Chapter One: Fury

Qingfeng Town covered dozens of miles and was home to more than a hundred thousand people. On the western edge of the town, in an unremarkable courtyard, a young man sat cross-legged. His breathing shifted from fast to slow, his chest rising and falling in rhythm, exuding an aura of natural ease and fluidity.

With each breath, a faint thread of elemental energy from heaven and earth seeped into his body, subtly strengthening his physique and nourishing his spirit.

After two hours, he withdrew from his cultivation, stood up, and stretched. He felt refreshed, surging with energy—as if he could fell an ox with a single punch.

Glancing at a blue brick in the courtyard, he gathered his inner force and struck it with his fist. With a sharp crack, the brick split cleanly into three pieces, while his knuckles remained unscathed.

“Ha! Just a few days ago I couldn’t even break a single brick, and now I’ve shattered it into three!” he exclaimed, looking at his fist with delight.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and touched a strange beast hide, about the size of his palm, which radiated a cool, soothing sensation. He had always felt this was no ordinary item.

The technique this boy cultivated was the most widespread and common method of channeling energy on the Cloudrise Continent. For most, it served only to strengthen the body, but through relentless perseverance and extraordinary talent, he had forcibly cultivated genuine inner force, reaching the entry level of martial arts: the first stage of the Gathering Qi Realm.

His name was Liu Feng, fifteen years of age. His delicate features brimmed with youthful vigor and confidence, as if no hardship could daunt him, no obstacle remain unconquered.

Having finished his practice, Liu Feng left his house and headed toward the bustling main street, intending to buy vegetables for lunch.

The street was a sea of people and carriages, alive with noise and commotion, vendors hawking their wares, lending the town a vibrant atmosphere of prosperity.

As Liu Feng walked, taking in the lively sights, a sudden commotion up ahead caught his attention—a crowd had gathered so densely that not a gap remained, and from within came cries of pain.

His pupils contracted at the sound, and he pushed through the throng in alarm.

There, on the ground, lay a man in his thirties, battered and bruised, his body trembling.

“Father, are you alright? Who did this to you?” Liu Feng’s eyes reddened at the sight, his fists clenched so tight that his nails bit into his palms, yet he felt nothing.

“Don’t be rash, Xiao Feng. We can’t afford to provoke them. Help me up, let’s go home,” his father said, voice quavering.

“No matter who it is, I will seek justice for you,” Liu Feng replied, his face flushed with anger.

“Well, aren’t you bold, boy? Suppose it was us—what then?” an arrogant voice sounded behind him.

Liu Feng spun around.

Not far away stood three men. The leader, about twenty years old, had a dark complexion and an air of arrogance and self-importance. Beside him stood two men dressed as servants.

It was one of the servants who had spoken, a horsewhip stained with blood still in his hand.

With a cold voice, Liu Feng demanded, “Why did you do this?”

“He startled our young master’s horse. Of course I had to teach him a lesson he’d remember.”

“So just because he startled a horse, you beat my father like this? Does the law mean nothing to you?”

“The law? Don’t make me laugh. Young Master Wang Kun is the law here.”

“Wang Er, enough talk. Break his legs—let’s see if he dares talk back again,” the arrogant youth ordered coldly.

“Yes, young master.” Wang Er swung his whip, which sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, aiming for Liu Feng.

But Liu Feng dodged, sidestepped, and, channeling his inner force, struck Wang Er squarely with his palm.

Caught off guard by the youth’s speed, Wang Er took the blow on his back and crashed to the ground with a thud.

“You brat, you’re courting death!” Wang Er snarled, leaping to his feet, tossing aside the whip, and launching his fists at Liu Feng’s face.

But Liu Feng, more agile than any ordinary person thanks to his cultivation, slipped nimbly aside. He threw a fierce punch that landed squarely on Wang Er’s face.

Blood spurted from Wang Er’s nose and mouth, and several teeth flew out with it. With a furious roar, he charged at Liu Feng like a madman, but he was simply no match; blow after blow landed on him.

At last, with a heavy thud, Wang Er collapsed and could not rise again.

Among the onlookers, some couldn’t help but smile at Wang Er’s comeuppance.

“So you dare laugh at my young master? Quite bold, aren’t you. Wang San, give those men a good beating,” Wang Kun, the leader, said viciously, pointing at those who had smiled.

“Yes, young master.” The other servant, Wang San, strode toward them and struck one squarely in the face, drawing blood from his nose. He continued, beating several others until their faces were swollen and bruised.

