romantic mess?”

“Probably not a real martial expert at all…”

Chu Yang unconsciously imagined a dramatic gay romance—and shuddered violently, a chill crawling over him.

“Shit—I suddenly don’t feel like saving him anymore…”

The next day, after his final lesson, Chu Yang announced to his students that the academy was closing for vacation.

Cheers erupted; the courtyard exploded into chaos.

Seeing their joy, Chu Yang smiled—and immediately assigned a mountain of holiday homework, ensuring the nation’s flowers would spend every day productively.

The cheers died instantly. The children stared, dumbfounded—then burst into tears of joy.

Chu Yang nodded with a smile, satisfied, and walked out the door.

Yanjing lay within the Jin Kingdom—it was the Jin capital.

It lay far from the small Southern Song town where Chu Yang lived.

In this chaotic fused world, the geography bore no resemblance to what Chu Yang remembered—his former knowledge was useless.

Maps were rare in ancient times; Chu Yang searched the entire small town and found not a single complete one.

In the end, it was the storyteller at the tavern who gave Chu Yang a somewhat worn-out sheepskin map.

This map had accompanied the storyteller on countless journeys south and north, its surface smoothed by years of handling; those with even slightly poor eyesight might struggle to make out the markings.

Chu Yang sighed, took the map, and prepared to set out.

Actually, Chu Yang wasn’t worried about the map being blurry—he planned to fly there, and as long as the landmarks were roughly correct, it would suffice.

Under cover of night, Chu Yang used the Super Light Heavy Rock Technique to soar into the sky; the pitch-black heavens paid him no attention.

Looking down from above, the landscape bore a striking resemblance to the weathered map, appearing hazy and dreamlike.

In the span of half an incense stick, Chu Yang reached the southern Song border and saw a majestic frontier fortress.

Beyond lay the territory of the Jin.

Chu Yang crossed the border and soon entered Jin territory, seeing city after city—but he felt no sense of having left his homeland, for the architectural styles showed no discernible difference.

Following the map’s direction, Yanjing soon appeared before Chu Yang.

Compared to the small southern Song town he had once lived in, Yanjing was more than ten times larger; from afar, it resembled an ancient, slumbering beast crouched upon the earth.

Even at night, the city remained brightly lit, appearing extraordinarily prosperous.

The Jin people seemed to have little regard for curfews.

The brilliantly lit Yanjing made it hard for Chu Yang to land; after circling the city, he finally descended in the relatively quiet northern quarter.

This area appeared to be a residential district for commoners, far dimmer than other parts.

The people rose with the sun and retired at its setting—peaceful and quiet.

“Yanjing is home to many high officials and nobles; there’s more than one princely mansion. But where exactly is that little Huang?”

“It’s deep night now—most people are asleep, and my Sensory Perception won’t work; I can’t sense anything…”

“Forget it. Find a place to sleep, and deal with it tomorrow.”

Chu Yang walked alone down the street, surrounded by profound silence.

Only the intermittent sound of the night watchman’s clapper reached his ears.

Beyond the northern gate, the surroundings brightened considerably, and Chu Yang began to hear hawker calls.

“Wonton soup—hot and steaming wonton!”

“Roasted meat—fresh lamb, venison, fish—five cash a skewer!”

“Delicious noodle soup—eight cash a bowl!”

Looking around, the streets were lined almost entirely with night-food stalls.

As Chu Yang walked past, he felt a strange illusion—he might as well be in a modern night market.

“Food is heaven to the people. No matter the era, the warmth of daily life is the greatest comfort to the soul.”

Chu Yang sighed, found a wonton stall, sat down, and ordered a bowl.

The aroma of the wonton made his mouth water; he bent low and began eating.

He had been flying all night—he was starving.

As Chu Yang bent over his meal, two figures approached from nearby, glanced around, then stopped beside the stall.

The wonton stall was small: just a table and a few long benches.

It could seat three people, but barely.

So the two stared directly at Chu Yang, waiting for him to finish before taking a seat.

“Owner, two bowls of wonton!”

The speaker was a middle-aged man with a hoarse voice, his temples streaked with gray, his face crisscrossed with wrinkles and scars—he clearly had a story.

Beside him stood a young girl, quite beautiful—not in a refined way, but with a delicate grace mixed with a touch of martial spirit, bright eyes and white teeth.

What truly drew the eye was her figure: curvaceous, with long, slender legs.

The stall owner’s eyes widened in awe.

