Chapter 166: Chapter 164: Did They Tell You That You Would Die?
"The Eye-Opening Arena is ready. If Young Master Fu doesn’t take the stage now, when will he?"
On the main platform, Zheng Jicang turned and stared intently at Fu Juemin from a few paces away.
Fu Juemin remained silent, but from the row of Taishi chairs to his left, someone immediately spoke up in a long, drawn-out, snide tone, "What is the Sacrificial Officer dawdling for? Thousands of pairs of eyes, both on and off the stage, are waiting, you know."
"Precisely. It’s just a light spar, stopping before any harm is done. I heard Young Master Fu is also a practitioner of martial arts. Could it be... he’s scared?"
"We’ve given you immense face, and you’ve taken the seat of honor... Surely Young Master Fu isn’t going to refuse to see this final custom through?"
The comments came one after another, a surging undercurrent.
The speakers were all masters of Martial Arts Halls, Sect Leaders, and their ilk.
Finally, even "Unrivaled Fist and Palm" Zhou Feibai—the gray-haired, gray-robed man resting with his eyes closed at the head of the left-hand seats—slowly opened his eyes. He tapped a knuckle against his teacup and chimed in with an indifferent tone, "The Martial Sacrificial Officer had best be quick... lest we miss the auspicious hour."
The martial arts practitioners all wore sneers, while the guests on the other side watched with amusement.
The Western consul, whom Fu Juemin had brushed aside earlier, seemed particularly engrossed. He appeared to be witnessing such a spectacle for the first time, whispering excitedly to his translator as his gaze darted back and forth between Fu Juemin and Zhou Feibai.
The editor-in-chief of the *Shenghai Daily*, a bespectacled man with the air of an intellectual, remained expressionless. He turned his head and gave a few quiet orders. Immediately, several reporters from below the stage scrambled up, aiming their cameras squarely at Fu Juemin.
Just then, a voice rang out from the arena.
"Fu Lingjun, you’re not scared, are you?"
Zhao Tianpeng stood in the center of the great, red Eye-Opening Arena, his expression savage. He enunciated every word, "The honor, the substance—my Zhao Family has given you everything... So take it!"
Fu Juemin looked up, his gaze calm as it met Zhao Tianpeng’s.
Zhao Tianpeng met his gaze without flinching, a cold glint in his eyes. A look of open provocation spread across his face.
"’The Sacrificial Officer performs the ’eye-opening,’ is that it...’"
After a long moment under the countless stares, Fu Juemin finally spoke. "Very well."
He rose from his seat, his expression unchanged, and gave a casual nod. "I accept."
At his words, the men in the row of Taishi chairs to the left all broke into smiles. They exchanged glances and fell silent.
A smile touched Zheng Jicang’s face as well. Without another word, he turned aside, bowed, and gestured toward the ramp leading to the arena. "Please."
The reporters, having received their orders, scurried forward to secure the best vantage points along the ramp between the main platform and the Eye-Opening Arena. They trained their lenses on Fu Juemin, ready to snap photos at a moment’s notice.
A roar like a tidal wave erupted from the crowd below.
On the arena floor, Zhao Tianpeng gave a savage grin and took several large strides backward, clearing the center of the stage.
—They had all endured, they had all flattered, all to maneuver Fu Juemin, step by step, to the edge of the platform and force him onto the stage.
If he refused, "Young Master Fu of Shenghai" would become a laughingstock, and the Qinglian Gang behind him would be utterly disgraced.
But if he went...
The top five contestants in this Martial Arts Association gathering had all been bought off. They were nearly all Martial Family members at the Tongxuan Realm.
How old was Fu Juemin? How many years had he been training? As long as he dared to step onto that stage... they would beat him to death right then and there!
Once he was dead, it would just be a power struggle between the Luo and Chen Families and the Qinglian Gang’s Ding Moshan. And Luo Chengying himself had promised—he swore to protect the Zhao Family.
So, now that it had come to this, no matter what Fu Juemin chose, his fate was sealed. This was an overt plot, plain and simple!
Of course, what Zhao Tianpeng hoped for most was for Fu Juemin to actually ascend the stage. After all, he had Fu Juemin to thank for that hellish month in the Concession Patrol Office.
Now... all he had to do was sit back and enjoy the show as Fu Juemin met his end.
Fu Juemin walked slowly toward the arena.
With every step he took, the smiles on the faces of those on the main platform deepened, and the cheers from the crowd below grew more feverish.
On the stage, the Martial Champion, Yang Lie, who had been waiting for some time, stared at him intently. Before Fu Juemin had even fully set foot on the platform, Yang Lie clasped his hands in a deep bow, his voice booming like a heavy bell. "This humble one, Yang Lie, asks the Sacrificial Officer... for your guidance."
As he spoke, he straightened up, his body relaxing slightly. A series of sharp CRACKS echoed from his joints, and his entire presence seemed to surge, growing immensely more powerful.
The corners of Yang Lie’s mouth turned up in a nearly imperceptible smirk.
