Chapter 39
The movement was rough, and his palm had dragged Ling Xu out of the line, creating a commotion that shattered the queue around them.
Yet Ling Xu, who had never lost his composure, immediately blocked the attack with his left arm, and the clash of their powers gave birth to a gust of wind that pushed the crowd away.
That condition should have been taken seriously, especially because Huan Zheng had truly unleashed the anger he had held back since the long flight.
But Ling Xu's response was far from what was expected.
Instead of showing tension, his face reflected a strange kind of relief, like someone who had been waiting for that reaction from the very beginning.
For Ling Xu, the attack was not an insult but an affirmation, as if Huan Zheng's courage to strike was part of a test he himself had devised.
A faint praise gleamed from his eyes, treating that outburst as proof of sincerity rather than mere defiance.
Everything was twisted into a reason that the long chase and the inhuman pressure were nothing more than a trial, a combined test to measure Huan Zheng's resolve in his role as protector.
For Huan Zheng, all those words were poisonous humiliation.
How could sacrifices that nearly cost his life be reduced to nothing but a test of loyalty?
Every ounce of energy he had given up—fifteen times over—was merely a requirement to be recognized as a subordinate.
He saw that judgment as an insult, affirming that his current status was no more than that of a tool to be tested, forced, and only then considered worthy.
The fire of anger thickened in his chest, but at the same time, his body felt something different.
The energy that had once been drained away now turned back, strengthening the core of cultivation he held.
Ironically, that punch, not intended to kill, had instead given him new momentum.
The stamina that had previously been worn away was now restored to its original point.
More than that, the pressure on his cultivation energy increased, as if his body itself was responding to this conflict in an unexpected way.
With a single breath, he realized that his cultivation realm was now equal to Ling Xu's—both standing at the second level of the Lower Constellation Unity.
Steps trembling with fury cut across the earth, leaving behind traces difficult to erase.
It was impossible to escape the bitter reality.
Huan Zheng had endured suffering beyond what a mortal soul could bear—surpassing all torment that even the Berkeley cardinal could carve, and continuing to grow, at least before he was cast into the realm of gods and goddesses and met Ling Xu.
That long torment clung to his body, etched into every fiber of muscle often forced beyond its limits.
Now, every memory of hell he had once lived was twisted, shamelessly reused as material to be relived again.
As if all of it was worth nothing more than a measuring tool, a cheap stepping stone used by Ling Xu—solely to prove that a subordinate's loyalty was nothing more than formality.
Thus, the judging gaze, instead of a comforting one, was like a slap to the face of someone who had sacrificed everything, only to be looked down upon.
Meanwhile, Ling Xu remained standing, still perched in the midst of the whirlwind born from their earlier clash of power.
His calm face radiated that strange relief, as if what had just happened was nothing more than part of a design, a light test to assess his protector's strength.
There was not the slightest trace of acknowledgment, not even a small sign of apology for Huan Zheng's long torment.
What appeared instead was the opposite: a cold determination that treated another's inner battle as a means to strengthen his own conviction.
For Ling Xu, every drop of blood and energy drained was proof of commitment, while for Huan Zheng, it was poison—tiny, tormenting grains that seeped slowly, poisoning his heart with nothing but insult.
He stood not far from the trembling lines on the ground, realizing that every small movement Huan Zheng made was but one step away from an inevitable eruption.
Huan Zheng had never been born to be a pawn, a mere piece moved in a game of strategy.
What he carried within his chest was pain, hardship, and destruction that had nearly erased him more than once.
Yet when all of that was treated as a trivial exercise, his fury could no longer be restrained.
The closer the two stood, the thinner the walls of patience became.
His left hand, which had once gripped Ling Xu's shoulder, now loosened, shifting with a clearer intent.
In an instant—and for the second time—Huan Zheng's body surged forward once again, preparing a swing of his fist aimed directly at the face of the very figure he had just been following.
Not to end his life, but to release the blaze that could no longer be contained, so that his body would not explode under the burden it carried.
That first punch came like an unripe spark, nothing more than a flicker of half-burned anger.
Yet even if weak, the sorrow embedded within left a deep impression—not merely leaving a mark, but also scorching Ling Xu's meridian channels as his arm was forced to block the impact.
From the outside, it might have appeared like a light strike.
But beneath the skin, the flow of energy trembled uncontrollably, as though a small flame was crawling from shoulder to head.
Ling Xu forced himself not to show any reaction, though the stabbing pain had already marked that this was not a blow without meaning.
Afterward, his body moved by instinct, not plan.
With agility, Ling Xu stepped back once, letting the momentum of that first attack pass by him without producing a disgraceful flaw.
There was a faint sense of gratitude, as if the small training he had arranged had gone flawlessly.
In his mind briefly bloomed a fragment of joy, almost like a teacher pleased to see his student daring to step into the testing ground.
But that feeling lingered only for a moment, for the flow that surged from Huan Zheng next was clearly different.
When Ling Xu was about to close the test, to end the game he had crafted, another aura seeped in coldly.
Something chilling crept from the soles of the earth, suffocating his chest.
His gaze found that Huan Zheng was no longer channeling emotions merely for venting, but truly directing his entire being toward the intent to wound.
Not to kill.
And it was at that moment, an invisible bell tolled within Ling Xu's heart, striking harder than the attack he had just blocked.
That chime had already echoed eight times before—a faint warning of instinct, impossible to reject.
Now, the ninth toll rang clearly, shaking the very core of his being, as Huan Zheng's fist shot forward, just a breath away from striking his nose bone.
That fist was nearly fused with his face, as the distance between them was no more than a shadow's breadth.
The force exhaled from Huan Zheng's clenched hand was already enough to tear, enough to shake the surface of Ling Xu's skin, making the meridians throughout his body scream in fear.
All the flows of energy seemed to know, to understand, that once that flawless nose bone shattered, the next collapse would spread even further, disrupting the balance of the body and the spirit of the gods.
To be continued…