“Let’s see if you dare laugh without cause again,” Wang San sneered.

Liu Feng was incensed to see bystanders punished for so little. He launched a punch at Wang San.

Wang San countered, and their fists collided, forcing both to retreat a step.

Without pause, Liu Feng attacked again, aiming for Wang San’s face.

Wang San met him palm to palm, and the sounds of impact rang out as they exchanged blows.

But it wasn’t long before Liu Feng’s fists landed repeatedly on Wang San, leaving him dizzy and battered. With a final crash, Wang San fell to the ground.

“Not bad, boy. It seems I’ll have to handle this myself,” Wang Kun said with a manic edge, stepping forward.

Liu Feng’s eyes flashed with anger—he knew this was the man who had ordered the attack on his father; Wang Er was nothing more than his lackey.

Without hesitation, Liu Feng hurled a fist, inner force surging wildly as he struck at Wang Kun.

Wang Kun, unfazed, extended his hand to seize Liu Feng’s fist.

Upon impact, Liu Feng was knocked back five or six steps, his chest tight and breathless.

Before he could recover, Wang Kun’s fist, whistling through the air, hammered toward him.

Liu Feng raised both palms to block, but the force sent him reeling, blood spurting from his mouth.

Wang Kun flashed forward and drove another punch into Liu Feng’s abdomen, knocking him to the ground where he coughed up blood again.

Planting a foot on Liu Feng’s chest, Wang Kun glared down. “I’ll break your legs today, make sure you ants remember—my young master’s not to be provoked.”

Liu Feng lay silent, blood at his lips, glaring coldly at Wang Kun.

“Young Master Wang, please, spare us—we’ll never cross you again,” Liu Feng’s father crawled over, clutching Wang Kun’s leg, weeping bitterly.

With a sneer, Wang Kun kicked Liu Feng’s father several times, drawing blood from his mouth.

“Wang Kun! If you have a grudge, take it out on me! Stop tormenting my father!” Liu Feng cried hoarsely.

“You’re still stubborn.” With that, Wang Kun stomped hard on Liu Feng’s left leg.

A sickening crack rang out as the bone broke. Sweat poured from Liu Feng with the pain, but he uttered not a word.

The crowd had been struck dumb with terror, not daring to make a sound.

Liu Feng’s father was beside himself with worry but utterly powerless. Seeing his son so grievously injured, his heart felt as if it bled.

“Stubborn brat.” With another stomp, Wang Kun broke Liu Feng’s right leg as well.

“See that? This is what happens if you defy me,” Wang Kun snarled at the crowd.

It was then that a faint red light flashed from the sky, streaking toward Liu Feng and vanishing into him on contact.

At that moment, an inconspicuous item on Liu Feng’s person emitted a faint glow, and a mysterious power surged into his body.

Instantly, Liu Feng’s wounds healed, and his inner force doubled.

He slapped the ground with a palm, and with that newfound strength, sprang to his feet.

Wang Kun recoiled in shock, bewildered at how Liu Feng could recover so suddenly from such grave injuries.

But Liu Feng did not hesitate—he launched a punch, and a violent surge of energy thundered at Wang Kun.

Seeing this, Wang Kun’s face turned grim. He hooked his fingers into claws and struck at Liu Feng’s fist.

With a resounding crash, their powers collided and the shockwaves forced the crowd to step back.

Liu Feng pressed the attack, his hand forming a blade, sending a keen edge of energy slashing at Wang Kun’s arms.

Wang Kun countered with both claws, the air shrieking as they met Liu Feng’s blade.

A sharp cry as Wang Kun’s left hand was cut, blood welling instantly.

“Damn you! You’ve truly enraged me. I’ll tear you to pieces!” Wang Kun roared in fury.

He was the pampered young lord of the Wang family, used to hurting others, never having suffered himself. Now, wounded, his rage knew no bounds.

“With the Tiger Fist!” he bellowed. A translucent tiger’s silhouette appeared behind him as he swung both fists, sending a wave of violent energy crashing down at Liu Feng’s head like a hungry beast.

A rush of wind assailed Liu Feng; he barely had time to gather his force into his palm before meeting Wang Kun’s blow.

A thunderous boom erupted, stirring a whirlwind that sent dust swirling all around.

Wang Kun squinted against the blast.

In that instant, another fierce force hurtled toward him, too swift to evade.