Chapter Seventy: Partiality

Han Feng had suffered an unprecedented setback. He had believed he could easily kill Che Wuyou, but to his shock, not only did he fail to defeat him, he lost in a confused and miserable manner. When had this boy grown so terrifyingly powerful? Wasn't it said that his talent was severely limited?

Yet, what truly drove Han Feng to despair was that even without his magical weapon, Che Wuyou still wielded his enormous sword scabbard, swinging it mercilessly at him. As the scabbard, whistling mournfully, loomed larger before his eyes, Han Feng's breath caught; he couldn't help but shout, "You—you still come at me? Can't you see I no longer have my weapon…?"

When disciples of the Miao family sparred, if one conceded, the duel was over; or if someone's weapon was knocked away, that too signaled the end. After all, they were fellow disciples, with no deep hatred between them. Sparring was meant to improve one another, not to harm. Once your opponent surrendered, there was no need to continue.

But this time was different. Even though Han Feng's weapon was knocked aside, Che Wuyou did not relent. Amid Han Feng's cries of shock and anger, the sword, still sheathed, stirred up a flurry of snow and struck Han Feng with crushing force.

With a heavy thud, Han Feng barely managed to tilt his head before Che Wuyou's blow, carrying astonishing momentum, landed squarely on his shoulder.

Han Feng's body convulsed as if struck by lightning, his shoulder and half his body quickly numbed, his legs feeling foreign and unresponsive. Unable to keep his balance, he fell heavily into the snow, sending flakes flying.

"You bastard! It hurts like hell! I'll kill you!" Han Feng clutched his shoulder, howling in pain. He had never imagined that after discarding his sword and admitting defeat, Che Wuyou would still not let him go, delivering such a punishing blow.

Yet Han Feng was even less prepared for what came next: Che Wuyou was not done. He swung the scabbard again, striking Han Feng over and over…

Han Feng's curses grew weaker, tinged now with fear as he began to plead for mercy. He watched Che Wuyou’s eyes, burning bright red, saw how he showed no intention of stopping, and was at a loss. Was this still the timid Che Wuyou of old—the one he once trampled upon without consequence?

"You wanted me to draw my sword, didn't you? Very well, I'll grant your wish," Che Wuyou said coldly. His voice was hoarse and low, like a beast's growl.

With a metallic clang, the sword left its scabbard, its dazzling edge making Han Feng shudder uncontrollably. Was he about to kill him? Did he dare? Did he not fear punishment from the sect?

Suddenly, the sword, like a shooting star, pierced the swirling snow, its unstoppable sharpness aimed straight for Han Feng's skull.

Che Wuyou’s eyes blazed scarlet. He stared at Han Feng’s terrified face, at the droplets of blood on him, and licked the blood trickling from his own lips, feeling a thrill he had never known. Kill, kill, kill—slaughter everything. A wave of mad bloodlust washed over Che Wuyou, drowning his reason. In his eyes, the world turned a feverish crimson, a hell on earth.

A clear, ringing clash of metal echoed all around; Liu Lanzhi finally intervened. Seeing Che Wuyou intent on killing Han Feng, she was both shocked and deeply disappointed, even angry. Che Wuyou, before her very eyes, had raised murderous intent against his own senior brother—she could not understand it.

No matter how deep your grudges, you are still fellow disciples. How could you ignore that bond and seek your brother’s death? Even if your hatred cannot be reconciled and you truly wish to kill, it should not be by your own hand. You would report it to the sect, call a council, and let them decide.

You wield a deadly weapon, seeking slaughter in Miao Manor. What do you take this place for? What do you take me, Liu Lanzhi, for? Do you have any bottom line left in your heart? What is your limit? Would you ignore all for selfish desire?

Staring at Che Wuyou’s cold face, Liu Lanzhi felt a strangeness she had never known. She could not help but chide him, "You—you bastard, what exactly do you intend?"

Che Wuyou was forced back by Liu Lanzhi’s sword, his right arm aching and weak, barely able to hold his sword. He looked dazedly at Liu Lanzhi, now standing between him and Han Feng, with furious eyes and stern words. He stammered, "I…I…"

"So you’ve grown bold enough to try to kill your own senior brother. If you’re so capable, why not kill me too?" Liu Lanzhi sneered at Che Wuyou, truly angered.

