The five constables kept their hands on the steel blades at their waists as they advanced step by step toward the corner table.
The lead constable raised a hand, signaling his men to fan out. The four others immediately formed a half-circle, cutting off any escape route for Wu Feng and Qingyangzi.
One tall, skinny constable pulled a crumpled wanted poster from his chest, slowly unfolded it in front of everyone, and compared the sketch to Wu Feng's face again and again. His expression grew heavier with each glance.
The head constable took a step forward, drew his blade half an inch from its sheath—cold light flashing—and barked at Wu Feng, "You! What's your name? Where are you from?"
He could see the strong resemblance, but he still clung to a sliver of doubt. The infamous bandit chief Wu Feng of Black Tiger Stronghold was a notoriously vicious man. How could he possibly be sitting alone in a little inn in Yong'an Town?
Wu Feng slowly set down the chicken bone in his hand, casually wiped the oil from the corners of his mouth with a cloth, then deliberately lifted his chin so the constable could get a clear look.
A defiant, mocking grin curved his lips. His voice was arrogant and playful. "This lord's surname is Wu, given name Feng. Guess where I'm from?"
"Wu Feng?" At those two words, all five constables' faces changed drastically. They instinctively tightened their grips on their blades.
The skinny constable compared the poster several more times, his voice actually trembling. "It… it really is you! The bandit chief of Black Tiger Stronghold!"
Though they handled cases year-round, they had never encountered such a notorious outlaw in the flesh. Fear crept into their hearts.
Wu Feng waved a hand impatiently, his tone dripping with ridicule. "Stop staring at the drawing. It's me. Why waste time? If you're going to make a move, do it fast. Don't ruin my drink."
The head constable forced down his fear, yanked his blade fully out—its edge gleaming viciously—and pointed it straight at Wu Feng. "You audacious bandit scum! You dare stroll into Yong'an Town alone and act this arrogant? You're coming back to the yamen with us right now to face judgment!"
"Will you come quietly, or do we have to drag you?"
"Come with you?" Wu Feng laughed as though he had heard the funniest joke in the world. His rough, grating laughter filled the room. "With you five useless trash? Not only are you no match for me, but don't you have eyes? Look who's sitting right beside me!"
The five constables turned their heads toward the quietly seated Qingyangzi, confusion written all over their faces.
The old Daoist wore plain clothes and carried a refined, otherworldly air. He looked like nothing more than an ordinary priest—certainly not some hidden expert.
Wu Feng leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a hint of smugness in his voice. "Let me introduce you. This is my master—an immortal cultivator who has hidden himself away from the world. Forget five of you; even five hundred wouldn't be enough for him to crush with one finger!"
"Immortal cultivator? What nonsense are you spouting?" The head constable didn't believe a word. A fierce light flashed in his eyes. He pointed his blade at Wu Feng, then glared sideways at Qingyangzi and roared, "This old Daoist must be your accomplice! Today I'll arrest both of you and collect the reward! I'll give you one last chance—will you come peacefully? If not, we'll do this the hard way!"
The smile on Wu Feng's face gradually faded. His eyes turned cold. He slowly reached out and gripped the cloth-wrapped bundle containing his tiger-head blade.
He turned his head toward Qingyangzi, his voice flat but laced with threat. "Old Daoist, if you still refuse to act, this lord is going to start killing."
Qingyangzi looked at Wu Feng's deliberate provocation and let out a helpless sigh. He slowly rose to his feet.
A faint ripple of his clear, ethereal aura stirred. He cupped his hands toward the constables and said calmly, "Gentlemen, this matter has nothing to do with you. If you know what's good for you, leave at once."
"Still putting on an act!" the head constable roared. He waved to his men. "Brothers, attack! Take down both these bandits!"
Before the words finished, Wu Feng struck first. He kicked the table with explosive force.
With a deafening crash, plates, bowls, wine, and meat flew everywhere, smashing toward the four constables.
He lunged forward as if to start the fight himself, but the moment he drew near the head constable he deliberately angled his blade, parried the incoming strike, then suddenly retreated two steps—ceding the entire front line to Qingyangzi.
The four constables were forced back by the flying dishes. Once they recovered, they immediately swung their blades and charged at the nearest target—Qingyangzi. Their steel weapons whistled through the air from every direction, each strike ruthless and lethal.
