The noon sun burned high above the Imperial Capital, its light spilling over gold-tiled roofs and narrow alleys lined with banners. Merchants shouted over each other, hawking silk, talismans, and fragrant teas. The scent of roasted chestnuts drifted through the streets, mixing with the sweat and chatter of the crowd.
Min He laughed as she bit into a sugar-coated fruit, her cheeks flushed from the heat. "See, Senior Li Qiong, this street is famous for its sweets—oh, try this one! It's called Phoenix Pear."
Li Qiong walked beside her, quiet as ever, eyes half-lidded, his hand resting lightly on the scrolls he carried. His steps were even, detached, as if the world around him was a painting he was merely passing through.
"Senior Li Qiong," Min He said again, tugging at his sleeve, "you never smile, you know that?"
He didn't answer.
Before she could say more, the sound of hooves struck the cobblestones—sharp, heavy, and out of rhythm with the market's music. The crowd rippled as people turned.
A young man rode in, dressed in a robe of deep violet trimmed with gold thread, his hair tied with a silver clasp engraved with the crest of the Yu Clan—one of the four noble families of the Capital.
He dismounted lazily, eyes glinting with scorn. Behind him came three guards, burly and armed—each radiating the aura of the Qi Refinement Ninth Realm, their hands resting on sword hilts.
The young man was Yu Wenhao, youngest son of Yu Longshan, Elder of the Royal Treasury and cultivator at the Foundation Core Realm. Wenhao himself was Qi Condensation Ninth Stage—spoiled by wealth, feared for his arrogance.
His gaze swept over the market like a blade until it froze on Min He.
"Well, well…" he drawled, his lips curling into a venomous smile. "If it isn't the wandering jade of the Min family. How poetic—your entire household turns the city upside down searching for you, and here you are, hiding in the marketplace with a—" his eyes slid toward Li Qiong, "—nameless loose cultivator."
The murmurs began almost instantly.
"Did he say… Min family?""The Marquis Min's daughter?""Isn't her father the commander of the Eastern Guard?"
Min He froze, her fingers tightening around the edge of her robe. "Yu Wenhao, watch your tongue."
"Watch my tongue?" He laughed. "You vanish for months, your sect petitions the imperial bureau for your safety, your clan is losing face, and this is how you repay them? Elope with a beggar who can't even afford spirit shoes?"
Li Qiong's expression didn't change. His eyes remained calm, detached—as if he were listening to rain. That calmness only infuriated Wenhao further.
"Say something!" Wenhao barked, stepping closer. "Or are you too ashamed to defend yourself, nameless trash?"
The crowd drew back. One of Wenhao's guards smirked, whispering, "Young Master, should I toss him into the gutter? That'll wipe the street clean."
"Don't." Min He stepped between them, her voice sharp. "Enough."
Wenhao's smile thinned. "Oh? Protecting him now? How touching." His tone turned cruel. "Tell me, Min He—how much did he pay you for your honor? Or perhaps—" he leaned closer, "—you paid him?"
The words struck like poison. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Min He's hand trembled, but she didn't move aside. "Yu Wenhao, you're shameless."
He laughed, throwing his arms wide. "Shameless? You taint your family's name and dare to call me that? The Min family raised a whore and a fool! Oh, how the nobles will talk of this!"
Her palm struck before he finished.
A crisp slap echoed through the market. Wenhao's head snapped sideways, a faint trickle of blood at his lip.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then came the roar.
"Bitch!" he spat, his qi flaring as dust and paper lanterns trembled in the air. "You dare strike me?! Do you wish to die?"
He raised his hand to return the blow—but it never landed.
A footstep. A shadow.
Li Qiong had stepped between them. His sleeve caught the descending hand mid-air, stopping it effortlessly.
The sudden silence was suffocating.
For a heartbeat, Wenhao felt something—an edge, cold and immaculate—like the breath of a sword hovering at his throat.
"You dare stop me?! Do you know who I am?"
"Someone who hides behind his family's name," Min He said, voice low but shaking. "Someone who can't stand on his own… who only knows how to bully others through status."
The guards drew their blades instantly. "You dare insult the Young Master—!"
But before they could take a step, Li Qiong raised his gaze.
