Chapter Seventy-One: No Matter Gods, Demons, or Myriad Arts, All Shall Be Cleaved by My Blade

A sharp whistle of the wind split the air. In that instant, Cheng Qianfeng’s hair stood on end, his skin prickled with cold, and he immediately withdrew, eyes fixed intently on Lin Feng, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. Just now, in a fleeting moment, he had sensed a surge of murderous intent more savage than anything he had ever encountered—even his mentor, Xiong Wanhong, paled in comparison. And the source of this terrifying aura was none other than the young man before him.

“Good, very good! Interesting—you're worthy to be called an opponent!” Cheng Qianfeng fought to steady his pounding heart, gathered his inner strength, pressed his palms together, and quickly resorted to his signature technique. His hands transformed into blades, slicing through the air towards Lin Feng.

“Spatial Severance!”

With a low growl, his hand-blades gleamed with a lethal sharpness as they thrust at Lin Feng, his eyes alight with madness. So what if you truly possess the strength of a grandmaster? With Spatial Severance in my hands, I am invincible! Gods and Buddhas alike will fall before me!

As Cheng Qianfeng’s bizarre martial art, capable of shattering and devouring space itself, surged towards Lin Feng, all present held their breath and watched, eyes wide, not daring to miss a second. Victory or defeat would be decided right here and now.

“Prepare to die, you ignorant brat!” Cheng Qianfeng roared, his eyes bloodshot, a visage more demon than man.

Yet Lin Feng remained unmoved, standing still until Cheng Qianfeng’s hand-blades nearly reached him. Only then did Lin Feng speak, his voice low:

“Fifty thousand years ago, I once fought my way into the Buddhist temple, slaughtered countless gods and Buddhas, and fell into the Infernal Hell, suffering its unfathomable horrors. From those depths, I forged my own blade technique. It is—”

“The Three Cuts of the Abyss!”

Lin Feng’s right hand became a blade as he slowly raised his head. Suddenly, a hellish aura burst forth from him like a whirlwind, engulfing the entire arena. This was the intent of the blade—the ‘Abyssal Path’—belonging solely to Lin Feng.

Cheng Qianfeng shuddered, and everywhere he looked was filled with karmic flames and vengeful souls, as though he stood in hell itself. Endless wails, the roaring waterfall of the Yellow Springs, and fiendish demons prowled the ground— even the wind felt like bone-scraping steel, chilling him to the core.

“What is this…?”

In an instant, Cheng Qianfeng was enveloped by infinite blade intent, his eyes bleeding, his body trembling.

“The First Cut: Severing Heaven and Earth!” Lin Feng sighed the six words, and the blade intent solidified around him, gathering on his right palm. With a gentle flick, a dazzling flash of cold light sliced forth from his hand.

Never before had Cheng Qianfeng witnessed such overwhelming blade intent. He forgot he was on the arena stage, instead staring in terror at the hellish vision conjured by the blade, quaking in fear.

As the saying goes: Between life and death, there is great terror.

Who in this world can escape the fear of death?

With a sharp cry, Lin Feng’s hand-blade fell, the technique unleashed, and the blade intent disappeared.

“Hm?” As the aura faded, Cheng Qianfeng’s senses returned; he felt a chill throughout his body. Looking down, he realized his legs had been severed cleanly.

“How can this be! Just now—”

A mouthful of blood sprayed onto the stone floor of the arena as Cheng Qianfeng shrieked in disbelief, blood flowing from his seven orifices, collapsing with his fate uncertain.

At this moment, everyone rubbed their eyes in disbelief. To the ordinary eye, it seemed Cheng Qianfeng had simply frozen before Lin Feng, Lin Feng had absentmindedly raised his hand, and Cheng Qianfeng had fallen. Only true martial artists could see just how powerful Lin Feng’s technique had been.

“This is… blade intent! What a terrifying blade intent!” Luo Qiankun trembled, unable to look directly at Lin Feng—the god of slaughter who seemed to have walked from the infernal depths was simply too terrifying!

“This… blade intent… Has he truly comprehended blade intent?” Long Aoyun’s whole body shook, icy cold. If that blade had struck him, he would have surely died!

Old Tang gripped his cane tightly, his heart pounding and his body wavering as he roared inwardly:

“Lin Feng, this young man is unique! In time, his martial prowess will rival even Xiong Wanhong in his prime! This is the opportunity for the Tang family to rise after a hundred years!”

…

Having dealt with his opponent, Lin Feng brushed the dust from his hands and calmly stepped off the stage.

Silence.

An uncanny silence swept the hall—where moments before it had been clamorous, now it was utterly still. But after a brief pause, the hall erupted in waves of shrieks and cheers.

“Grandmaster Lin! Victory!”

“Grandmaster Lin! Victory!”

The calls rang out again and again, as the elite of Binhai City celebrated Lin Feng from the depths of their hearts. When Cheng Qianfeng, wielding the reputation of Xiong Wanhong, threatened to seize Binhai, it was Grandmaster Lin who turned the tide. Such a figure inevitably earned the admiration and reverence of all Binhai’s citizens.

The hall teemed with jubilant crowds, save for Long Yaoyang, Qin Chao, Wang Jie, Tian Xinyu, and Zhong Hui, whose faces were ashen and lips trembling, utterly out of place amid the festivities.

Is this even human? With a wave of the hand, he can sever a man’s legs from a distance—what if he aimed for the head? Wouldn’t he snatch a life without touching it?

Qin Chao was nearly losing his mind, terror-stricken, his jaw quivering and teeth chattering.

“Is he… human? Who have I been humiliating all this time?” Qin Chao clutched his head, deranged, muttering incessantly to himself.

Feng Jing shot him a contemptuous glance. “Young Master Qin, now you know fear? But it’s too late! If you don’t want to die, hurry and explain things to your family—have the elders plead with Grandmaster Lin. Maybe then he’ll spare you. Otherwise, just wait and see.”

Hearing this, Qin Chao trembled and immediately pulled out his phone.

Meanwhile, Wang Jie’s face was ashen. Unlike Qin Chao, whose conflict with Lin Feng was minor, Wang Jie had tried to poach Lin Feng’s wife!

His face was pale as gold, limbs weak, slumped in his seat, screaming inwardly:

“I actually tried to cuckold him? To steal his wife? Am I courting death? My god!”

This time, he truly was doomed.

Tian Xinyu and Zhong Hui slowly turned to look at each other, aghast.

“That man is Lin Feng?” Zhong Hui’s face was colorless, tears threatening.

“It’s Lin Feng, yes.”

“Do you think Young Master Liang can handle him?”

Tian Xinyu didn’t know how to answer. His throat was parched, unable to utter a word. But that wasn’t the worst—his family had invested heavily in an outside betting pool.

At the start, the odds for Ji Sheng Society were ten to one!

Now, thanks to Lin Feng alone, they owed ten billion. And Wang Jisheng had wagered three billion—that’s thirty billion!

The Tian family’s decades of accumulation lost in a single night.

Truly, back to square one overnight.

…

Meanwhile, Yao Qianqian, dressed in a high-end business suit and filled with anxiety, arrived at the Tang family residence. A month earlier, when Tang Yunyun had brought Lin Feng home, Yao Qianqian had happened to witness it and later called Tang Yunyun to arrange a meeting.

Today was the day. Regarding Lin Feng, she needed an explanation.

Of course, more importantly, she sought a deal.