Chapter 52: Withdraw

The young heirs nearby saw only a blur as Ye Fei was flung heavily to the ground. His shirt was ripped open across his chest, exposing several deep claw marks.

"Ye Fei!" Li Yueyao cried out in alarm, but was firmly restrained by Situ Ye. She spun around, her voice sharp with anger. "Situ Ye, what do you think you're doing!?"

"Don't be in such a hurry, Li Yueyao," Situ Ye drawled, gripping her tightly. "Your Li family went bankrupt years ago. No one’s backing you now. Why not just stay with me tonight? I promise you'll rise to the top—guaranteed profit, no loss. What do you say?"

With that, Situ Ye forced Li Yueyao under him, his desire obvious as he nearly drooled with anticipation.

"Get off me!" Li Yueyao’s face twisted with disgust; she drove her knee hard toward Situ Ye's groin. But he seemed prepared, dodging to the side and, with a swift motion, tore open her thin blouse. Under the light, a glimpse of pale, alluring skin was revealed.

The other privileged sons and daughters burst into shrill cheers and screams, as if egging them on.

But Ye Fei had no attention to spare for the commotion. He was utterly focused on the formidable opponent before him. This was the first adversary he had met, since returning from abroad, who could wield spiritual energy. Though the old man’s manipulation of this power was strange, the mere fact that, at nearly sixty, he could still fight this way made him a foe not to be underestimated.

To be able to wield and channel spiritual energy in combat was, if not the mark of a true master, at least a sign of considerable experience.

The blackened claws attacked from all manner of cunning angles. Ye Fei evaded as best he could, but soon was driven into a corner, his clothing now reduced to pitiful strips.

His expression darkened, and he tore off what remained of his shirt.

Countless gruesome scars, visible to the naked eye, were now revealed, drawing shocked gasps from the women in the room.

His bronzed body was covered in densely packed gunshot wounds.

"The ancients were right—a shorter weapon is more dangerous in close quarters," Ye Fei said with a crooked smile. "But I wonder—can you really break through my body, forged through countless trials?"

For Ye Fei, who had mastered the Nine Suns Divine Art, forming a spiritual shield around his body was no easy feat. Yet ever since he learned to absorb spiritual energy, he could manipulate it to strengthen himself at will.

In his master’s words: "The world’s greatest talent for body refinement."

There was a time, during his journeys, when Ye Fei withstood dozens of bullets with nothing but his flesh, keeping them all from piercing his body.

The scars on his back and chest had been renewed again and again.

The longer he trained, the greater the harm he could endure.

In the end, he could focus all his spiritual energy on his back, shrugging off a single armor-piercing arrow capable of punching through steel plate.

Could this old monster’s claws, long and black as they were, possibly rival the strength of an armor-piercing arrow famed for splitting metal?

Force crushes skill; a good suit of armor is worth its weight in gold.

The technique of covering himself with spiritual energy, which Ye Fei named the "Purple-Gold Body," gathered energy around his spine and chest, forming a cuirass-like armor along his meridians—tougher than the finest bulletproof vest.

Once the shield was formed, Ye Fei ceased dodging, standing his ground and watching for the old man’s next move.

Whoosh!

A chilling gust swept straight at him.

Ye Fei’s lips curled into a smirk. He raised his hand and clenched it hard before his heart.

The old man’s claws scraped against him with a shrill, grating screech—as though clawing at iron.

Then, with a sickening crack, Ye Fei crushed the old man’s wrist.

A muffled snap resounded.

Immediately, the old man’s claw—still buzzing with spiritual energy—snapped off and shot forward, the nails transforming into razor-sharp blades that, like venomous serpents, darted through the air, targeting Ye Fei’s vital points.

"How sinister," Ye Fei sneered.

This was the terror of those who fought with spiritual energy—they could imbue their weapons with power and control them from afar.

This old servant, known as Old Wang, had once served the Situ family. In his forties, he’d been taught by a mysterious master to cultivate the "Shadowed Blade Claws," a vicious technique that allowed him to shed his elongated fingernails at will, powered by spiritual energy.

It was this art that had allowed him to bind Yang Tianming with spiritual energy, rendering him helpless to resist.

But Ye Fei saw at a glance that Old Wang’s talent was mediocre at best. Now, at sixty, he was at a dead end—he would progress no further.

Nor would he ever have another chance.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

The flying nails stabbed into Ye Fei’s skin, but not a drop of blood appeared.

Crack!

A second wrist, lunging for him, was crushed in Ye Fei’s grip.

Old Wang’s form was now fully revealed, his efforts to break free with every ounce of spiritual energy utterly futile.

The two men—one tall, one short—were locked in a strange, motionless tableau.

"Let me go and I’ll make Situ Ye apologize," Old Wang rasped, fear flickering in his eyes.

Ye Fei grinned cruelly, spiritual energy glimmering in his eyes. He casually aimed at a faint red point that had appeared on the old man’s body and unleashed a punch.

A series of sharp cracks echoed like popping beans.

Old Wang’s bones shattered, one after another.

"The same way you crippled Yang Tianming—today I return the favor. We’re even. No apology necessary."

Ye Fei dusted off his hands and kicked Old Wang’s barely breathing body aside. He turned his gaze to Li Yueyao, who was still shrieking.

Her slender, serpentine waist was now almost entirely exposed, the scene charged and sensual.

Situ Ye was laughing maniacally, his hands roaming greedily, but Li Yueyao had scratched him bloody. His expression twisted with rage; he raised his hand to slap her. "You filthy whore! Don’t you dare play hard to get with me!"

But before the words left his mouth—

A searing pain exploded in his back. He was sent flying, crashing hard against the wall.

A hand, smeared with blood, gently draped Li Yueyao’s clothing back over her, covering her exposed skin, and smoothed her disheveled hair.

Li Yueyao’s face was icy, her teeth clamped hard on her lower lip as she rose, trembling, from the sofa.

She had witnessed scenes like this countless times, yet now she could not remain calm.

"That man—Zhang Huang, was it? He’s the one you asked me to deal with, isn’t he?" Ye Fei crouched beside her, his tone gentle, smiling. "He’s finished now. But I’m a charitable man—since that bastard just tried to assault you, I’ve taken care of him for you as well. Consider it a favor returned."

Li Yueyao said nothing.

Ye Fei stood, dragged the battered, whimpering Situ Ye from where he’d fallen, and placed him before her.

"Raise your hand," he said. "Slap him back."

Li Yueyao slowly lifted her head; her gaze was cold, a trace of chill flickering within.

"Slap him," Ye Fei repeated softly.

Smack!

Blood welled at the corner of Situ Ye’s mouth.

"If your hands can’t behave," Ye Fei said coolly, "then you don’t need them at all."