Chapter Two: A Stinging Rebuff

“They’re elite beast riders from the Beast Sect. Looks like things are about to get lively in the Spirit Realm,” the old man narrowed his eyes as he watched the approaching riders.

Zhou Yu, however, was scrutinizing the mounts beneath those riders. These creatures were pitch black, towering a full two meters tall, with thick, powerful limbs. Their eyes, as large as bronze bells, glowed blood-red; sharpened claws and gleaming fangs jutted out from iron-clad jaws—these monstrous beasts were the very embodiment of ferocity.

Yet, under the control of their riders, these vicious beasts moved as docilely as horses, a sight that seemed almost impossible.

“Those are Qilin Beasts—the Beast Sect’s most powerful mounts. Only the most elite of the elite can possess one. Each Qilin Beast has the strength of a demon soldier, and paired with an expert rider, just five such pairs can stand against a demon general.” The old man spoke patiently to Zhou Yu, who knew too little of this world. Now that he had left the Mysterious Mountain, he needed to learn everything he could as quickly as possible.

Five riders, five Qilin Beasts, able to stand against a demon general! The thought shook Zhou Yu to his core. On the snowy mountain, that giant bear had been at the demon general level—when it raged, it could flatten mountains and move seas, and even the old man had struggled fiercely to subdue it.

Yet here, there were twenty riders—this small squad had the combined might of four demon generals! According to the hierarchy he’d read about, that was the equivalent of four C-class powerhouses!

Zhou Yu clenched his fists, joints popping audibly. He hadn’t expected to encounter such a formidable group just after descending the mountain. And he himself was still at F-class. Although the Medicine King had said it was nearly impossible for him to advance, Zhou Yu refused to believe it. He was convinced that with enough effort, he could ascend the ranks, stand atop the world, and one day return to save it.

The Qilin Beasts marched in perfect unison, their steps pounding the earth like muffled thunder. Dust billowed in their wake, blanketing the narrow path.

As the riders drew near, the leader glanced at Zhou Yu and his companions by the roadside, then sneered, “Since when can any run-of-the-mill riffraff come to pay respects in the Spirit Realm?”

Zhou Yu wore ill-fitting clothes—remnants of what he’d worn when he crossed into this world. After the old man had hacked off the excess sleeves and pant legs, they looked even more awkward. Several fierce battles had left them tattered; he resembled nothing so much as a young beggar. The old man, as always, was unkempt, his hair and beard tangled into a single mass, his clothes just as ragged—a perfect match for an old beggar.

“Haha! Senior Brother, it’s the world-famous Beggar Sect—the young beggar and the old beggar!” another rider called out, sparking a chorus of laughter.

“Is this the famed courtesy of the Beast Sect’s elite—judging others by appearance?” Zhou Yu addressed the old man, his voice pitched just loudly enough for the lead rider to hear.

“Stop!” barked the leader. At his command, the entire company halted in perfect formation—truly elite.

“What did you say?” The lead rider, still atop his Qilin Beast, fixed Zhou Yu with a cold, deathly stare.

“Is this the sect’s chief knight? I’ve heard much of your prowess—such renowned experts shouldn’t be bothered by a child’s words,” the old man interjected, stepping between Zhou Yu and the rider. He subtly squeezed Zhou Yu’s hand, signaling him to keep quiet.

The lead rider cursed the old man’s cunning inwardly but wasn’t about to let Zhou Yu off the hook. “You’re right. Why would I, an adult, stoop to a child’s level? But I do need to teach this brat a lesson—to show him what should and shouldn’t be said. Without strength, you’re nothing but shit!”

With that, the lead rider vaulted from his Qilin Beast, his boots thudding against the ground and sending tremors through the earth.

The old man’s expression grew troubled—these riders were not to be trifled with, but he couldn’t just abandon Zhou Yu. “Is the Beast Sect really set on bullying a child? If so, you might as well throw in an old man like me. At least then you’d be feasting on both old and young—what a reputation that would be.”

“Hmph! Strength is all that matters. Old man, step aside and save your breath!” the lead rider removed his helmet, revealing a bald, shining head.

“Kid, don’t say I’m picking on you. I, Zuo Hao, am a fair man. If you can withstand one of my punches, I’ll let you go.” Zuo Hao ran a hand over his gleaming scalp and closed in, step by step.

