Chapter 104: Provocation from Mad Dragon Fort, Chen Changsheng
Chapter 104 – Provocation from Mad Dragon Fort, Chen Changsheng
As the mocking voice rang out, the clamor of the Heavenly Talent Assembly died an instant death.
Every gaze in the hall converged upon Chen Changsheng.
Ever since his name had begun to resonate across the Middle Heavens, many had attempted to probe the background of this mysterious genius from the Eastern Wasteland.
Yet, despite their scrutiny, even the other members of the Eastern Wasteland delegation remained ignorant of his true origins.
Worse still, Chen Changsheng seemed to possess a preternatural ability to sidestep conflict, leaving those eager to test his depth frustrated and empty-handed.
But now, he was cornered.
With such a blatant, public provocation, Chen Changsheng was left with a choice: retreat like a cowering turtle, or settle the debt in blood.
“Wan Tong, the Young Master of Mad Dragon Fort.”
“Practitioner of the Mad Dragon Hand. Ten years ago, you survived an engagement against five late-stage Nascent Soul experts, securing your fame in a single night.”
“But if my memory serves, I broke one of your legs five years ago.”
“How do you still find the courage to wag your tongue in my presence?”
Gongsun Huaiyu set down her half-eaten spirit fruit and cast a freezing glare toward the rear seats.
Though Chen Changsheng had never officially accepted her as a disciple, she had long since regarded him as her Grandmaster in her heart.
A man of his stature might not deign to notice the yapping of a common cur, but she would not tolerate a single breath of insult directed at him.
Wan Tong, a pale-faced youth with a sickly, arrogant air, offered a derisive sneer.
“What? Have I spoken a lie?”
“Those gathered here are all figures of prestige and standing.”
“We come to discuss the Dao and seek enlightenment, not to scavenge like starving beggars.”
“I truly wonder how many layers of skin one must have on their face to travel ten thousand miles just to pilfer a free meal.”
Having spat his venom, Wan Tong turned away, pointedly lifting a cup of fine wine to his lips.
Boom!
A violent tremor erupted from the floor beside Chen Changsheng.
Gongsun Huaiyu’s aura flared, her intent to kill as sharp as a bared blade, but a hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder, pinning her in place.
“Young Master, why do you stay my hand?”
“For a piece of filth like this, I need but three breaths to separate his head from his shoulders.”
Chen Changsheng offered her a thin, serene smile. “Huaiyu, a young lady should temper her fire. It isn’t good for the constitution.”
“Besides, the Young Master of the Mad Dragon Fort speaks the truth. Our conduct was indeed… unseemly.”
Without waiting for her reply, Chen Changsheng stood and walked directly to the front of Jiang Ping’s seat.
Clatter!
A mountain of spirit fruits cascaded onto Jiang Ping’s table, including the ones Chen Changsheng had only just finished “harvesting” from the other tables.
“Saint Son Jiang, my apologies. I was unaware that these offerings were meant only for display, not for consumption.”
“I hope you can find it in your heart to overlook my ignorance.”
“A few of these fruits have already found their way into my stomach, so I fear I cannot return them in their original state.”
“In their stead, take this. Five hundred lbs of God Source. Consider it the price for our meal.”
He dropped a heavy beast-skin pouch onto the table with a dull thud, then beckoned to Gongsun Huaiyu. Without a backward glance, the two began to walk toward the exit.
As Chen Changsheng moved to depart, Su Tian and the rest of the Eastern Wasteland geniuses rose as one, following in his wake.
The atmosphere in the hall shifted from mockery to a suffocating tension. The faces of the geniuses whose fruit Chen Changsheng had “purchased” suddenly turned ashen.
“Saint Son Jiang, since when has attending a Kunlun assembly required a tariff?”
“The treasures placed at a seat belong to the master of that seat. Does my Purple Mansion Holy Land no longer have the authority to gift a few berries to a Fellow Daoist?”
The Purple Mansion Holy Maiden’s voice drifted through the hall, cool and laden with accusation.
Jiang Ping’s face darkened until it was the color of charcoal.
Top-tier geniuses were rare, ephemeral treasures. A man like Chen Changsheng—powerful, unaffiliated, and enigmatic—was a prize beyond value.
Kunlun had tolerated his eccentricities precisely because they hoped to pull him into their orbit.
At the very least, they wanted to ensure he never became a rival.
But now, over a few measly plates of fruit, they had effectively spat in his face. This trade was a ruinous failure.
Nearby, Fu Yao and Batulu also tossed pouches of God Source onto their tables, their expressions cold as they stood to leave.
The pride of a sovereign genius was not a thing to be trifled with. If a peer like Chen Changsheng could be insulted by a common “nobody,” then none of them were safe from such indignity.
Realizing the situation was spiraling toward a disaster that would destroy Kunlun’s reputation for a century, Jiang Ping barked a command.
“Wait! Everyone, please, stay your steps! Kunlun has no such intention!”
His gaze, now overflowing with murderous intent, swung toward the trembling Wan Tong.
The Great Elders and Sect Masters had yet to arrive; Jiang Ping was the acting host. If the assembly collapsed before it even began, his claim to the Saint Son’s seat would be torn to shreds.
“Presumptuous cur!”
“By what right do you speak for Kunlun? Get over here and kowtow to Brother Chen in apology!”
Wan Tong’s face went deathly pale, sweat pouring down his forehead like a waterfall.
In his calculations, his provocation should have goaded Chen Changsheng into a brawl.
He expected to lose, but the fame of surviving a clash with a monster like Chen Changsheng would have made his name legendary throughout the Middle Heavens.
Moreover, he knew Kunlun wouldn’t allow a death to occur on their hallowed grounds.
But he had never expected Chen Changsheng to simply… pay and leave.
Jiang Ping was frantic, pacing like an ant on a scorching griddle. But just as he moved to intercept them, Chen Changsheng stopped on his own.
Outside the palace gates, a group of figures was approaching, their laughter and voices echoing with the weight of sovereign power.
“Hahaha!”
“To think that three Fellow Daoists would grace us with your presence. Kunlun is truly honored!”
“Sect Master Jiang, you flatter us. How could our Xuanwu Kingdom miss such a grand gathering of the world’s youth?”
“The teleportation formation suffered a minor hiccup, hence our late arrival.”
The group stepped into the courtyard, coming face-to-face with the departing Chen Changsheng.
The air instantly froze.
These newcomers were the true masters of the Middle Heavens—the leaders of Kunlun, Yaoguang, Purple Mansion, and the Langya Pavilion.
Originally, these titans had intended to begin the assembly immediately.
However, news had reached them that three prestigious guests from the Eastern Wasteland had arrived.
Out of ancient protocol, the masters had gone to greet them personally. But upon their return, they found this scene of mass exodus.
The three powerhouses from the Eastern Wasteland stared at Chen Changsheng, their fists subconsciously tightening beneath their sleeves.
Centuries. It had been centuries since they last stood before this man.
They were no longer the youths they once were. They were now Sect Masters, Sovereigns, and Grandmasters—men whose names commanded the winds and rains.
Time had etched its marks upon them, despite their high cultivation.
Yet this man… this bastard… was as young and vibrant as the day they first met him.
It was as if the Dao of Time itself had looked upon him and simply decided to forget he existed.
Worse yet, he looked even younger than he had five hundred years ago.
The two groups stared at each other for several heartbeats in a deafening silence. Then, without warning, Chen Changsheng let out a sudden, heart-wrenching wail.
“Boohoo!”
“You’re finally here! Take me home! The Kunlun Holy Land is bullying us too much!”