A man with long black hair hovered high above the clouds, his presence imposing and otherworldly. His piercing eyes gleamed with a sharpness that seemed to cut through the heavens themselves.
The wind howled around him, tugging his hair and pristine black robes, causing them to billow like flags in a fierce storm.
Dozens of figures, wearing Chinese-like robes, as strong as, or even stronger, than the man with long black hair surrounded him. The spiritual qi emanating from them created a strong pressure on him.
They were ready to attack at his slightest move.
"Feng Fan," a voice echoed, heavy with disdain. "One year from now will mark your death anniversary. Do you truly believe you can provoke all the top powers of the Qian Empire and still walk away unscathed?"
Feng Fan tilted his head, an innocent expression playing across his face as if he were the picture of virtue itself. Then, with a voice laced with righteous indignation, he replied, "Provoke the top powers? When have I ever done such a thing? I, Feng Fan, may not be a saint, but I've never meddled in anyone's affairs. I simply mind my own business!"
The voice resounded again, this time trembling with fury. "Damn you, Feng Fan! You dare to do the deed but not to admit it!" The rage in the voice was so intense it seemed to ripple through the air, distorting the space itself.
"You killed the Holy Son of the Heavenly Sword Sect, kidnapped the Qian Emperor's daughter, cuckolded the Heavenly Demon's sect leader, hoarded all the resources meant for the younger generation, and annihilated countless sects over the slightest grievances. Two top sects, Blue Dragon and Heavenly Demon, were reduced to ashes by your hand! And you still dare to deny it?!"
Feng Fan's eyes narrowed, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "They dared to plot against me. Why shouldn't I return the favor?"
A mocking smile curled on his lips as he continued, his tone dripping with scorn. "Your so-called young generation is so pathetic they couldn't even defeat the weakest talent to ever walk the Black Turtle Continent. It's their own fault for being so weak."
"Damn you, Feng Fan!" another voice roared, brimming with rage. "If it weren't for your schemes, twisting right and wrong, and deceiving both the young and the old, would they have ever lost to you?"
The voice continued, filled with venom. "The damned White Crow sect that brought you here will perish alongside you! Even as we speak, others are wiping out every last one of your people."
But Feng Fan's expression remained serene, unshaken by the threat. It was as if the lives of those dear to him meant nothing—or as if he had already foreseen it all.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Heh… You really thought you could scheme against me without me knowing?"
The first voice rang out again, a mix of surprise and disbelief in its words. "Impossible! There's no way you could have known of our plan. Only the leaders of each force on the Black Turtle Continent were privy to this. None of them would ever conspire with a snake like you!"
Feng Fan chuckled softly, the sound dripping with contempt. "Do I need your pathetic help to outwit you? Your schemes are so obvious I could see them coming from kilometers away!"
"Lies!" the voice roared, trembling with fury. "If you truly knew from the beginning, would you have dared to come here and walk straight into our trap? Surrounded by all the top forces of the Qian Empire, do you really believe you can escape?"
Feng Fan threw his head back, laughing heartily, his voice resonating so powerfully that it seemed to shake the very heavens. "A trap, you say? Tell me… was it I who walked into yours, or all of you who walked into mine?"
Before his words could fully sink in, the skies blazed with light.
In an instant, countless shimmering arrays erupted around them, their radiant glow forming an intricate, inescapable cage that enclosed every figure surrounding him.
"Impossible!" one voice cried, trembling with shock.
"How could this happen?!" another shouted, disbelief turning into panic.
"Feng Fan!" a final voice roared, seething with fury. "Even in death, I will hunt you down as a ghost!"
The figures scrambled to escape, their desperation palpable, but how could Feng Fan allow those who dared to plot against him to flee unscathed? Mercy had never been in his nature, and it wouldn't begin now.
"Hunt me in death? You must be senile… Who said I'll let even your soul escape?" Replied Feng Fan, with a smirk.
With calm, Feng Fan summoned his lifelong weapon into his right hand and raised it high toward the heavens. To an outsider, the sight might seem laughable—absurd, even. But to those who knew him, there was no humor in it, only fear.
A black, metallic rectangular object materialized in his grasp, so dark it seemed to devour the very light around it. Its surface reflected nothing, like a void given form.
Its shape? Unassuming.
Its closest description? A brick.
And yet, every soul present knew that this wasn't just any ordinary brick—it was a fucking brick of doom.