It wasn't loud, nor fierce. His eyes were sharp—clear, like a blade drawn under the sun, reflecting deathly stillness. Yet something in that calmness pressed down like a mountain.
The guards' hands froze mid-air, sweat forming on their brows.
Li Qiong spoke at last, his tone quiet but cutting through the tension like a blade through weed."Leave."
The air thickened. A cold pressure spread outward, crawling up the spines of everyone nearby. Merchants fell silent. Even the lantern flames flickered as if dying to unseen force.
Yu Wenhao blinked. "What?"
For a brief moment, Wenhao's heart faltered. That calm… it wasn't arrogance. It was confidence—the kind that didn't need to shout. But pride burned hotter than fear.
"You think you can scare me, you street rat?!" Wenhao snarled. "I'll drag her home myself, and you—"
"Leave," Li Qiong repeated. "Before you regret it."
"You—!" Wenhao stammered, snatching his hand back, forcing a smirk to mask his unease. "Pretending to be fierce? Guards! Teach this peasant his place!"
Li Qiong stepped forward once.
The wind stirred. The faint pressure of his qi rolled through the street—not explosive, but sharp and focused, like a blade drawn half from its sheath. The paper lanterns above flickered, their flames bowing in unison.
Yu Wenhao's words choked in his throat.
His guards, all Ninth Realm, felt it instantly—the density of Li Qiong's presence. It wasn't cultivation power; it was killing intent refined, compressed to the extreme.
Even Old Zhang of the Shang household would have stepped back.
The silence hung heavy.
Still, Wenhao's pride would not let him back down. His voice rose, brittle and desperate. "Kill him. Now!"
There was no hesitation on the surface, but in the eyes of his men something else answered—not courage, but the iron chain of obligation. Their faces went pale. One swallowed hard, remembering the look in Li Qiong's eyes; another's jaw trembled.
They understood: to refuse was a death sentence—disgrace from their clan and the wrath of a Yu Elder would follow them beyond the grave. To obey might mean death, but not worse. Loyalty, fear, and the ancient code of household service pressed on them like a weight.
They lunged anyway.
Blades flashed. The three men threw themselves forward not as confident masters of technique, but as soldiers obeying an order they could not refuse—hands tight on hilts, teeth clenched against the tremor in their limbs, eyes set with the hollow resolve of those sent to die.
But before their feet even struck the ground—
A flash.
A sound like a thunderclap muffled in silk.
The next instant, all three were sent flying backward as if struck by invisible force, crashing through wooden stalls. Dust and shattered fruit filled the air.
The crowd screamed and scattered.
From a teahouse balcony above, a man in golden robes—his aura steady and profound, a cultivator of the Golden Core Realm—narrowed his eyes.
A motion faster than lightning. A single movement.
Li Qiong hadn't drawn a weapon. He'd merely crossed his arms.
The guards groaned, blood trickling from their lips. Wenhao, pale, stumbled backward, disbelief twisting his face.
"Y-you…" he hissed, summoning his qi, but before he could order again—
Another flash.
This time, the Golden Core cultivator saw it clearly.Li Qiong's fist—a single, clean strike—colliding with air itself, sending a shockwave that lifted the remaining guards off their feet like leaves in a storm.
They hit the ground hard, unconscious before they landed.
The crowd stood frozen, unable to breathe.
Then, slowly, Wenhao turned away, face pale, muttering curses that didn't dare leave his teeth. He flicked his sleeve, spat on the ground, and barked to his broken guards, "We're leaving. We'll see how long you can hide behind your arrogance, Min He."
When they disappeared into the crowd, Min He finally exhaled.
Her hand was clenched tight around her robe. Her voice was small when she whispered, "Senior Li Qiong… thank you."
He said nothing.
The street slowly returned to its rhythm—merchants cheering, common folk whispering, children laughing, like they'd won over a tyrant.
But as they walked on, Min He's fingers still trembled, clutching Li Qiong's robe.
And Li Qiong… his gaze lingered on her face just long enough to catch the shadow of fear behind her smile.
He didn't answer. His eyes softened again, calm returning like ripples settling after a storm.
And from above, the Golden Core cultivator watched them disappear into the crowd.