Chapter 70 Liu Zhijian Feels Very Hot

A formidable adversary! An absolute rival!

Yet, Chu Tianfeng felt no fear.

When it came to assassination, he did not consider himself inferior to anyone.

In his previous life, he was the undisputed forefather of assassins!

His moniker, Shadowless, had been earned for his unparalleled mastery of invisibility techniques, not to mention his almost supernatural skill with formations.

Of course, his current cultivation was still shallow—his true essence was weak. He could not yet practice the art of invisibility; he estimated he would need to reach the fifth level of Qi Refining before he could attempt it. As for formation skills, the scarcity of materials on Earth meant he dared not even hope for progress there.

“We’ve crossed paths countless times. It’s said their regular members are crack shots, highly skilled with various concealed weapons, and their team leaders are usually Awakened—much more formidable,” Du Jingjing said, her expression equally grave.

She had not thought highly of Chu Tianfeng before, but after spending time together, especially during their days of cohabitation at the Huangshan Valley Scenic Area, she had come to see him differently. He had always been respectful, never overstepping his bounds. She realized that, for all his quirks and moments of lewd humor, he was, at heart, a decent man.

She found herself worrying about him; both for professional and private reasons, she did not want anything to happen to him.

“What are the Awakened?” Chu Tianfeng asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“They’re not like us martial artists. Their abilities are largely innate, but can be enhanced through training. There are many types—metal, wood, water, fire, earth—and beyond that, there are those with powers over lightning, wind, even the mind,” Du Jingjing explained.

Chu Tianfeng nodded to himself, thinking the categorization was much like that of cultivators, just with the addition of mental abilities.

“How strong are they?”

“They’re ranked in ten levels. Levels one through four roughly correspond to our stages from Ming Jin to Hua Jin; five through eight are akin to innate cultivation. We’ve never encountered level nine or ten, but they’re probably at the Yuan Tian stage. Their combat prowess is superior to martial artists of the same rank, especially the mental Awakened—their attacks come without a sound or trace, impossible to guard against,” Du Jingjing said, worry flickering in her eyes.

Chu Tianfeng, however, was not concerned. First, his current identity was Qian Ling—those assassins would have a hard time finding him. Second, he had plenty of ways to protect himself. They might possess supernatural abilities, but his own spells were not weak.

Moreover, after this period of cultivation, he was on the verge of reaching the fourth level of Qi Refining, about to break through to the fifth. Once there, he would be able to practice his invisibility technique. At that point, who would be the hunter and who the prey would no longer be so certain.

Du Jingjing, unaware of his thoughts, repeatedly urged him to be extra cautious in the coming days—not to act alone, not even to return to the small courtyard at night, and insisted he stay with their team at all times.

Chu Tianfeng didn’t mind; after all, staying at a hotel cost him nothing—only a fool would complain about a free ride.

Suddenly, crisp applause echoed through the hall.

Chu and Du turned to see Tang Yi standing atop a chair, surveying the crowd with the pride of a peacock.

“All right! Attention, everyone. Next scene: the male lead dies rescuing the heroine. The heroine, utterly devastated, returns to the Bridge of Farewell where their love began, embraces his body, and leaps to her death,” Tang Yi announced loudly.

“That woman must’ve been a nun in her last life,” Chu Tianfeng muttered under his breath. “Finally, I get to play the lead, and I die—again.”

He wanted to add, “Fine, let me die. When I was an extra, dying netted me a hundred bucks. With Tang Yi, I die for free. She lives in an ivory tower—probably doesn’t even know how things work outside.”

Du Jingjing snickered, “That’s why I told you not to mess with her disciples. Otherwise, she’ll probably slice you in two!”

At that, Chu Tianfeng couldn’t help but feel a sudden chill in his nether regions, shivering involuntarily.

After some preparation, the camera rolled once more.

Chu Tianfeng closed his eyes as Xu Yan held him in her arms, both of them suspended midair by wires in the studio.

Melancholy music played. Xu Yan knelt, clutching him tightly, lost in grief.

Tears slipped from her eyes, trailing down her cold cheeks and falling upon Chu Tianfeng’s lips.

It was bitter and astringent, like day-old pu-erh tea.

Xu Yan’s performance became deeply involved; she recalled the day she herself fell from that very cliff.

Chu Tianfeng had leapt after her, risking his life without hesitation.

Those arms had once been so strong, that voice so reassuring.

But all of it was gone—Qian Ling was dead. She would never see her again, never hear her voice.

She couldn’t explain why Qian Ling mattered so much, why she would willingly die for her.

The music swelled, Xu Yan stood, a tragic smile on her lips.

She glanced back one last time, then, lifting Chu Tianfeng, leaped into the abyss.

