Volume One: The Youngest Among Three Hundred Chapter Forty: Confrontation

Under the fluctuations of his original technique, the trajectories of the ascending fireworks subtly shifted. As that faintly distorted aura silently expanded to envelop the space before Chen Chang’an, both the verdant bamboo hairpin tucked in his hair and the Black Garment Token gifted by Cao Wu in his bosom began to tremble in tandem.

The price was immediate: the former dimmed in color.

A sudden whoosh—followed by a muffled thud.

Two forces twisted together, forming an invisible barrier. When the killing intent truly descended, the golden radiance of the Black Garment Token shattered instantly, unable to withstand the assault. Yet the green glow from the bamboo hairpin surged in a devastating reversal, colliding fiercely with the force of Zai Sheng, erupting in waves of energy that blasted outward.

“Holy—!”

The once-hidden danger now erupted in chaos. Chen Chang’an cried out in alarm, instinctively ducking behind Su Wanqing. But after a brief hesitation, he reached forward, shielding her instead. Mao Ji and the two young attendants darted their eyes about in panic before finally fixing their gaze on the main hall’s beams.

Following their line of sight, Chen Chang’an managed to focus his blurred vision. Bathed in the dazzling fireworks, he caught sight of two figures whose forms seemed eerily familiar.

At that moment, Mr. Fenyang, who had struck first, hesitated in confusion. “What… what’s happening? My original technique, Zai Sheng, has no effect on him?”

The clawed man was equally stunned. “Impossible! He has no foundation in the arts—and he’s blind.”

Mr. Fenyang mused, “He must be wearing some rare artifact. Yet I truly can’t fathom what could possibly block Zai Sheng in this world.”

As his words fell, he bent his knees and sprang into the air, shouting, “Chen Chang’an, your life is forfeit!”

The roar sent a tremor through Chen’s every nerve and sinew. That voice—it was unmistakably the mysterious practitioner who’d once been repelled by Cao Wu at Princess Changning’s residence.

He should have realized it sooner: even his cultivator brother-in-law was no match for this man. After ruining their plans twice already, this gang of fools was bound to seek revenge. He’d been careless.

Without hesitation, Chen Chang’an grabbed Su Wanqiu and fled.

But even as he took his first step, the steel talons of the clawed man lashed out, pursuing them relentlessly.

The Black Garment Token no longer stirred. The verdant bamboo hairpin flickered, as if gathering power.

Mao Ji, regaining his wits, raised his blade to defend. “Villains, stay away from Young Master Chen!”

His cry drew Mr. Fenyang’s attention. With a dismissive wave of his sleeve, the renowned craftsman of Great Min crashed, blade and all, against the wall, instantly knocked unconscious.

The two young attendants, terrified, scrambled to hide beneath a bamboo basket.

A shrill tearing sound split the air as the claws struck, closing to within half a foot.

Sensing the peril, Su Wanqiu turned with courage. The two claws ripped through her robe across the chest, drawing a long, thin spray of blood and hurling her aside.

“Wanqiu!”

Chen Chang’an quickly lunged forward, shifting his position on instinct despite his clouded vision, and caught her in his arms.

“Wanqiu… Sister Wanqiu!”

His breathing turned ragged, anxiety gnawing at his heart.

Opposite them, the clawed man and Mr. Fenyang landed together. The former scraped his steel claws against his iron mask, producing a chilling metallic screech. “Chen, you’ve sabotaged our plans again and again. You deserve to die. Even the gods can’t save you now.”

Mr. Fenyang raised his palm at him once more. “It seems you carry an artifact that can resist Zai Sheng. But I’m curious—how many blows can it withstand?”

A grim smile twisted Chen Chang’an’s lips. He gently set Su Wanqiu aside, then drew the verdant bamboo hairpin from his hair and gripped it like a sword. With Su Dingfeng, Cao Wu, and Li Shu all absent, facing two deadly foes, his only chance lay in fighting to the bitter end.

Surrender was not an option—it would mean certain death.

Fortunately, he still carried the miraculous pellet, the Wei Pill, gifted by Peach Blossom at Fragrant Pavilion, capable of igniting his potential. He fished it out and swallowed it without hesitation.

The pill melted instantly, pouring a warm current through his abdomen, which then surged throughout his body, cleansing every limb and meridian. It seemed even his very cells swelled and brimmed with newfound strength.

The clawed man advanced, voice icy. “Chen, you blind fool. Do you still dare resist? Next life, remember—meddling in affairs beyond you brings nothing but death.”