"I… I’m sorry, Lanzhi. I never meant for it to come to this, but…"

Seeing Che Wuyou’s face full of regret and pain, Liu Lanzhi’s heart softened. If Han Feng hadn't been so vile, Wuyou would never have harbored murderous intent. Despite these thoughts, she still felt uncomfortable. She had thought Che Wuyou would merely beat Han Feng to vent his anger, never expecting him to want to kill.

Han Feng staggered away, his gaze toward Che Wuyou now tinged with fear. If the junior sister hadn’t stopped that last blow, he would surely be dead. The thought made him shiver. He was in the prime of youth, with outstanding talent, and had never imagined himself as a corpse. If he ever did, it was always in the context of making others corpses…

That night, Che Wuyou and Liu Lanzhi were summoned by Miao Shilin. As soon as Che Wuyou entered, he saw Miao Shilin’s face dark with anger. Che Wuyou sensed trouble, but before he could react, Miao Shilin kicked him to the ground and barked, "You scoundrel! How dare you! Not only did you seriously injure your senior brother, you even entertained the thought of killing him. What—do you think I don’t exist?"

Che Wuyou climbed up and knelt before Miao Shilin, silent. He knew this time he was wrong; punishment was deserved. He blamed himself for letting hatred blind him, nearly implicating Liu Lanzhi in the process.

"Master, Wuyou…"

"Silence! Han Feng is gravely injured, and you are complicit. How dare you beg for mercy?" Miao Shilin said, pained, as he looked at Liu Lanzhi. He had raised her himself, but now she had allowed Che Wuyou to attack Han Feng, disappointing him deeply.

"Why the silence? Is Han Feng slandering you?"

"He is not. I did harbor murderous intent toward him. Master, please punish me. No matter what grievances or hatred I had with him, none justify my desire to kill. I deserve punishment."

Miao Shilin paced with his hands behind his back, seeing Che Wuyou take full responsibility. He hesitated. How should he deal with this? The nature of this incident was serious: to tolerate it would be to tolerate insubordination throughout Miao Manor.

As before, the entrance to the martial hall was crowded with people, including Han Feng, propped up by others, his body covered in herbs and bandages. Miao Shilin had hoped to handle the matter discreetly, but news had spread throughout Miao Manor.

"Master, please stand up for me! Che Wuyou is utterly wild. I believe he’s out for revenge against Miao Manor. His brother killed Brother Zong Bao, forging a deep feud between us, and now he follows his brother’s path, repaying kindness with hatred," Han Feng sobbed, his words full of misery.

Miao Shilin’s face grew darker as he listened, his mind troubled. How should he punish Che Wuyou? He was uncertain. "Yang Jian, according to our sect’s rules, Che Wuyou ignored the bonds of brotherhood and harbored murderous intent toward his senior. What is the appropriate punishment?"

"Well…" Yang Jian was troubled. Che Wuyou had done him a great favor—his right arm had been saved by Che Wuyou. During the alchemy competition, not only had Che Wuyou saved his arm, he had boosted his pride and crushed Geermu’s arrogance.

It was one of his proudest moments—even now, the memory stirred his blood. Geermu was not only an alchemist, but a figure of renown in the Foundation Establishment realm. Yet, faced with Yang Jian’s questioning, he was rendered speechless. How could Yang Jian not be excited?

"I, Yang Jian, have always been ruthless, but I hold honor and gratitude above all. If you ask me to betray Che Wuyou for mere sect rules, I cannot do it."

So, Yang Jian replied, "Che Wuyou did harbor murderous intent, but he did not actually kill his senior. According to sect rules, he should be confined to reflect on his actions… Yes, confinement, one month indoors."

All the disciples looked at Yang Jian in surprise, even Miao Shilin was puzzled. Yang Jian had recently taken over his brother Yang Cheng’s position, acting as the law enforcement officer for Miao Manor, which is why Miao Shilin asked him for judgment—but he hadn’t expected Yang Jian to suggest only a month’s confinement.

"You…" Han Feng was speechless with anger. Such blatant favoritism! "I checked the sect rules today. According to Article Eighteen: ‘Harboring disrespect toward a senior, with intent to murder—minor offense: destruction of the dantian; major offense: execution.’"