Chapter Thirty-Four: Worldly Strife, the Wrath of Ants

Zhao Wei felt a humiliation unlike any he had ever known.

In the social circles of the capital, who did not greet him with a respectful “Young Master Zhao”? There had never been anything he desired, any woman he fancied, that he could not obtain.

Yet today, in this shabby clinic, a penniless doctor in a cheap white coat dared to treat him as if he were invisible!

“Are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you!” Zhao Wei bellowed, hurling the bouquet of roses in his hand violently to the floor, jabbing a finger at my nose as he cursed.

Qin Muyao trembled with anger. “Zhao Wei, you’ve gone too far! Apologize to Mr. Jiang this instant!”

“Apologize? He’s not worthy!” Zhao Wei sneered, his gaze growing ever more vicious. “Muyao, get over here! I’m going to teach this insolent fool a lesson today. He needs to know there are some people he can never afford to offend!”

A flicker of madness flashed in his eyes as he truly raised his fist, aiming for my face.

He wanted, in the most direct and humiliating way possible, to shatter the “masterly” image I held in Qin Muyao’s eyes.

Qin Muyao gave a frightened cry.

Had Xiao Jingtian witnessed this, he would likely have been scared out of his wits on the spot. To incur the wrath of this “sage,” the consequences would be more dire than the sky collapsing.

In the rear courtyard, Ling Qingzhu, who had been quietly meditating, slowly opened her eyes, her delicate brows knit. A cold sword intent flashed and vanished. Though she was immersed in contemplation, she was keenly aware of the happenings outside. Were it not for my lack of signal, Zhao Wei would already be a corpse.

Yet I remained seated, unmoving.

Just as Zhao Wei’s seemingly fierce fist was about to make contact with my face—

Bang!

A dull thud resounded.

The one who intervened was not me.

It was Shi Lei.

No one knew when he had appeared at the entrance to the clinic, standing there like a tower of iron, blocking Zhao Wei’s path. He seized Zhao Wei’s wrist in a vice-like grip, rendering it immobile.

“Who the hell are you? Let go of me!” Zhao Wei cried, both shocked and enraged, struggling with all his might.

Shi Lei said nothing, simply fixing him with a cold, detached gaze—the gaze of a man who had witnessed countless deaths on the battlefield, filled with indifference and the aura of violence.

Zhao Wei, cowed by that look, felt his bravado shrink by half.

“Shi Lei, what brings you here?” Only then did I glance up, my tone calm.

“Master.” Shi Lei bowed respectfully to me. “It’s my day off, so I came to visit you. I didn’t expect to run into some fool causing trouble here.”

His voice, like two boulders grinding together, brimmed with intimidation.

“Let him go. Don’t sully this place,” I said with a wave of my hand.

At my words, Shi Lei flicked his wrist.

“Aaagh!” Zhao Wei screamed in agony as a surge of brute force tossed him out the door. He landed in a heap beside his flashy red Ferrari.

“You… All of you just wait!” Scrambling to his feet, his wrist throbbing with pain, Zhao Wei realized he would gain nothing today. Spitting a venomous threat and shooting me a hateful glare, he dove into his car and fled in disgrace.

“Mr. Jiang, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault for bringing you this trouble.” Qin Muyao, guilt written all over her face, said, “Zhao Wei… his family is very powerful. I’m afraid he’ll try to retaliate. I’ll call my grandfather right away—”

“It’s nothing,” I replied coolly. “The wrath of an insect is not worth your concern.”

To someone who had lived two thousand years, such so-called “scions of noble houses” were no different from the summer cicadas chirping by the roadside. Their anger, their vengeance, could not stir even the faintest ripple in my heart.

Yet my indifference did not mean trouble would not seek me out.

That very night, after I saw off Yi Yi and Qin Muyao and was about to close up, several black business vans pulled up soundlessly to the entrance, encircling the entire “Anhetang” clinic.

Out stepped more than twenty burly men in black suits, their faces cold and ruthless. Leading them was a man with a scar slashed across his cheek, a cigar dangling from his lips, his gaze sharp as a blade.

“You’re Jiang Xiuyuan?” the scar-faced man asked, exhaling a smoke ring, his tone slow and deliberate. “Young Master Zhao said: get on your knees, break your own legs, and crawl out of Haishi. Otherwise, tonight we’ll burn this shabby clinic to ashes, you and all your belongings together.”

