Jack Young tossed Leon Liu Jr. out the window, and the atmosphere on the fourth floor instantly turned strange.
Master Leonard Liu should've gone down to check on his son, but Leon Jr.'s cowardice just now left him fuming. He snuck a glance at Sam Lee, feeling a bit embarrassed. Sure, he had no choice, but bowing his head to the enemy was a slap in the face for his allies.
So what now? Do we fight, or do we make peace?
Everyone could tell: if it came to a fight, anyone with less than forty years of cultivation was out of the running. To really duke it out, you needed at least forty-five years of skill, preferably fifty—otherwise, it was just asking for trouble. There were plenty of sects on the fourth floor, but counting Sam Lee, only four sect leaders had fifty years of cultivation. After seeing Master Leonard Liu nearly lose it, the crowd was nervous and hesitant to start a brawl.
But if we make peace, that young guy just said: he'll buy whatever he wants. If he's got enough cash, won't he just buy out everything? That's the real conflict here.
"Don't be fooled, folks. This kid's all bark and no bite—he's barely holding it together," Sam Lee said darkly. "Who knows what shady technique he's practicing? It looks fancy, but ten years of cultivation is still just ten years. If he's not using innate energy, what's there to fear? He puts on a good show, but after fighting all you sect leaders, he's wrecked inside. Don't lose your fighting spirit and let him trick you!"
With Sam Lee's words, the mood shifted again. Lady Fang glanced at Jack Young's hand—thin wisps of cold air were barely visible, obviously him working to purge stray energies. He'd just fought all those sect leaders bare-handed, and had a ton of true energy blasted into him. Sam Lee wasn't just making stuff up.
"Let me kick things off, just to get the ball rolling," Sam Lee said, shooting Master Leonard Liu a look. "A shame is like a wound—it only gets clean with blood. Don't hesitate, Liu." Master Leonard Liu shuddered, his eyes flickering.
Without waiting for a reply, Sam Lee stepped up to Jack Young, voice cold: "You stole my Swallow Flash Technique. Today, I'll show you what the real Swallow Flash Technique looks like!"
"Bring it on!" Jack Young wasn't scared at all—in fact, he looked downright excited. "I've been dying to see it in action."
A brawl was about to break out, tension crackling in the air—when suddenly, a scream rang out from downstairs. Everyone's eyes shifted. Normally, a scream or two is no big deal in the martial world, but this voice was all too familiar—wasn't that Leon Liu Jr., who'd just been thrown down the stairs?
"Leon?" Master Leonard Liu couldn't help but look down, only to hear a whoosh—Leon Liu Jr. came flying back up to the fourth floor. But he wasn't exactly gliding up with style—it was more like he was hurled up in a wild arc, flipping through the air.
Master Leonard Liu caught his son and roared, "Who dares? Who the hell would hurt my son?"
Before he even finished, another scream echoed up. This time, Sam Lee's face changed—because it was his own son's voice. When Leon Liu Jr. had been tossed down, Sam Lee's son had chased after him—or maybe he just ran for it, sensing trouble. Either way, he'd left. But now, with a wail growing louder, the young gang leader came flying back up, flailing his arms and legs, his face black and blue.
Sam Lee moved in a blur, instantly appearing behind his wayward son and catching him. He barked, "Who are you? What grudge do you have with me, Sam Lee?" He'd been a highway robber back in the day, so his first thought was: old enemies—maybe someone with a decades-old score to settle.
But the answer was a younger man's voice: "Swallow Lee, Iron Palm Liu—your reputations sure precede you." Thump, thump, thump—someone was coming up the stairs. Everyone craned their necks to see, and first they saw a head with a dozen braids, then a pair of sharp, eagle-like eyes, then a bronzed, muscular chest and some wild-looking clothes.
"That's... Fang Hailong?" someone gasped. "Fighting Dragon Fang Hailong, one of the Three Dragons of the Long River Triad?!"
Another disciple chimed in, "No, if Fang Hailong's here, then the other two dragons must be..."
Before he could finish, two more men—one tall, one short—followed Fang Hailong up to the fourth floor.
"Just as I thought—Wen Hanlong the Flying Dragon and Xiang Xiaolong the Fierce Dragon are here too!"
The three men looked nothing alike. The tallest, Xiang Xiaolong—the Fierce Dragon—was built like a tank, with skin so dark he looked dipped in espresso, and stood a full two meters tall, towering over even Nan Boqi. He was in his mid-thirties, prime uncle territory: ripped, muscled, but not a single ounce out of place. Imagine a berserker from a video game, and you'd get the idea. Wen Hanlong—the Flying Dragon—was the shortest, fair-skinned with a perpetual squinty smile, the picture of harmlessness. But his wiry frame screamed 'assassin elf,' and the murderous aura around him was anything but fake.
Fang Hailong—the Fighting Dragon—was about 1.8 meters tall, roughly the same height as Jack Young. He looked to be barely past thirty, with sharp, handsome features, but his vibe was pure ice. Actually, 'cold' didn’t quite cover it—he was hard, like a steel beam. His eyes gave off a pressure like a whetstone-honed blade, and when he swept his gaze around, half the small sect folks shrank back in terror.