The young girl seemed to sense his gaze; she shook her satchel, and a clatter of metal rang out from within.

The owner instinctively glanced at the bag.

Inside lay numerous weapons, gleaming coldly.

His scalp prickled; he shrank back, dared not look again, and lowered his head to boil the wonton.

Chu Yang saw this, and a faint smile curled his lips—the girl was pretty, and she had a fiery temper.

“Owner, another bowl.”

No sooner had Chu Yang spoken than he sensed the young girl beside him growing displeased.

“Finish eating and leave already. Eating so much at night—don’t Itachi fear indigestion?”

The girl muttered under her breath, but every word reached Chu Yang’s ears.

“My apologies,” Chu Yang turned and smiled. “One bowl really doesn’t fill me—I have a big appetite.”

At this, the girl’s eyes flew wide open.

She had spoken so quietly that no ordinary person could have heard.

“Oh dear~”

Quickly, her fair cheeks flushed red, even her earlobes burning.

Chu Yang shifted his bench. “If Itachi don’t mind, Itachi may join me.”

The middle-aged man scowled at his daughter, then bowed to Chu Yang. “My daughter is young and speaks without thought—I beg Itachi not to take offense.”

Chu Yang chuckled lightly. “No issue.”

The man smiled, sat naturally beside Chu Yang, and cast a sidelong glance at his daughter.

Though silent, the girl felt her father’s reprimand and immediately lowered her head, murmuring an apology.

Chu Yang politely replied, “No problem,” for he hadn’t minded in the first place.

“Itachi look like a scholar, yet Itachi possess such refined martial skill—appearance is truly deceiving.”

The middle-aged man judged Chu Yang’s acute senses to indicate a martial practitioner of considerable ability.

“Sir, Itachi flatter me—I only know a little basic fistwork.”

With that, Chu Yang returned to his wonton, leaving the man with no opening for further pleasantries; he too lowered his head to eat.

The girl ate while secretly studying Chu Yang—this scholarly-looking man didn’t seem like a master at all.

Before she could look longer, Chu Yang finished his bowl in three bites, paid, and walked off without a backward glance.

“Father, was that man really a master?” The girl watched Chu Yang’s retreating back, doubtful.

The middle-aged man frowned, hesitated. “He must be a master. That young man gave me a strange feeling—but I can’t say why.”

The girl was baffled.

The man shook his head, laughing. “Whether he’s a master or not—what’s it to me? Better to think about tomorrow’s martial contest for a bride.”

The words “martial contest for a bride” brought a faint shadow of sorrow to the girl’s eyes.

Chu Yang, full and satisfied, found an inn and slept soundly.

The next morning, he began inquiring about the princely mansions in Yanjing.

Da Yong had only said that little Huang was taken into one of the princely mansions.

He hadn’t specified which one.

But Chu Yang quickly narrowed down his target.

For during his inquiries, he heard a familiar name.

Zhao Mansion.

Wanyan Honglie.

As the catalyst for the Journey to the West storyline, Wanyan Honglie was a pivotal figure.

The Zhao Mansion housed many martial artists worthy of the title, and in all of Yanjing, only its people could have injured so many Beggar Sect disciples.

As for who exactly little Huang had offended—it no longer mattered.

To rescue little Huang, Chu Yang would have to go to the Zhao Mansion himself.

By daylight, the mansion would be heavily guarded—but Chu Yang didn’t care.

Even if he stormed it, he could come and go as he pleased.

The so-called masters of the Zhao Mansion were no match for him—not one.

After asking several passersby and confirming the Zhao Mansion’s location, Chu Yang set off immediately, following the bustling streets toward the heart of Yanjing.

After passing through several alleys, the road ahead suddenly grew lively.

The townsfolk were packed shoulder to shoulder, staring at something, blocking the street completely.

Chu Yang clicked his tongue, suddenly understanding why Thanos had snapped his fingers.

He stood on tiptoe to peer ahead at the sea of people, wondering how to get through—when a scream rang out.

A figure crashed onto the open ground before Chu Yang, thrashing like a fish flung onto land, grimacing in pain.

“Damn, what kind of acrobatics are they putting on?”

Chu Yang looked up and saw a platform ahead, with a banner fluttering in the wind, bearing four large characters.

Martial Contest for a Bride!

The man lying on the ground had clearly been kicked off the stage.

He’d need at least ten days to recover.

Yet atop the platform, the victor was a bald, burly monk.