A chill wind swept through the night.

I regarded these so-called “thugs,” noting the invisible aura of violence and bloodlust clinging to them—traces of having taken lives.

I sighed softly.

I had wished to avoid bloodshed.

But there are always those pitiful insects who insist on crawling under the feet of gods, deluding themselves that they can shake the heavens.

“It seems tonight’s moon will be stained red.”

Slowly, I closed the clinic’s door.

With a whisper, the heavy doors swung shut behind me, shutting out the world’s lights and leaving only the cold moonlight.

Seeing my composure, the scar-faced man’s eyes flickered with malice. He flicked his cigar to the ground, grinding it beneath his heel, and grinned cruelly. “Looks like you’re not afraid of death. Boys, get him! Break his legs first, then set this dump on fire!”

More than twenty thugs drew gleaming steel pipes and machetes from their belts, reeking of violence, and rushed me like a pack of hungry wolves descending on what seemed a meek lamb.

Had Qin Muyao been present, her face would have drained of all color.

Had Ling Qingzhu acted, the ground would have run with rivers of blood.

Had Shi Lei stood before me, this place would have become a field of shattered bones and twisted limbs.

But I merely stood there, unmoving, not so much as lifting my eyelids.

I did not move.

But the space behind me seemed to come alive.

The invisible “qi,” the momentum that had steeped for ten thousand years, radiated out from me in silence.

The first thugs to charge, when just three paces away, suddenly halted as if slamming into an invisible wall. Terror twisted their faces, as if they had glimpsed the most horrifying things in the world.

“Aaah!”

One of them let out a blood-curdling scream, dropping his steel pipe and clutching his head, collapsing to the ground, trembling uncontrollably, babbling, “Stay away! Stay away! I killed you! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

That scream was like the flip of a switch.

Next, a second, then a third—every one of the advancing men seemed to be dragged into their own deepest nightmares.

Some saw those they had hurt in the past transformed into vengeful specters come to claim their lives.

Some felt the crushing weight of their own sins, as if a mountain had come to rest upon their hearts, suffocating them.

Some even glimpsed their own tragic futures—lying dead in the streets, forgotten and unmourned.

The violent aura that clung to them was transformed, under the influence of my presence, into their worst inner demons, turning upon them with savage ferocity.

Such is the awe of a god, as oppressive as a prison.

I did not need to kill them; I simply allowed them to see themselves as they truly were.

For these men, steeped in guilt, to face their own souls was a torment worse than death.

The scar-faced man was the only one still barely able to stand, but cold sweat poured down his face and his legs shook like leaves in a storm. He could see nothing of the visions that haunted the others, but an unspeakable terror engulfed him, as if icy seawater drowned him from head to toe.

He felt that he was facing not a man, but an abyss, a starry sky, an ancient existence beyond imagining.

The other did not need to move a finger; his very presence alone was enough to make one’s soul tremble.

“Are you… are you a man or a ghost?” His voice was hoarse and thick with fear.

I slowly lifted my gaze, regarding him for the first time.

My eyes were calm and indifferent, utterly devoid of emotion.

But to the scar-faced man, that gaze seemed to pierce through flesh and bone, laying bare every filth and sin in his soul.

With a thud, he could no longer stand. His knees buckled and he collapsed, his machete clattering to the ground. He kowtowed desperately, his forehead thumping against the flagstones again and again.

“Immortal, please have mercy! I did not recognize greatness when I saw it! I’ll never dare again, have mercy!”

I ignored his pleas, only saying coldly:

“Go back and tell your master: if he values his life, he must come here tomorrow before sunset and kneel for one hour. Otherwise, what you have seen tonight will haunt the rest of his days.”

My words carried clearly into every ear.

Those trapped in their nightmares awoke as if hearing a divine command. Seeing the chaos around them, their leader kneeling in terror, and the white-robed youth still standing with effortless poise, their eyes filled with terror that cut to the bone.

They scrambled to help up the scar-faced man and fled to their cars, vanishing into the night in utter defeat.

With a wave of my hand, a breeze swept away the cigarette butts and the foul air they had left behind.

The clinic returned to silence.

As if nothing had ever happened.