’The five who became Martial Champions in this association weren’t all that different in strength,’ he thought. ’They were all basically at the Early Stage of the Tongxuan Realm.’
’The Champion’s title shouldn’t have gone to me. There was another guy among the five with an exquisite Palm Technique; I knew I couldn’t beat him.’
’But that man was a fool, and the other three were gutless cowards... Only I dared to take the deal. I got a Secret Technique and a secret medicine that could temporarily boost my power to the Middle Stage of the Tongxuan Realm. With a little string-pulling from Young Master Zhao, taking first place was a breeze.’
’How many chances does a man get in life to soar to the heavens, for a carp to leap the dragon gate?’
’Why are some people born into luxury, wearing Western suits, riding in cars, and attending fancy parties?’
"Have you thought it through?"
Before he knew it, Fu Juemin had reached the center of the stage and was looking at him calmly.
Yang Lie smiled and nodded. Under the combined effects of the Secret Technique and the pill dissolving under his tongue, his Qi Blood was boiling. His muscles bulged, and his once-handsome face took on a faint, sinister cast.
"Sacrificial Officer, please, make your move."
Yang Lie cracked his neck, producing a series of soft KAKAS. He looked at the man before him and instinctively licked his lips.
He was growing impatient.
In the next second, he saw the man before him casually raise a hand.
The motion triggered a storm of cheers from the crowd, and the flashbulbs by the arena flashed erratically.
Yang Lie’s heart hammered like a drum. A warm current of mixed excitement and trepidation surged through his body.
He stared intently at the slowly rising hand—it was fair, slender, and showed no trace of scars or calluses.
’A hand that has clearly been pampered its entire life,’ he thought, ’one that has never known a day of hardship.’
The noon sun shone through the gaps between the fingers, creating, for some reason, a rippling, glass-like halo of light.
Yang Lie narrowed his eyes slightly.
The halo reminded him of the neon signs he had seen the previous night, when Zhao Tianpeng had taken him to the Xianlido.
Champagne, beautiful women, Western banknotes filling the air...
Suddenly, accompanied by a strange, low whistle, the halo before his eyes became blindingly bright.
*CLICK—*
The flashbulbs flared!
All the dreamlike splendor shattered in an instant. The hair on Yang Lie’s body stood on end as a horror as vast as an abyss completely consumed him.
He widened his eyes, but all he could see was a blazing glare. He instinctively threw a punch to block...
"AHHHH—"
On the main platform, Zhou Feibai, who had been sitting calmly and sipping his tea, suddenly snapped his head up, an incredulous light bursting from his eyes.
"ROAR—!!"
The roar from the crowd reached its zenith!
...
As the climax passed, the wave of noise gradually subsided.
Beside the Eye-Opening Platform, a reporter slowly pulled his eye away from his camera’s viewfinder, his expression dazed, as if he had seen a ghost.
A few meters away on the stage, Yang Lie stood frozen, his hands clamped tightly around his own throat.
Fresh blood gushed from between his fingers like a fountain, impossible to stop, impossible to contain.
"Hkk..."
He reached out one hand as if trying to grasp something, but the light in his eyes faded rapidly. Finally, with an expression of utter disbelief, he collapsed backward with a thud.
All the noise from the crowd ceased abruptly.
Everyone froze, their expressions stunned. It seemed no one had expected this scene to unfold.
—Shenghai’s newly crowned Martial Champion, whose future had seemed limitless only moments ago, was now... now just dead on the stage?!
On the main platform, Zhou Feibai slowly rose to his feet, his face expressionless. On either side of him, the smiles of the guests who had been waiting for a good show were now frozen on their faces.
"DRIP... DRIP..."
Dark red drops of blood fell slowly from the tips of the index and middle fingers of Fu Juemin’s right hand.
His expression nonchalant, Fu Juemin strode forward.
He stopped when he reached Zhao Tianpeng, whose face was a frozen mask of shock.
Then, he pressed his bloodstained hand against the fine fabric of Zhao Tianpeng’s vest and began to slowly, meticulously wipe his palm clean.
"Luo Chengying, Chen Qingyuan... and your father, Zhao Jigang."
"When they pushed you out here to be their gun, did they ever tell you—"
Fu Juemin finished wiping his hand. He looked up at Zhao Tianpeng and asked softly, "—that you would die?"
Hearing this, Zhao Tianpeng snapped out of his stupor. A violent tremor wracked his body as if he had been struck by lightning.
Before terror could fully register on his face, Fu Juemin patted him lightly on the back and pointed.
"Look over there."
Zhao Tianpeng turned his head instinctively.
He saw—on the roof of an old building near the Old City God Temple, just outside the Martial Arts Association grounds, a middle-aged man with a burn scar on his face and ice-cold eyes. He was holding a Western rifle with a scope, its barrel aimed steadily at the space between Zhao Tianpeng’s eyebrows.
Zhao Tianpeng’s pupils contracted. A bone-deep chill surged up from the depths of his heart.
But before he could react, he heard Fu Juemin’s soft voice in his ear.
"He’s watching you..."
"Smile nicely."
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