The head constable, momentarily distracted by Wu Feng's feint, refocused and advanced on Wu Feng once more, blade raised.
Instead of pressing the attack, Wu Feng deliberately slowed his movements and began tangling with the man. His skill far surpassed the constable's, yet he refused to end the fight quickly. He dodged and weaved, dragging the duel out while keeping one eye fixed on Qingyangzi, refusing to miss a single detail.
He wanted to see exactly how capable this old Daoist really was and whether he was as powerful as he claimed.
On the other side, Qingyangzi faced four attackers but remained perfectly calm.
Just as the blades were about to reach him, a faint green light bloomed around his body. An invisible whirlwind suddenly erupted and spread outward.
The four constables felt an overwhelming force slam into them. They couldn't resist at all. Like kites with cut strings, they were hurled backward and crashed hard into the inn's walls and furniture.
Wu Feng watched clearly: although the constables looked badly battered, none of them had suffered fatal injuries.
Qingyangzi's technique looked impressive, but its actual power was only average—far less devastating than Wu Feng had imagined.
Even so, the display terrified the inn's customers. Screams erupted as they scrambled to their feet and stampeded toward the door. Tables and chairs toppled. Bowls and plates shattered. Shouts and chaos filled the inn in an instant.
Outside, the sound of hurried footsteps and more constables' shouts grew louder—reinforcements from the town were arriving.
Qingyangzi frowned slightly. He glanced at Wu Feng, who was still tangling with the head constable, and said urgently, "This place is no longer safe. We need to leave now!"
With that, he raised a hand and struck an open-palmed blow through the air toward the head constable. An invisible force slammed into the man's chest. The constable screamed, flew backward, and crashed to the floor—again, non-lethally.
The moment the strike landed, Qingyangzi turned and rushed toward the inn door.
But Wu Feng had no intention of leaving. He still hadn't seen the old Daoist's limits; the test wasn't complete. How could he leave so easily?
He deliberately slowed his steps, glared coldly at the fallen constable, and said icily, "Since this brat dared draw a blade on me, he has to die today!"
As he spoke, he yanked the tiger-head blade from the bundle on his back. The hemp cloth fell away, revealing the cold, gleaming edge. He charged straight at the constable.
He was stalling on purpose, waiting for the reinforcements to arrive and force Qingyangzi to reveal more of his true power.
In mere moments, more than thirty town soldiers had gathered at the inn entrance, completely sealing off the door.
"Archers, ready!" the lead officer shouted. A dozen archers immediately nocked arrows and aimed them at Wu Feng and Qingyangzi inside, waiting for the order to loose.
Qingyangzi was blocked at the doorway. Looking at the growing encirclement, his expression darkened. He had not expected Wu Feng to be this stubborn and escalate things so far.
A rain of arrows shot toward him. Qingyangzi waved a hand. The whirlwind around him erupted again, forming an invisible barrier. The arrows struck the wind wall and were deflected, snapping in half as they clattered to the ground.
Wu Feng was still locked in combat with the head constable. While parrying strikes, he kept watching the besieged Qingyangzi from the corner of his eye, calculating.
Suddenly his gaze fell on a sharp shard of broken porcelain on the floor. A glint of cunning flashed in his eyes.
He deliberately created an opening. The constable swung at him. Wu Feng sidestepped, bent down, and snatched up the razor-sharp shard. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it at Qingyangzi from behind like a hidden weapon.
The shard whistled through the air with lethal speed.
Qingyangzi was busy blocking the arrows and surrounding attackers. The moment he sensed danger he jerked his head aside, but he was still half a beat too slow.
With a soft rip, the shard grazed his cheek, leaving a thin cut. A line of blood instantly welled up.
Qingyangzi touched the wound on his cheek. Anger flashed in his eyes, but he had no time to figure out who had thrown it.
Wu Feng, however, let a faint, cold smile curl the corner of his mouth. His plan had succeeded.
This old Daoist might be an immortal cultivator, but he could still be wounded by a mere mortal using a broken piece of porcelain. Clearly his cultivation wasn't unfathomably deep.
And in Wu Feng's eyes, if he could be injured, then he could also be killed.
As for the earlier claim that walking was good for cultivation—it was obviously an excuse. The old man simply didn't know how to fly on qi yet, so he had made up that story to brush him off.