Chapter 8: Death to Those Who Insult My Family
The courtyard gate swung open roughly as four burly men in gray uniforms strode in.
Mu Feng frowned, his sharp gaze locking onto them. "What are you doing here? Who let you into my courtyard?" he demanded.
One of the men, a towering figure nearly two meters tall, gave a lazy salute, his tone mocking. "Young Master Feng, we're here on Young Master Qing's orders to move some things."
"Move what?" Mu Feng asked, his brows furrowing.
"Naturally, we're here to move your things. Young Master Qing says this Danxin Courtyard is meant for the Mu family's greatest talents, not for useless cripples. Starting tomorrow, Young Master Qing will be moving in, and you've been reassigned to the East Wing quarters," the man sneered.
Mu Feng's eyes narrowed, his gaze flashing with cold light.
The "Young Master Qing" they referred to was Mu Qing, the son of Mu Feng's third uncle, Mu Ye. Two years older than Mu Feng, Mu Qing was a Zifu First Realm practitioner who had always been at odds with him. The rivalry wasn't only personal but stemmed from their fathers—Mu Feng's father, Mu Tian, had always overshadowed Mu Ye in strength and status.
Danxin Courtyard, the finest residence for the younger generation in the Mu family, was Mu Feng's home. It boasted four wings, a hall, a study, and a training chamber, with spacious front and rear courtyards. In contrast, the East Wing was an ordinary residence, far inferior.
Now, with Mu Feng's cultivation destroyed and his father gone, Mu Qing wasted no time kicking him while he was down.
"Get moving!" the tall servant barked, motioning for the others to start.
"Stop right there!" Mu Feng shouted, striding forward and grabbing the lead servant's arm. With a swift motion, he slapped him hard across the face.
"Who gave you the guts to touch my belongings? And Mu Qing—what does he count for?" Mu Feng's cold voice carried a terrifying authority.
The slap was so forceful that the servant spat blood, several teeth flying out. His face swelled grotesquely, and his expression turned venomous.
"Young Master Feng, I respected you as the young master. Without that, you're just a parentless cripple. Don't push your luck! Move everything!" the servant barked at the others.
At those words, a flash of red light flickered in Mu Feng's eyes. Killing intent surged from him.
The servant turned to walk past Mu Feng, but in an instant, Mu Feng moved. A side kick slammed into the man's chest, sending him stumbling backward. Mu Feng followed with lightning speed, his fingers forming a blade as a sliver of white Yuan energy shimmered at the tips. With a sharp thrust, he pierced the man's throat.
"Gurgh…" The servant clutched at Mu Feng's hand, his eyes wide with disbelief as blood gushed from the wound. He never imagined that Mu Feng would suddenly kill him.
The other three servants froze, their faces pale with terror.
Gripping the man's throat, Mu Feng's voice was as cold as ice. "You know, you didn't have to die. But I will never tolerate anyone insulting my parents. For that, you deserve to die."
Crack!
With a swift motion, Mu Feng crushed the man's throat. Blood dripped from his hands as he released the lifeless body, letting it fall to the ground with a thud.
Mu Feng's heart carried two deep wounds. One was his mother, whom he had never met. As a child, he often envied others who could run into their mother's arms. He would ask his father, "Why do others have mothers, but I don't?"
Each time, his father would silently drink, stroking Mu Feng's head with a pained expression. As Mu Feng grew older, he stopped asking, realizing the sorrow it caused his father.
The second wound was the recent loss of his father. These insults, tearing at both old and fresh scars, ignited a rage that made killing inevitable.
Mu Feng dropped the body unceremoniously to the ground and wiped the blood from his hands. Turning to the three remaining servants, he fixed them with an icy glare. The sheer intensity of his killing intent froze them in place.
"Young Master Feng, spare us! Please spare us!" they cried, dropping to their knees and begging for their lives.
Although they were Tongmai Sixth or Seventh Realm practitioners, they were terrified. Unlike Mu Feng, who had killed hundreds on the battlefield, they had never taken a life. The gruesome scene shattered their courage.
"Get out of here. Tell Mu Qing to stop scheming against me," Mu Feng said coldly.
The three scrambled to their feet, lifting the dead body in a panic, and began retreating. Before they could leave, Mu Feng called out, "Wait!"
The servants froze, fear evident in their eyes.
"Leave the body," Mu Feng ordered.
Confused but unwilling to disobey, they hastily dropped the corpse and fled, leaving the courtyard as fast as their legs could carry them.
Mu Feng closed the courtyard gate behind them, then dragged the body into his training chamber. The corpse left a long, dark trail of blood across the floor.
The chamber, built with reinforced steelstone, was secure enough to withstand even a Condensed Qi master's attacks. Inside, the room was simple—just a mat, a sandalwood incense burner, and a tea table.
Now, however, blood stained the pristine floor.
Sitting cross-legged, Mu Feng placed a hand on the corpse. Closing his eyes, he calmed his mind and began channeling the Ancient Asura Sutra to refine the blood energy.
A faint energy flowed from his palm, causing the blood in the corpse to boil and evaporate into streams of crimson mist. These streams entered Mu Feng's body through his pores, surging into his Blood Spirit Meridians and flowing toward the fourth broken meridian.
Under the nourishment of the blood energy, the fourth meridian began to heal.
Within moments, the corpse had withered into a dried husk, its blood completely drained. Even the bloodstains on the floor had vanished.
Mu Feng exhaled a long breath, a look of satisfaction on his face.
"My fourth meridian... is one-third restored."