Before Lin Feng could respond to Jian Zihan's insult, a melodious, yet utterly dismissive voice cut in.
"My Junior Brother," Rong Yanan said, not even bothering to look at Jian Zihan, "does not require the approval of a failed elder from a second-rate sect."
The insult was so casual, so absolute, it stole the breath from everyone present. To call the mighty Sky Sword Sect 'second-rate' was a level of arrogance they had never witnessed.
Jian Zihan's body trembled with suppressed fury. The air around him grew so cold that frost began to form on the ground near his feet. He turned his head slowly, his eyes burning into Rong Yanan.
"You..." he began, his voice trembling with rage. But he was a seasoned elder, and he knew that losing his composure completely would only lead to greater humiliation.
He took a sharp, controlled breath, forcing the tempest within him to settle into a deep, frozen lake of hatred.
His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, meant for Rong Yanan's ears but carrying to the front rows.
"Enjoy your fleeting victory while you can, Rong Yanan. It won't be long before that Old Fool Tian disappears from this world. And when he does, we will see how long your Lin Clan can last without his shadow to hide behind."
The threat was clear, direct, and terrifying. He was openly declaring that Lin Feng's master was a target.
A slight, almost imperceptible raise of Rong Yanan's elegant eyebrows was her only reaction. She did not respond. She did not look alarmed or angry. She simply picked up her teacup and took another sip, her serenity in the face of such a threat more intimidating than any retort.
Her silence was a statement: your threats are beneath my concern.
Having failed to provoke a reaction from her, Jian Zihan's fury needed a new outlet. He spun on his heel, his gaze landing on the stunned and pathetic figure of Patriarch Ji Shan, who was still staring at his broken grandson in disbelief.
"Useless trash!" Jian Zihan spat, his voice lashing at Ji Shan like a whip. "What are you gaping at?! Take this disgrace away for treatment! Now!"
The public scolding was the final nail in the coffin of the Ji Clan's dignity. Their powerful backer was now openly treating them with contempt.
The sharp words jolted Ji Shan from his stupor. The reality of the situation crashed down on him. His prized grandson, the hope of their clan, the one who was supposed to lead them to glory, lay broken and defeated.
All their plans, their ambitions, their secret dealings… all had been publicly shattered by the Lin Clan's heirs.
A complex mix of shock, fury, and heartbreak warred on his face. Without a word, he lunged forward, his movements clumsy in his distress. He reached for his grandson, his hands trembling.
But before he could lift Ji Gengxin, Jian Zihan flicked his sleeve in disgust. A wave of spiritual energy gently but firmly pushed Ji Shan aside. He then bent down and unceremoniously scooped up the unconscious Ji Gengxin himself, throwing the young man over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
He could not bear to let the bumbling Ji Shan handle his—admittedly failed—investment. It was a final act of control, a demonstration that the Ji Clan was merely a tool, and a broken one at that.
Without another word, without a single glance back at the ruins of the stage or the triumphant Lin Clan, Jian Zihan turned. His form flickered, and then he was simply gone, having used a high-level movement technique to vanish from the avenue directly.
He left behind a void of silence and the utterly defeated figure of Ji Shan.
The Ji Clan old patriarch stood alone in front of the destroyed stage, his hands still slightly outstretched. He looked old, frail, and completely lost. The grand birthday banquet, intended to be the stage for the Ji Clan's ascendance, had become the scene of their most profound humiliation.
His eldest grandson was severely injured. Their Sky Sword Sect backer had publicly scorned and abandoned them. Their reputation was in tatters. The other clans, their former allies, were now looking at them not with respect or fear, but with pity and calculation.
The original plan to force the Lin Clan into submission was not just disrupted; it was annihilated.
The balance of power in Fortune City had just undergone a seismic shift. The Lin Clan, with its prodigious heirs and terrifying backers, had emerged stronger than ever. The Ji Clan was left bleeding, isolated, and facing an uncertain and likely grim future.
Lin Feng's gaze, cool and imposing, slowly swept across the seating areas of the Nangong, Wang, and Zhou Clans. His eyes did not hold challenge, but a simple, unanswerable question.
His voice, calm yet carrying the weight of his recent victory, broke the heavy silence. "The stage is open. Are there any other juniors from the Nangong, Wang, or Zhou Clans who wish to test their skills?"
The silence that followed was more eloquent than any roar. Not a single junior from the three clans moved a muscle. They avoided his gaze, looking down at their hands or exchanging nervous glances. The bravado they had displayed earlier had evaporated.
Who were they to challenge him? Ji Gengxin, backed by the Sky Sword Sect and wielding a forbidden art, had been defeated with a single punch. They were merely frogs in a well, now painfully aware of the vast sky above.
The old patriarchs of the three clans—Nangong Yi, Wang Batian, and Zhou Wei—exchanged looks of grim understanding. Their expressions were solemn, their earlier smugness completely wiped away. They saw the future clearly now.
With Lin Feng as the successor, the Lin Clan's rise was not just possible; it was inevitable. He was a Nascent Soul Realm expert, a monster who defied all conventional understanding of talent. To continue opposing the Lin Clan was to court their own destruction.
They had to adjust their position, and quickly. The alliance with the Ji Clan was now a sinking ship. They needed to think of their own clans' survival and future.
Seeing that no one dared to answer the challenge, Patriarch Lin Zhen smiled faintly. He stood, his demeanor radiating the calm authority of a victor.
"Since no other young heroes wish to come forward," he announced, his voice resonating through the avenue, "I propose we conclude this friendly competition. City Lord Su, if you would do the honors?"
All eyes turned to the city lord. The political landscape of Fortune City had just been redrawn, and his next words would be crucial.