When these three showed up, the whole scene got even weirder. Everyone’s attention snapped away from Jack and locked onto the trio, like moths to a dragon-shaped flame.
“Hmm?” Fang Hailong seemed to notice something and shot Jack a surprised glance. Their eyes met—if you listened close, you could almost hear the 'clang' of swords colliding, sparks flying in the air.
“Interesting.” Fang Hailong withdrew his gaze, strode up to the crowd, and—bam!—threw one leg up on a stool. He rested an elbow on his knee, scratched his nose, and pointed at the sect leaders. “Listen up! The Aromatic Jade Pendant belongs to us. Anyone who tries to snatch it—well, I’ll send you straight to the afterlife.”
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“Huh?” The fourth floor erupted in chaos. Fang Hailong hadn’t even warmed up and was already throwing down threats—nobody saw that coming.
An old sect master spoke up, his eyes flashing. He was one of the four with over fifty years of Internal Energy: “Chief Fang, your Long River Triad may be strong, but you still have to play by the rules of the martial world…”
“You—step forward.” Fang Hailong jabbed a finger at the old master, booted the stool away, and whipped out his curved blade with a flourish, killer intent radiating off him. “You wanna talk rules with me?”
“What’s your game?” Liu Xuantong slammed the table and roared, “With all these big-name sects here, you think you can just run wild?”
“Old man, quit yapping and come show me what you’ve got!” Xiang Xiaolong bared his teeth in a vicious grin and lumbered toward Liu Xuantong. His knuckles cracked like firecrackers as he flexed his hands, his grin flashing sharp as a tiger’s. “Heard you’ve got iron fists. Let’s see if they’re really that tough!” With a roar, he threw a punch straight at Liu Xuantong’s head.
Liu Xuantong raised his hand to block—BANG!—the impact forced him back two steps, shock plain on his face.
Sam Lee frowned and darted behind Xiang Xiaolong like a phantom, ready to gang up on him. But before he could strike, a voice called out from behind: “Swallow Lee! I’ve heard your lightness skills are legendary—Flying Swallow, they call you. How about a little contest? Let’s see if you’re faster, or if I, the Flying Dragon, take the prize!”
Sam Lee spun around—sure enough, it was Wen Hanlong, smiling like a fox. Sam flicked his wrist, sending three Swallow Throwing Stars whistling through the air, aiming for Wen Hanlong’s vital points. But Wen Hanlong slipped aside, cool as you please, and sent a scale-shaped dart flying back in retaliation.
Three versus three—the Long River Triad’s Three Dragons wasted no time, launching a full-on assault against the three sect masters with over fifty years of Internal Energy. The fourth floor exploded with panic; anyone without serious skills scrambled to get out. Half the crowd was already nursing wounds from their earlier brawl with Jack—nobody wanted to stick around for a god-level showdown.
Almost nobody dared stay on the Drunken Moon Pavilion’s fourth floor, except Jack and his two companions—by far the calmest folks in the room. They’d picked a cozy corner, and now, with everyone else too scared to come close, they got front-row seats to the chaos.
“You okay? Nothing internal busted?” Rachel Luo’s first concern was Jack: “Any hidden injuries?”
“No worries—I’m not just fine, I’m better than ever.” Jack held up his hand, mist swirling around it like a popsicle fresh from the freezer on a summer day.
It’d only been twenty days, but everything had changed. Twenty days ago, Jack was clueless about Internal Energy. Back at the Flower Shifting Village, he’d barely managed a draw with the Golden Fan Young Master, mostly because he couldn’t touch Internal Energy at all. Back then, his opponent’s Internal Energy was like a landmine—one wrong move and he’d lose HP, so he had to dodge like crazy.
But now, after just twenty days, those masters with forty years of Internal Energy barely registered on his radar. Only the ones with fifty-plus years were worth a real fight. The biggest game-changer? Jack finally had Internal Energy of his own—no more tiptoeing around the big shots.
Ten years’ worth of Internal Energy might not sound like much, but it’s a whole world away from having none at all. With zero, you just have to grit your teeth and take whatever comes—no tricks, no options. But if you’ve got even a little, you can work with it. Especially when Jack could already spin other people’s Internal Energy around his finger—what’s a little leftover junk in his own system?
Hit the weak spots, divide and conquer, outflank and ambush—Jack’s meridians were like a real-time strategy game. The best part? He had full map hack and the enemy was slow and clueless. It wasn’t even a fair fight. Before long, all the leftover junk energy was routed and flushed out. Jack grinned—he could feel his Internal Energy leveling up with every round of battle.
It grew sharper, purer, and more powerful by the minute.
“Fighting strong opponents is the fastest way to level up. Gotta spar with the best more often.” Jack turned his attention back to the chaos, then nodded at his two companions. “Watch closely—the Three Dragons of the Long River Triad aren’t your average thugs.”