Chapter Sixty: The Sinister Young Lord of Mist and Rain, Liu Changqing

At this moment, the central square of Wuzhou City was ablaze with lights and bustling with excitement. One by one, the assembled masters greeted the prince from afar, while the crowds surged with enthusiasm, whispering among themselves about the legendary exploits of these mighty figures.

Suddenly, a peal of wild laughter shattered the lively atmosphere. All eyes turned toward the sound and saw a man in green lazily reclining upon the shoulder of a majestic statue. His legs were crossed in defiance, and his handsome face bore a mischievous smile.

A commotion swept the square. Tens of thousands had gathered, yet none had noticed when this man had ascended the statue. After all, these statues represented the revered heroes of Wuzhou, and any act of disrespect would have drawn instant attention. The masters themselves were astonished—none had detected him; clearly, his cultivation was formidable.

Speculation ran rampant as people tried to guess the stranger's identity. Someone was unable to sit still. A shadow darted overhead, hovering above the square. When the crowd focused, they recognized a youthful face with piercing eyes—it was Yin Yichun, an elder of the Yin family, one of the Five Great Houses.

Yin Yichun’s eyes blazed with fury. He shouted, “Who are you, you insolent brat? How dare you sit atop my ancestor? Come down at once, and I may spare your life!”

The statue in question was a direct ancestor of the Yin family, a legendary hero who once defended Wuzhou from monstrous beasts. His deeds were the stuff of local lore.

The man in green replied, his tone mocking, “Such arrogance! I’ve always despised you noble clans—quick to threaten and kill at the slightest provocation. They call me arrogant, but the truly arrogant are you. Bullying the weak, wielding power ruthlessly—what evil deed haven’t you committed?”

Yin Yichun snorted, “Ignorant youth! You know nothing of the Yin family’s might. One day, you’ll regret this insolence.”

The crowd murmured in sympathy; this stranger clearly underestimated the influence of the Yin family in Wuzhou. Even the City Lord’s mansion deferred to them, and visiting sects knew better than to challenge the local powers.

Yin Yichun continued, “I’ll forgive your ignorance. Get down, bow, and apologize, and I’ll spare you. Otherwise, don’t blame me for being merciless.”

The man in green sneered, raising his right hand. A jade flute appeared in his grasp. “Enough talk. If you dare, come let me teach you a lesson.”

Someone in the crowd cried out, “He uses a jade flute as a weapon—that’s Liu Changqing!”

“Yes, it’s Liu Changqing!”

“The notorious Liu Changqing, the Wicked Young Master of Mist and Rain, has arrived!”

“He’s certainly audacious, offending the great families as soon as he appears.”

...

The crowd buzzed with excitement—this was one of tonight’s protagonists, Liu Changqing.

Yin Yichun was startled. He had heard much about Liu Changqing in recent times, and never expected the famed “Wicked Young Master” to be such an unassuming youth. Driven by indignation at the insult to his ancestor, he had acted rashly. Now, surrounded by influential figures, he found himself in a difficult position.

He reconsidered. The man before him was scarcely thirty or forty—young by the standards of cultivators who lived two or three centuries. How powerful could he be at such an age? His aura seemed ordinary; perhaps the rumors were exaggerated. It wasn’t Liu Changqing who was so strong, but the southern cultivators who were weak.

Yin Yichun declared, “Liu Changqing, I won’t bully you. Apologize, and we’ll let this matter pass. If you persist, I won’t hesitate to teach you a lesson before the White family’s patriarch arrives. Do you think northern cultivators are as weak as those in the south?”

He stroked his beard, striking a posture of seniority, as if imparting wisdom to a junior.

Liu Changqing laughed loudly, “I hate this talk of north and south. Where does your sense of superiority come from? Old dog, I don’t care if you’re east, west, north, or south—I’ll make you all cry!”

His words caused a stir throughout the square. Liu Changqing’s arrogance was boundless, and the pride of all Wuzhou was wounded.

Yin Yichun’s face darkened. The family’s instructions were to let Liu Changqing test the White patriarch’s strength first, but to back down now would mean losing face. If he didn’t discipline Liu Changqing, his family’s prestige would suffer.

He roared in anger, his aura surging as he channeled spiritual power into his fists. The Yin family’s secret technique was a form of boxing; Yin Yichun was among the top three practitioners in his clan. He had defeated countless masters with his fists.

The crowd held its breath, watching intently. One of Wuzhou’s top warriors was about to clash with Liu Changqing before the official matches even began—a fierce battle loomed.

Even City Lord Tong Meng felt nervous for Liu Changqing. He knew the strength of the Five Great Houses. If Liu Changqing lost now, what would be the point of the White patriarch’s appearance?

Yin Yichun’s figure blurred, striking like thunder as he launched his fist at Liu Changqing. The crowd watched, anticipation high.

Liu Changqing merely sneered and stepped forward to meet him.

Two golden core cultivators battling was a rare sight, and the spiritual fluctuations in the square grew intense. The spectators waited, tense, for the violent collision.

But before anyone could see clearly, a loud “bang” sounded—Yin Yichun was struck down by the jade flute, crashing to the ground.

The square fell silent; everyone was stunned.

Defeated so quickly? Just one move?

Yin Yichun struggled for a long moment before sitting up. Blood spurted from his mouth, staining his ornate robes.

He couldn’t believe it. Only he had seen clearly—Liu Changqing’s attack was casual and seemingly powerless, yet when it struck, it felt as if a mountain had fallen upon him.

...

In the Yin family’s pavilion, Patriarch Yin Yizheng waved his hand, instructing his men to bring Yin Yichun back. He sent no one else—such humiliation would only be repeated. In single combat, Liu Changqing was not someone he could handle.

No family would mock Yin Yizheng for not stepping forward. Everyone was weighing their own strength, wondering if they could face Liu Changqing.

Liu Changqing laughed, “That wasn’t satisfying. Who else wants to try?” He leapt back onto the statue, standing proudly atop its head, arms raised in challenge.

“How outrageous!”

“He’s provoking every warrior in Wuzhou!”

Silence reigned.

From the Merchant’s Hall, Yang Cheng couldn’t help but exclaim, “Liu Changqing is incredible!”

“...”

“What does that mean?” Old Zhu asked, puzzled.

Yang Cheng replied, “It means he’s truly formidable.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, responding in unison, “Formidable!”

Only Lu Baichuan stared at Liu Changqing in silence.

Liu Changqing laughed, “Is there no one in Wuzhou but Bai Muyun?”

The representatives of the various sects were embarrassed. Yin Yichun was no nameless figure, yet he had been defeated in a single move. They all weighed their own abilities. Victory would be glorious, but defeat would be humiliating.

Only one man’s eyes gleamed with excitement—Wei Yunhu of the Star Moon Sect. Obsessed with martial arts and naturally open-hearted, he didn’t overthink things.

Seeing no one else step forward, he strode out boldly and cupped his hands, ignoring the attempts of Qing Mengchen to hold him back. “Brother Liu, I am Wei Yunhu of the Star Moon Sect. I am but a nobody and can’t represent Wuzhou’s cultivators. But seeing your great skill, my hands itch for a contest. May I ask for your guidance?”