Chapter 48: A Blind Cat Stumbling Upon a Dead Mouse?

It was impossible for everyone to ignore the arrogance of Fan Caobao and Chen Hongxu. However, there had to be an order of precedence for who would step up to confront them; after all, the label of "bullying the younger generation" was already firmly attached to them, and if everyone were to swarm them at once, what would become of the dignity and stature of these divine experts? More importantly, this situation did not involve the Chinese factions alone; nearly every notable cultivator from around the world was present. No one wanted to lose face in front of their global peers, and since the momentum of the Chinese cultivators was clearly dominant, the practitioners from other nations had begun to show subtle signs of uniting to secure their own share of the spoils.

"Ignorant brat, do you really think we are just here for decoration?" A portly old man with a regal aura, dressed in a purple Tang suit, descended from the sky. He seemed unable to even glide properly, possessing a strength that barely touched the threshold of the ninth grade.

Fan Caobao glanced at him, sneered, and raised a hand to pick his ear while mocking, "Are you in such a rush to be reincarnated? How much time do you need me to give you to recover your internal energy?"

"The young master of the Fan family—what a grand reputation. I fear you are unaware that your grandfather struck you from the family records just a few days ago. What confidence do you have left?" The old man in the purple robe sneered. "I am not jumping out to bully you; it is simply my grandson's big day, and it would be inappropriate for me, as the host, not to greet you. Don't you and your friend owe us an explanation?"

Fan Caobao rubbed his ear-picking finger in front of his eyes. Suddenly, as if struck by a thunderbolt, he stood frozen in place, his body trembling uncontrollably.

The old man in the purple robe narrowed his eyes. Seeing his chance, he hunched his shoulders and lunged toward Fan Caobao. What did it matter if his own internal energy was chaotic? Killing a brat who hadn't even entered the ranks was nothing. Moreover, he didn't truly intend to kill Fan Caobao; although the Fan family had released that announcement, if he were to act too brazenly and commit murder, the Fan family might not say anything openly, but they would certainly resort to underhanded tactics in the shadows.

The old man was swift, closing the distance in five or six strides. He shaped his hand into a claw, thin purple energy swirling at his fingertips, and swung horizontally. It was clear he didn't intend to strike a fatal blow—he wasn't aiming for the face—but the intent was nonetheless vicious. Judging by the angle of attack, if it connected, a large chunk of flesh would be torn from the chest, and even if it didn't disrupt the vital energy centers in the abdomen, simply damaging a kidney would be enough to cripple an ordinary man.

Fan Caobao snapped out of his daze, looking panicked as he tried to pull back to escape the old man's reach. However, in his extreme alarm and confusion, he lost his footing, stumbled over his own feet, and fell straight backward.

The old man in the purple robe grinned savagely; at this distance, he could clearly see the subtle shifts of terror on Fan Caobao's face.

As he fell, Fan Caobao closed his eyes, waving his stick blindly in a desperate, last-ditch effort, leaving his fate to the heavens.

"Bang!" He hit the ground with no suspense, but the expected pain never came. Fan Caobao bit his lip and peeked through one eye. Whether it was a stroke of incredible luck or a classic case of a blind cat catching a dead mouse, his random flailing had actually struck the old man in the purple robe—and he had landed a rare, clean hit to the head.

He opened his other eye, stood up, dusted off his backside, and let out a sigh of relief, wearing a憨(dull/simple) smile of someone who had just narrowly escaped death.

"This?" The onlookers, who had been as excited as if they’d been injected with stimulants, were left stunned by the outcome. They couldn't quite process it. If the two had been evenly matched, these laymen might have cheered, but to witness a "flailing punch killing the master" performance—they simply couldn't bring themselves to applaud. Consequently, the expressions of the surrounding nobles seemed even more wooden than Fan Caobao's.

High above, standing in the void, an eerie young man in a black robe suddenly appeared before an old man. The youth’s face was deathly pale, yet he possessed a certain sickly nobility.

The old man was none other than the Kongtong elder who had performed the "True Dragon Drawing Water" trick at the Blue family estate. Standing beside him was Duke Desri, a representative of the European dark forces and one of the few remaining Duke-level vampires.

Duke Desri spoke in a sharp, thin voice, looking skeptically at the Kongtong elder, who was now one of the de facto spokesmen for the Chinese cultivators: "Master Wukong, is this Fan family the Fan family of Fan Tianqi?"

"Indeed," replied the Kongtong elder, Wukong, his expression blank, though his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Tsk, tsk. Would that old man’s battle power really allow us to kill his grandson? You know he’s famous for being protective of his own." Duke Desri spoke with evident fear, clearly dreading a confrontation with Fan Caobao's grandfather.

"So what? In front of the world's cultivators, what kind of waves can he stir up? The declaration removing this boy from the family shows that the old man has compromised. So what if he is a quasi-supreme? One or two people cannot stop the tide of history." Wukong curled his lip and added, "From what I can sense, this brat didn't mobilize a shred of natural energy just now, but his arm strength is indeed shocking. It was Lan Qi’s own arrogance and his insistence on maintaining his posture in the void that caused his energy to falter, giving this brat a chance."

Upon hearing that there was no threat from the old man of the Fan family, Duke Desri’s mood improved significantly. He even licked his scarlet lips, imagining the sweetness of the blood of such a high-level lineage. He nodded noncommittally, though he felt it best not to be too arrogant on someone else's turf. He echoed, "I see it the same way. However, you must know that the Fan family has an innate inheritance, and their inherited combat power is terrifying."

Wukong remained expressionless, his lips moving just enough to utter a cutting remark that only Duke Desri could hear: "The more people who die, the fewer there will be to divide the spoils later."

Duke Desri’s eye twitched. He felt relieved that his seemingly redundant show of courtesy had been successful, but he also sighed inwardly at how vast and resource-rich China was—they had so many people that even losing a few successors didn't bother them, unlike in Europe, where, despite frequent conflicts with the Holy See, casualties were always kept within mutually acceptable limits.

Down on the ground, Fan Caobao, as someone from a top-tier family, was far more adept at schemes and intrigue than the old man Wukong. He wasn't stupid enough to rush into the sky to fight those "god-like" figures head-on as he had claimed. You have to start by killing the small ones; even in a game, there is a leveling process. Why couldn't Master Fan warm up first? Of course, the main reason was that he hadn't seen Xue Xi yet, and he didn't want to risk everything in a suicidal confrontation just yet.

Meanwhile, Chen Hongxu had already reached the entrance of the banquet hall. Whether out of confidence or arrogance, none of the experts had moved to stop him. During his approach, only a man dressed as an ordinary servant shifted his position from time to time, occasionally leaning down to pat the ground. This made Chen Hongxu vaguely aware of subtle changes in the earth beneath his feet.

These were not reasons to stop Chen Hongxu's advance. Even if the man disguised as a servant was someone truly formidable, if he dared to block his path, Chen Hongxu would crush him. This was not blind confidence, but the murderous intent forged through the three minor worlds he had traversed on his way back.

He glanced back at the still-playing Fan Caobao, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Sometimes, becoming famous overnight didn't require fame—it required human lives, which were far cheaper than reputation.