He spoke no more. With a powerful leap, both claws crossed and struck with crushing force.

At the same instant, Chen Chang’an tightened his grip on the bamboo hairpin, as long as a chopstick, bracing it like a sword toward the onrushing menace and unleashed the technique Peach Enchantment.

A waft of peach fragrance filled the air, momentarily clouding the clawed man’s mind.

“Now!”

Seizing the moment, Chen darted forward and thrust at the blurred outline’s heart and lungs. A dull sound, and as the clawed man shook off the enchantment, a sharp pain stabbed his chest.

Something had pierced his lung.

“Aaah!”

He cried out in agony.

Chen Chang’an followed with a barrage of punches.

Each blow landed with a heavy thud, sending the clawed man reeling backward like a cut kite, crashing to the ground.

Desperately shaking his head to stay conscious, blood trickling from his lips beneath the mask, the man tried to rise again, unwilling to admit defeat. But the moment he tried to channel his inner power, searing pain erupted from his wound.

“Damn it, it’s spiritual energy!”

He dropped to one knee, looking weakly at Mr. Fenyang. “Careful—the bamboo hairpin… in his hand… it’s a spiritual artifact. It must be what blocked Zai Sheng!”

“I should have realized—if he could kill You Ruo in the dry well at the Sanyuan Temple, he must have tricks up his sleeve. I was too careless!”

Mr. Fenyang’s expression grew serious and his mind focused. “There are few treasures in this world that can resist Zai Sheng. Let’s see how many more times it can withstand.”

With that, he unleashed a surge of powerful energy. The mysterious light of Zai Sheng burst from his palm, sweeping toward Chen Chang’an from several steps away. Instantly, Chen felt his heart twist, his kidneys ache, his insides churn.

Yet the effect was far from what Mr. Fenyang had anticipated. By all rights, Chen Chang’an’s veins, bones, and muscles should have ruptured, his body exploding into a bloody pulp.

This was Zai Sheng at full power, after all.

“There’s no sign of an artifact’s aura, so… he’s taking it with his body alone? That’s impossible. To withstand Zai Sheng with mere flesh, he’d have to be at the Life-and-Death level!”

Astonishment filled Mr. Fenyang.

But as Zai Sheng’s onslaught continued, the warm current from the Wei Pill within Chen Chang’an only grew more potent, nourishing every cell until they swelled to new heights.

His flesh and organs gained new resilience.

“Ah!”

He threw back his head and roared, desperate to unleash the burning power within.

Stamping the ground, he left a deep pit, then vaulted easily into the air. The bamboo hairpin, gripped above his head like a short sword, channeled a torrent of inner energy.

The fireworks continued to soar and explode in layered brilliance, illuminating the night behind Chen Chang’an in a dazzling tableau, rendering him in midair like a deity.

“This sword—Slaying the Immortal! Will it be your end?”

He called out, spinning his body in a full circle, head down, bamboo hairpin leading the way, trailing a slender cloud tail as he dove toward Mr. Fenyang’s position.

Harnessing the power of heaven and earth, the stars and moon above.

At that moment, every remaining firework, as if drawn by some mystical force, soared to a certain height and arced in a half-circle, trailing behind Chen Chang’an in a curtain of flowing light.

Mr. Fenyang stood below, head tilted at forty-five degrees, watching as Chen Chang’an, surrounded by a myriad of brilliant fireworks and clutching the verdant bamboo hairpin, drew ever closer. Sweat beaded on his brow, his mouth twitching unconsciously.

“Such power—from a man who, until now, had never touched the martial path?”

“No… this isn’t martial arts. There’s a surge of immortal energy… but he’s not a cultivator either. What is he?”

For a fleeting moment, regret crossed his mind for coming to kill Chen Chang’an. Stunned by the magnitude of what he faced, his mind went blank.

Snapping back to reality, he gathered every ounce of his strength and launched a counterattack, sending a mountainous force upward.

Bang!

Thunderous explosions resounded as the tip of the bamboo hairpin met Mr. Fenyang’s stance. The shockwave radiated outward—two meters, four meters, eight meters—dozens, then a hundred meters in a vast circle.

The ground trembled as if shaved away, the entire courtyard dropping several inches, ripples of force overturning furniture and shattering walls.

It was as if the Milky Way itself had fallen, each firework following, bursting into myriad blossoms upon the earth.

Through the swirling dust, the bamboo hairpin could be seen embedded in Mr. Fenyang’s forehead, while blood trickled from Chen Chang’an’s pale lips, drop by drop.