“It’s a deal,” Zhou Yu said, stepping out from behind the old man. He intended to shoulder the consequences of his own actions.

The old man wanted to stop him, but seeing the determination in Zhou Yu’s eyes, he sighed quietly and held his tongue.

“Good, kid, you’ve got guts. I’ll make sure you truly savor this punch—enough to keep you bedridden for life! You’ll love it!” Zuo Hao cracked his knuckles as he advanced.

“You’re an adult—if you get to punch me, shouldn’t I at least get a shot at you? Isn’t that fair?” Zhou Yu glanced meaningfully at Zuo Hao’s bald head.

“Heh, kid, if you can survive my punch, you can hit me all you like,” Zuo Hao sneered.

“Swear it,” Zhou Yu insisted, still eyeing his bald head.

Zuo Hao’s gaze turned icy. “You’re courting death, kid. Fine—I swear by the great Holy Qilin: if this brat survives my punch, I’ll never pursue the matter, and he can hit me as much as he likes!”

Zhou Yu’s gaze moved from Zuo Hao’s scalp to his face. “Let’s begin—enough talk.”

As soon as Zhou Yu finished speaking, Zuo Hao stamped the ground, instantly crossing the two-meter gap and swinging a fist at Zhou Yu, leaving him no time to prepare.

Caught off guard, Zhou Yu took the blow square in the abdomen and was sent flying, arcing through the air before crashing to the ground ten meters away, leaving a shallow crater.

“Zhou Yu!” The old man flashed to his side, kneeling to check on him. He hadn’t expected Zuo Hao to strike so shamelessly, without warning. Zuo Hao’s sudden attack was so swift and fierce that even the old man couldn’t intervene in time.

Liu Yueming, who had been watching silently, now radiated a killing intent from his cold eyes.

“Trash! I thought you’d be tougher, but you couldn’t even take one punch. Go home and suck your mother’s milk!” Zuo Hao had seen, from the old man’s quick move, that the latter was no ordinary figure, but with numbers on his side, he still dared to taunt.

The old man turned, his gaze murderous. “To hell with your mother!” He seized his massive sword and prepared to fight.

But just then, a hand stopped him. Zhou Yu, clutching his stomach with his left hand, grabbed the old man with his right, and, swaying, managed to stand. The pain in his belly felt as if he’d been gutted, but he gritted his teeth, swallowed the blood rising in his throat, and got to his feet.

The old man looked at him. “Are you alright?”

Zhou Yu shook his head, then nodded, and stepped forward. His legs buckled, and the old man quickly caught him.

Zhou Yu closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, forced the pain down, then pushed the old man aside and staggered toward Zuo Hao.

The old man stood there, watching Zhou Yu’s back with a complicated expression.

“What do you want?” Zuo Hao eyed Zhou Yu’s cold, almost crazed gaze, and watched him approach unsteadily, a flicker of unease passing through his heart. That punch, though not at full strength, would have laid even a demon tiger low—how could this youth still stand? How could he still smile?

Zhou Yu finally reached Zuo Hao, but his legs suddenly gave out and he collapsed against Zuo Hao’s chest. Blood trickled from Zhou Yu’s lips down Zuo Hao’s armor, dotting the ground with crimson drops.

Zuo Hao dared not move. He could feel no breath or heartbeat from the youth against his breastplate. Zuo Hao had killed many; death was nothing new to him. Yet, in that moment, a single thought flashed through his mind: Is this boy dead?

Zhou Yu stirred, using his hand to push himself upright. He lifted his head, smiled bitterly at Zuo Hao, and said, “Can I... still... hit you?” Blood dripped from his mouth as he spoke.

Zuo Hao stood frozen, speechless.

With great effort, Zhou Yu raised his trembling right hand and, ever so gently, slapped Zuo Hao’s face—a barely audible “smack”—before collapsing to the ground.

That faint slap landed not just on Zuo Hao’s face, but on the faces of all the riders, snapping Zuo Hao out of his stupor.

His face darkened, fury burning in his eyes. Was he truly afraid of a mere boy? Had he actually let himself be slapped? Zuo Hao’s bald head flushed red with anger.

He clenched his fists, staring at the youth sprawled before him, murder in his eyes.