Chapter 72: The Solar Spirit

A wave of astonishment swept through the assembly of dignitaries and doctors.

“Remove the bullet?!”

“There’s really a bullet in the old master’s heart?!”

“It must be true! Didn’t you hear the old master himself admit it?”

“Heavens, how has the old master survived all this time with a bullet in his heart?!”

The next moment, Qiu He provided the answer.

With his hands clasped behind his back and an inscrutable expression, Qiu He shook his head and spoke with a sage’s air: “Old Master Xiang, the reason you’re still alive is because you practice ancient martial arts, and you are a third-tier martial artist. That’s why you’ve survived until now!”

Everyone present was dumbfounded, Qiu He himself included. He had no idea what those words meant—martial artist, third-tier, he’d never even heard of such things. Everything he said came from Zhao Feng’s voice in his mind. He was still marveling at Zhao Feng’s abilities—how could someone transmit their voice into another’s mind without even opening their mouth? After this, Qiu He was more certain than ever that taking Zhao Feng as his master was the right choice.

Not only was the crowd astonished, but there was someone even more shocked—Xiang Hu.

Xiang Hu stared at Qiu He in disbelief. “Master Qiu, how did you know I was a martial artist? Even my own grandson doesn’t know about this!”

Qiu He gave a knowing smile. “A martial artist’s vital energy is abundant, their temples are full, especially their eyes—one glance is all it takes to tell.”

Xiang Hu was utterly astounded.

He struggled to his feet, grimacing from the pain, but forced himself to stand.

“Master Qiu, I beg for your help!”

Qiu He sneered inwardly but said nothing.

Xiang Hu paused, realizing what Qiu He meant—he must be holding a grudge about last night. Truth be told, Xiang Hu had known what happened and even tacitly approved of what Xiang Tao did, encouraging him rather than stopping him.

Feigning ignorance, Xiang Hu smiled, playing the fool.

“Master Qiu, is there something you’re dissatisfied with?”

Qiu He glanced surreptitiously at Zhao Feng, then turned to Xiang Hu. “There is one thing I’m unhappy about.”

Xiang Hu’s smile was like that of a tiger hiding its fangs. “Whatever it is, just say the word!”

Qiu He snorted. “Last night’s events—don’t tell me you don’t know about them?”

Xiang Hu blinked, feigning confusion. “Last night? What happened last night?”

“Ha!”

Qiu He stood with his hands behind his back, exuding a mysterious aura. Those who knew him thought he was completely changed. In reality, this was another of Zhao Feng’s techniques, infusing Qiu He with his own energy and controlling his words and actions through mental transmission.

Qiu He’s face was cold. “Old Master Xiang, you play the fool so well!”

“Insolence!” shouted Xiang Chang, who stood behind Xiang Hu, pulling out his pistol. “So what if we did?”

Xiang Hu’s expression darkened. He was, after all, a local despot—who was Qiu He to dictate terms?

Though Qiu He was terrified, the two men before him were nothing compared to his mysterious master.

He took a deep breath, awaiting Zhao Feng’s next instructions. He did wonder, though, why Zhao Feng didn’t come forward himself. Zhao Feng’s answer was that the time wasn’t right—he had a plan to carry out, step by step.

Qiu He sneered, “Old Master Xiang, if you wish to see your seventieth birthday, you’d best treat me with some respect.”

Xiang Hu’s face grew even gloomier as he slowly raised his right hand. Xiang Chang, receiving the signal, slowly lowered his gun.

Xiang Hu looked at Qiu He. “Master Qiu, what is your demand? Name it, and if it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”

Qiu He chuckled coldly. “Old Master Xiang, it’s very simple: all you need to do is strip Xiang Tao of his status as heir!”

“What?!”

The entire crowd was stunned, Xiang Chang and Xiang Hu included.

The dignitaries were shocked by Qiu He’s audacity—what gave him the confidence to make such a demand?

The Xiang father and son, meanwhile, were startled that Qiu He even knew Xiang Tao was the designated heir.

Xiang Hu’s eyes narrowed. “Are you joking with me?”

Qiu He shook his head resolutely. “To be honest, I am deeply displeased with what your son did last night. This is his punishment.”

“How dare you!” Xiang Chang roared, unleashing a lion’s roar—a martial artist’s inner technique.

In the corner, Zhao Feng was surprised: so the Xiang family practiced ancient martial arts as well. But that was the extent of it—ancient martial arts always fell short of true greatness. As the saying went, the end of the martial path is the beginning of the immortal road. Even if Xiang Tao practiced ancient martial arts, before him he was nothing.

After all, Zhao Feng stood on a far higher plane from the very start.

Zhao Feng again sent instructions to Qiu He, who repeated his words: “Xiang Chang, if you care about your son’s fate, I advise you to do as I say.”

Xiang Chang was shocked. “What do you mean by that?”

Qiu He snorted. “Your son has offended someone he should not have. He does not have long to live!”

“You—!” Xiang Chang was furious.

Before he could finish, Xiang Hu raised his right hand and slowly stood up, his face grim. “Here in Chenzhou, there is no one we dare not cross.”

Qiu He sneered. “Is that so? What if I refuse to treat you?”

Xiang Hu, almost seventy, summoned his lifelong authority. “If you refuse to treat me, you won’t leave here alive today!”

With a sudden burst of energy, Qiu He met his gaze unflinchingly. “You’re welcome to try!”

Xiang Hu scrutinized Qiu He, growing ever more unsettled. He sensed the aura of ancient martial arts emanating from Qiu He—one far superior to his own, so far ahead he could never hope to catch up.

He could not understand it—how could Qiu He, whom he had nearly run over just yesterday, now stand before him transformed?

In truth, Qiu He was terrified, his heart thundering in his chest, but he could not move a muscle.

The reality was that he was no longer in control—Zhao Feng was. This, too, was a form of mystical technique called the Yang Spirit, or in plain terms, spiritual possession.

At this moment, Zhao Feng’s energy had completely taken over Qiu He’s body. Every move, every word, every gesture—Zhao Feng controlled them all.