Su Mengnan’s punch wasn’t a straight thrust—it carried a slight arc. His fingers were tightly curled, with the second knuckle of his index finger protruding forward while his thumb pressed firmly against the first joint. This concentrated his entire body’s force into a single, devastating point—maximizing the strike’s destructive potential.
Normally, Su Mengnan wouldn’t use such a ruthless technique in a casual fight. But against Jiang Fei? He held nothing back.
First, Jiang Fei had publicly demolished his car. Even if this Maserati wasn’t his most expensive ride, it was still his. Smashing it was no different from slapping Su Mengnan’s face—and that was unforgivable.
Second, despite his fury, Su Mengnan hadn’t been completely blinded by rage. He’d noticed something alarming in Jiang Fei’s movements:
This guy wasn’t an ordinary person.
Who could shatter a sports car’s windshield with bare fists? Who could dent a car door with a seemingly effortless kick?
This Maserati wasn’t made of paper!
“Hah!”
With a sharp exhale, Su Mengnan unleashed the full force of his Half-Step Cannon Fist—a brutal, explosive burst of power at the last inch before impact.
But Jiang Fei had already shifted his stance, arms forming a Taiji circle. Executing the “Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail” maneuver, he redirected Su Mengnan’s force with a seamless “adhere-stick-follow” motion, his right palm locking onto the younger man’s wrist—
THUD!
Despite Su Mengnan’s skill, the gap between them was insurmountable. His own momentum was borrowed and flung back at him, sending him stumbling forward—
CRASH!
—straight into the ruined Maserati.
“Agh—!”
Clutching his bruised face, Su Mengnan turned back to Jiang Fei, his fury now mixed with shock.
How is this guy so strong?!
Though swordsmanship was his true forte, Su Mengnan had trained in Xingyi Quan for five or six years. His Half-Step Cannon Fist was no mere show—it was genuine combat technique.
Even among martial arts circles, few could dismantle his strikes so effortlessly.
And yet, this man’s Taiji was… monstrous.
“Who the hell are you?!” Su Mengnan demanded, his earlier arrogance gone.
Jiang Fei smirked. “I did as you asked—I smashed your car. So now, how about you move it? Or do I have to get really impolite?”
With the North Profound Divine Art’s internal energy, Jiang Fei’s Taiji was no longer an incomplete imitation.
Now, it was the real deal—Zhang Sanfeng’s authentic Taijiquan, a peerless martial art rivaling even Shaolin’s 72 Techniques.
(Of course, Jiang Fei’s internal energy was still weak, far from matching the legendary Zhang Sanfeng or Zhang Wuji’s mastery.)
“You—!” Su Mengnan nearly choked on his rage. “You’re the one who’s unreasonable!”
This bastard wrecks my car, beats me up, and now demands the parking spot?!
“Unreasonable?” Jiang Fei scoffed. “You wanted to act tough earlier. Now that I’m playing rough, you want to talk reason? Who do you think you are—some kind of gangster? Move. The. Car.”
He began counting.
“One… Two…”
Su Mengnan’s scratched, bloodied face twisted in fury. In his twenty-some years of life, no one had ever humiliated him like this!
If only he’d brought his sword—he’d have chopped this bastard into mincemeat!
“Three!”
Jiang Fei stepped forward, ready to teach this spoiled brat another lesson.
Su Mengnan’s fists clenched, sweat beading on his forehead. Should he swallow his pride and retreat—or fight back, consequences be damned?
(Calling the police? Unthinkable. In their world, that was as shameful as tattling to a teacher after a schoolyard fight.)
Just then—
“Su Mengnan.”
A crisp, feminine voice cut through the tension.
“You promised five minutes. I waited ten. What are you doing here?”
Su Mengnan’s eyes lit up like a drowning man spotting a lifeline. Even Jiang Fei paused, glancing toward the newcomer.
A young woman approached, her jet-black, straight hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore simple attire—a white T-shirt, black slacks, and, most strikingly, traditional embroidered cloth shoes.
No flashy jewelry. No pretentious designer labels. Just understated elegance—and an aura of quiet lethality.
“Is this your car?” she asked flatly, eyeing the wrecked Maserati.
Su Mengnan’s expression morphed from fury to pitiful pleading.
“Queen Alliance Leader!” he whined, darting to her side like a bullied child. “He smashed my car! And beat me up!”
The woman—”Queen Alliance Leader”—grimaced as he tried to cling to her. With a speed that surprised even Jiang Fei, her index and middle fingers shot out, pressing against Su Mengnan’s throat like a blade’s edge, stopping him cold.
“What really happened?” she asked, her sharp gaze flicking to Jiang Fei.
Su Mengnan gulped. “He’s… strong. Took me down with one Taiji move.”
“One move?” Her eyebrows arched—sword-sharp and fierce.
Jiang Fei studied her, sensing danger.
Her finger-strike had been precise, effortless.
This woman wasn’t just skilled—she was a swordmaster.
(“Queen Alliance Leader”? What kind of title is that?)
Instead of attacking, however, she sighed. “You provoked him, didn’t you?”
Su Mengnan spluttered. “I just took his parking spot! He overreacted!”
She ignored him, turning to Jiang Fei. “My friend was in the wrong. Let’s end this here.”
Jiang Fei shrugged. “Fine by me.”
(No point escalating—he’d already won.)
“Hey! Liu Yunduo!” Su Mengnan yelped. “You promised to have my back when you took the Alliance Leader title! Is this how you ‘protect’ me?!”
The woman—Liu Yunduo—silenced him with a single glare.
Without another word, the two left, squeezing into the battered Maserati and driving off.