“So serious? Even monks are showing up?”

“The gender imbalance must be severe—monks are afraid they won’t find wives…”

Chu Yang shook his head and sighed; he never expected that even in ancient times, he’d have to worry about birth rates.

Why risk your life in a martial contest for a bride? Why not just sit at a tavern and chat about life?

What nonsense!

If Itachi’re going to compete in martial arts, better compete over dowries.

The big monk stood on the fighting platform and shouted loudly: “Who else?!”

Chu Yang clicked his tongue in amazement; this master was truly a man of passion—he must smoke and drink regularly.

After waiting a while and seeing the crowd showed no sign of dispersing, Chu Yang decided to find another path; if he forced his way through, it would be like a tank rolling over them.

At that moment, a young man dressed in lavish attire and with a handsome face suddenly emerged from the crowd. He leapt forward in three strides, stepping on bystanders’ shoulders, heading straight for the platform—as if intending to join the martial contest for a bride.

His handsome face and dramatic entrance drew everyone’s attention.

Even the girl on the platform was stunned.

A look of triumph flashed in his eyes; he loved being the center of attention.

The next second.

His foot sank downward, as if weighed down by a thousand jin.

His graceful posture halted abruptly, while a mocking voice sounded beside his ear.

“Itachi wanna show off? Fine. But why step on my head?”

Chu Yang gripped the young man’s ankle, his face filled with displeasure.

If he hadn’t reacted quickly, this guy would’ve stepped on his head to reach the platform.

The handsome young man was embarrassed.

One foot was held by Chu Yang; the other rested on the shoulder of an elderly woman watching the spectacle.

The woman wasn’t angry—she looked up at him with a dopey smile, her eyes full of adoration, like a star-struck fangirl.

The handsome young man shuddered, yanked his foot off her shoulder, and kicked violently toward Chu Yang’s face.

As Chu Yang held his ankle, he raised his elbow and thrust it forward to meet the incoming kick.

With the force behind it, Chu Yang’s elbow was no different from a battering ram—the moment the young man’s foot struck, there was a sharp crack, and his entire leg went numb.

The searing pain turned the young man pale; his face turned ashen, his breathing ragged.

Chu Yang smiled, then slammed him hard to the ground. The young man felt the world spin.

This man fought with brutal ferocity; given Chu Yang’s temperament, he’d definitely teach him a lesson.

Just as the young man was about to hit the ground, two figures burst from the crowd: one a lama in a red robe, the other an old man with white hair.

The lama swung a bronze cymbal toward Chu Yang’s wrist holding the young man, while the old man fired several oddly shaped nails directly at Chu Yang’s vital chest area.

Both attacked the opening Chu Yang exposed, aiming to force him back and rescue the young man.

“Watch out!”

The girl on the platform, upon seeing Chu Yang’s face, remembered what had happened at the dumpling stall last night and couldn’t help warning him.

To her surprise, the young man dressed like a scholar showed no sign of retreat—he still hurled the man in his grip down to the ground with full force!

THUD!!!

The young man spat a gout of blood, nearly fainting from the pain!

What a ruthless man!

A chill ran through everyone present.

At the same moment, the bronze cymbal and the nails struck Chu Yang’s body.

This scholar is dead!

The girl unconsciously thought this.

Not just her—everyone else thought the same.

Yet the instant the bronze cymbal struck Chu Yang’s wrist, the lama’s expression changed.

The feedback from the cymbal told him he hadn’t hit flesh—he’d struck something as hard as a diamond.

The blow numbed his entire right arm.

The nails that struck Chu Yang’s chest, protected by Armament Haki, bounced off like they’d hit steel, clattering to the ground.

“Trouble—he’s a hardened external expert!”

The lama’s pupils shrank sharply; he roared a warning to his companion.

He was about to retreat when his gaze met Chu Yang’s.

Chu Yang’s cold gaze was like a freezing wind piercing the lama’s bones, making his hair stand on end.

Chu Yang reached out his other hand and gripped the bronze cymbal, twisting it.

The bronze cymbal, forged with steel, turned to paper in his hands—he crushed it into a ball, trapping the lama’s hand inside, immobilizing it!

The lama’s eyes widened in horror, as if he’d seen a ghost.

He’d roamed the martial world for decades—never before had he seen anyone crush steel into scrap with bare hands.

The old man beside him, who’d been about to assist, froze mid-step, leaving a long gouge in the ground as he halted.

(End of Chapter)