oung Master Qin tucked the blanket gently around Qiu Ruomei, winked at her with a smile, and said, "You get some rest. I'll see what that guy wants. Hungry? I'll bring you something to eat in a bit."
After settling Hanmei down, he strode out to the hall and opened the front doors—only to find Zhuo Feifan standing there, smiling mysteriously. His narrow eyes gleamed with a mixture of deference and cunning.
Qin said flatly, "Brother Feifan, what kind of big shot needs you to come deliver the message personally?"
Zhuo Feifan chuckled. "Third Young Master, I'm just a nobody. I wouldn't dare speak out of turn about the person in question. But once you meet him, you'll understand."
Qin snorted. "Brother Feifan, you know who I am. If someone wants to see me, let them come see me. I don't have time to play these games. Wants to meet me, yet can't even show a bit of sincerity? Thinks he's bigger than I am?"
Feifan gave a sheepish laugh. "Come on, Third Young Master, you're both big men in this world. What's a little guy like me supposed to do? If I fail this errand, I might not even keep my head! Please, on account of our brotherhood, just this once—save my pitiful life!"
Qin's interest was piqued. "Oh? This person's that powerful? Even you, Brother Feifan, with your wealth and status, are scared of him?"
Zhuo Feifan's face turned grave. "You don't know, Third Young Master. This guy… when he says jump, people jump. I don't dare offend him. My whole little empire could vanish with a single word from him. I had no choice but to come beg you."
Qin glanced at him and thought, Your mess, your problem. I'm not your father. We're just business associates—your life's got nothing to do with me. Still, his curiosity about this so-called "big shot" was growing.
"Fine," Qin said lazily. "I'll do it—for you."
Zhuo Feifan acted as though Qin had just saved his ancestors' tombs from desecration. "Third Young Master, I'll never forget this! Please, follow me!"
He led Qin down the corridor—only ten steps, stopping in front of a door directly across from Qin's own imperial suite.
"Here?" Qin pointed at the door.
Zhuo Feifan nodded seriously. "Yes. This room."
"Son of a b*tch!" Qin exploded. "Ten damn steps?! This 'great man' is right across the hall and he expects me to come over? Who the hell does he think he is?!"
He was truly pissed now. Just ten steps—barely a door-to-door visit! Even if the guy were disabled, it wouldn't kill him to walk ten steps!
Zhuo Feifan turned pale and grabbed Qin's sleeve in panic. "Please, not so loud! This person—we can't afford to offend him! Even with the backing of Xiaoyao Manor, you'd still be in danger if he took offense!"
Qin's eyes went cold. In that moment, the easy grin he always wore vanished, and something terrifying flickered behind his gaze—an unintentional flare of killing intent. A subtle, bone-deep pressure radiated from him, something that only a master of the Heaven-Shrouding Palm could project. It was as if an executioner's blade had silently unsheathed itself.
Zhuo Feifan felt a chill from head to toe. He suddenly saw—through Qin's eyes—a bloody plain, mountains of bones, and atop those mountains stood a man laughing madly into the wind. That man… was Qin Ren.
The vision vanished in a blink, but Zhuo was already drenched in cold sweat, heart pounding wildly.
This… this guy… he thought. Even Qin Ren has that kind of murderous aura? I thought he was just a playboy climbing into brothels! That was the gaze of a war god—a living hell. Is he… a born bringer of death?
Just yesterday, Zhuo had written Qin Ren off as nothing more than a lustful scoundrel. But now that he'd decided to introduce Qin to his boss, he had looked deeper—even activated his network of spies.
From their reports, he'd learned that Qin Ren had already made a name for himself: defeating Buu the Demon and his Four Heavenly Kings, throwing a million taels of silver just to win a courtesan, and then eloping with the mistress of the Rain Pavilion—no less than the 48th concubine of Du Gu Hongjian, head of the Martial Bureau. That alone had earned Qin a death warrant signed by one of the Bureau's Four God-Catchers: Ji Wuhua, the "Cold-Blooded Pursuer."
Then Qin had stirred up trouble in Blossom City, crossing blades with Xie Shanhe of the Flower-Holding Hall, which ultimately forced the Sword Saint Qin Feng to intervene—and annihilate the entire sect.
Of course, Zhuo's spies hadn't dug up everything—like the scandalous affairs with Qin Nier and Lian Zhouluo—but the existing chaos was enough. Zhuo had concluded that Qin Ren was an arrogant, woman-chasing disaster magnet. He'd reported this to his boss, and they'd planned this whole encounter to intimidate and then win him over.
But now, after seeing those eyes—Zhuo Feifan began to wonder if they'd made a very dangerous mistake.
Qin didn't care what Zhuo was thinking. He was still fuming that this so-called big shot couldn't walk ten steps, and now, even dared to speak of Xiaoyao Manor with such disregard.
You want to scare me? With a name?
The Heaven-Shrouding Palm was a violent art, and training it twisted the temperament of its user—imbuing them with dominance and bloodlust. And now, with the Burning Desire Qi flowing through Qin's body, backed by a hundred years' worth of internal force gained from various elixirs, his personality was shifting fast. Arrogance, aggression, and pride were blooming rapidly.
Old Master Qin Xiaoyao had once mastered countless disciplines, his core art being the Carefree Divine Technique, which could suppress the darker urges of the Heaven-Shrouding Palm. But even he, in his youth, was known as the "Blood-Handed Asura"—a name now long buried beneath titles of peace and wisdom.
"Dominant. Defiant. Alone above all." Qin muttered coldly, each word emerging like a blade.
To Zhuo Feifan, each word was a gust of icy wind from a snow-covered peak. With every step of Qin's mantra, he retreated—until his back hit the door to the boss's imperial suite.
Qin saw the fear on his face, smirked, and turned to leave.
The moment he turned, the door suddenly creaked open.
A pale, slender hand shot out, grabbed Zhuo by the collar, and yanked him in like a rag doll.
Then a cold, eerie voice drifted from the darkness within: "You little worm. I'll have your damn head."
That hand darted out again—this time aiming straight for Qin.
But Qin was already moving. He turned on instinct, raising his palm without hesitation.
Heaven-Shrouding Palm.