Wind howled past her ears—the same as the day by the cliff.

No! I don’t want you to die!

A desperate cry echoed in Xu Yan’s heart.

She slowly lay down, forcefully turning Chu Tianfeng’s body so that he lay atop her.

This unscripted move caught Tang Yi completely off guard; even Chu Tianfeng was startled.

This wasn’t in the original plan—he instinctively extended his senses.

He saw Xu Yan’s eyes tightly shut, her face unusually serene.

Tear tracks still stained her cheeks, mingled with pain and despair, but also, to his surprise, a trace of fulfillment.

That smile—a tear-stained smile—could break anyone’s heart.

“Cut!” Tang Yi shouted.

Thunderous applause filled the studio. Even Du Jingjing and Jiang Ziyue were visibly moved, their eyes rimmed red.

Slowly lowered to the ground, Chu Tianfeng felt Xu Yan awkwardly wiping the tears that had fallen on his lips.

Du Jingjing and Jiang Ziyue rushed forward, nearly squeezing Xu Yan flat in their excitement.

Chu Tianfeng exchanged a few words with Tang Yi, accepted her rare praise, then slipped out, claiming he needed the restroom. He retreated to a corner and dialed Liu Zhijian.

He wanted to probe Liu Zhijian’s intentions, to see if he was connected to the assassins.

“Chu Tianfeng.” Liu Zhijian’s voice was calm.

Chu Tianfeng frowned.

“My money?” he asked, intentionally ambiguous in case Liu Zhijian was recording.

“I really don’t have that much. How about a million? Or wait until this time next year—what do you say?” Liu Zhijian offered.

“So, you want to be famous?” Chu Tianfeng felt a pang of disappointment.

He had already planned how to spend that ten million.

The Double Ninth Festival was approaching; Long Fei had told him about an auction at Lijiajie. He had truly wanted to go.

But now, the duck that was as good as cooked had suddenly flown from the pot, leaving him at a loss.

“Don’t do anything rash! I didn’t say I wouldn’t pay you,” Liu Zhijian finally sounded a little nervous.

If he wanted publicity, there were plenty of ways—he didn’t need a bit player like Chu Tianfeng.

He had given it a lot of thought these past days.

True, he did not want any scandals, and Chu Tianfeng’s blackmail had initially made him want to simply pay up.

But if the sum exceeded what he felt was reasonable—more than the worth of those photos—his willingness vanished.

In fact, his assets far exceeded ten million; besides a bundle of stocks, he owned properties across the country, and even a villa in America.

He simply refused to hand over money to someone like Chu Tianfeng—a mere extra!

Besides, plenty of people in the entertainment industry were plagued by scandals, but it never seemed to hurt them. Some directors and actors even became more famous because of it.

Having realized this, Liu Zhijian not only didn’t want to pay, but now wanted to turn the tables, to play a game of cat and mouse with Chu Tianfeng.

“I said ten days. The deadline is tonight,” Chu Tianfeng replied coldly. “I’ll release a taste as a warning. If I don’t see the money by tomorrow, don’t blame me for what happens.”

“Chu Tianfeng, let me warn you—you make things hard for me, I’ll make things hard for you!” Now that the facade was gone, Liu Zhijian dropped all pretense.

In his mind, Chu Tianfeng was always a bit player, a nobody at the bottom of society. He refused to be manipulated by the likes of him.

“I see. The foreign assassins—you hired them, didn’t you?” By now, Chu Tianfeng understood. The odds that Liu Zhijian sent the killers were high.

“Blame yourself for having no character, for targeting me!” Liu Zhijian snapped, then hung up.

Ten million, gone just like that. To be honest, Chu Tianfeng felt a pang of regret.

But since Liu Zhijian had made his move, Chu Tianfeng had no choice but to respond in kind.

He held the initiative in this game—he did not believe he would lose to Liu Zhijian.

Liu Zhijian looked down on him, but he looked down on Liu Zhijian even more.

To him, Liu Zhijian was nothing but a greedy, lustful mortal.

Returning to the studio, Chu Tianfeng strapped in for more wirework with Xu Yan, and let Tang Yi run him ragged.

Not until after 2 a.m. did Tang Yi finally release him, telling him as he left that he had passed his English retake with flying colors.

Chu Tianfeng barely listened—he’d gained nothing from days with Tang Yi.

She avoided being alone with him; not only could he not investigate her, but she seemed to have figured him out completely.

He found this insufferable, and longed for the game to end.

Back at the hotel with Du Jingjing, this time he requested a single room.

After a quick wash, he uploaded all the incriminating photos from his phone, titling the folder: “Tokyo Is Not Hot, But Famous Director Liu Zhijian Is.”