Black Tiger Stronghold, Assembly Hall.
The thick aroma of wine and roasted meat mingled with the scent of sandalwood, drifting through the dimly lit hall. Dozens of tough, vicious bandits sat or stood along both sides below the platform. Every one of them looked like a demon straight out of hell, yet not a single soul dared raise their voice.
Everyone knew their Great King hated noise—especially while he was enjoying his wine and meat. Anyone who spoke out of turn never met a good end.
"Reporting to the Great King!"
A lean, knife-scarred underling rushed in, dropped to one knee, and spoke in a voice dripping with flattery:
"The brothers down the mountain just robbed a caravan heading to Linjiang County. The take is huge! Word is it's birthday gifts sent by officials and merchants trying to curry favor with the Linjiang County Magistrate for his big celebration.
"Besides the gold, silver, and silks, the brothers found something special and brought it straight back for you, Great King!"
On the high platform facing the hall entrance stood a majestic throne draped in a complete white tiger pelt. The backrest was carved with a ferocious black tiger head, fangs bared, looking almost alive.
Wu Feng lounged lazily on this symbol of absolute power in Black Tiger Stronghold, his powerful arms bare. His bronze skin was covered in scars of every size and depth. The deepest one ran from his shoulder blade all the way down to his waist—a souvenir from the day he seized control of the stronghold by biting straight through his rival's blade.
In his left hand he held a large, rough clay bowl, its rim smeared with meat scraps, the cloudy wine sloshing gently. With his right hand he tore off a chunk of bloody sauced beef and bit into it hard. The loud chewing echoed in the silent hall.
Hearing the report, Wu Feng finally lifted his heavy eyelids. His voice came out low and hoarse: "So that dog official is living the good life—actually has time to throw himself a big birthday party. What's this 'good thing' you found? Speak!"
"It's a woman!" The scarred underling's smile widened. He lowered his voice, a lewd glint in his eyes. "Eighteen or nineteen, skin like cream, face like a painting. The corrupt officials sent her as a gift to that dog magistrate. The brothers didn't dare touch her and brought her straight back for you, Great King!"
A flicker of interest flashed in Wu Feng's eyes. He raised the wine bowl and took a long gulp. Wine spilled from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the white tiger pelt and staining it dark.
He nodded indifferently. "Bring her in. Let me see just how pretty she is."
The scarred underling answered happily and hurried out.
Wu Feng tore off another bite of beef while he waited. His thoughts drifted back ten years.
He had only just turned eighteen when he woke up one morning and found himself transmigrated into this chaotic world—nothing but a lowly bandit in Black Tiger Stronghold, beaten and cursed by everyone, fighting for scraps of food, always one step from starvation.
The other bandits felt no pity. In fact, they hoped one more person would die so there'd be less mouths to feed.
If an old man in the stronghold hadn't taken pity on him—saying Wu Feng reminded him of his long-dead son and secretly sharing a little food each time—he would have starved to death long ago.
Sadly, that kind old man met a terrible end. Later, over half a steamed bun, other bandits chopped off his head. The sight of that lonely severed head taught Wu Feng a brutal truth.
In this world where human life was cheaper than grass and the strong devoured the weak, to survive you had to be fiercer than a jackal and more vicious than a demon.
From that day on, Wu Feng cast aside every trace of weakness and illusion. To steal a piece of meat, he would bite through another bandit's throat. To survive an official raid, he would use others as human shields.
For ten years he clawed his way up through mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. In the end, he hung the previous stronghold master's head at the gate for three full days before claiming this white tiger throne for himself.
Now he was the most feared bandit king for a thousand li around. The nearby magistrates either bribed him heavily or lived in terror of his blade.
Ten years had passed. The scars on his body had become the medals of his survival in this lawless age.
Soon, two burly bandits escorted a woman into the hall.
She wore fine silks and satins, but her wrists were tightly bound with coarse rope. Strands of hair stuck to her tear-streaked face. Her almond eyes were filled with terror and her body trembled, yet none of that could hide her fresh, delicate beauty.
Willow-leaf brows, a dainty nose, cherry lips, and skin so fair and smooth it looked like it could drip water—she truly was a rare beauty.
Wu Feng rose from the tiger throne and stepped down from the platform.
He towered over her by more than a head. His massive shadow swallowed her completely.
He reached out a rough hand, pinched her chin, and forced her face upward. His calloused fingers scraped across her soft skin as his predatory gaze swept over her. "Not bad. She really does have some charm."
The woman didn't dare resist his rough handling at all.
"What's your name?" Wu Feng asked in a low voice, his eyes already sliding down from her delicate face.
She sobbed softly. "Xiao… Xiao Feng!"
"Xiao Feng! Good name!" Wu Feng nodded with satisfaction, especially after his gaze landed on the generous curves beneath her chest. Only then did he release her.
The woman stumbled back two steps, head lowered again, her sobs growing more pitiful.
"Once you're in Black Tiger Stronghold, forget about escaping," Wu Feng said, his tone turning heavy. "Behave yourself and you'll enjoy endless wealth and luxury. I have a grudge against that dog magistrate, so you're not going anywhere. Don't try anything clever, or the consequences will be ugly."
"Mmm!" Xiao Feng nodded vigorously, too afraid to meet his eyes.
Wu Feng was pleased with her reaction. He turned and ordered the nearby underling, "Take her to my room later. Have two old maids wash her clean. I'll visit her tonight."
"Understood!" the man replied at once.
Wu Feng then pulled out a heavy gold ingot and tossed it to the scarred underling. "Reward for doing your job well."
The scarred man caught it eagerly and bowed repeatedly in thanks.
Wu Feng waved them away, returned to his tiger throne, and tore into the beef again. Seeing this, the bandits below finally relaxed and began murmuring among themselves. The hall grew a little livelier.
But the liveliness didn't last long.
Another underling came scrambling in, face deathly pale, voice cracking with panic: "G-Great King! Bad news! An old Taoist has appeared at the stronghold gate and insists on seeing you!"
Wu Feng was in the middle of drinking. His brows slammed together and his face darkened. He slammed the wine bowl down so hard that wine splashed everywhere. "What damn old Taoist? I'm busy! Chop him up and feed him to the dogs in the back mountain!"
"B-but Great King, we can't!" The underling looked terrified. "That old Taoist is… unnatural! More than ten brothers tried to stop him, but they couldn't even get close before an invisible force sent them flying. He… he looks like a real immortal!"
"Immortal?" Wu Feng's eyes suddenly lit up. His irritation vanished, replaced by intense curiosity.
In ten years of ruling as a bandit in this chaotic world, he had seen every kind of storm—but an immortal? He had only ever heard about them in storytellers' tales. This was his first time meeting one.
Real immortal or fake, he was going to find out.
A trusted aide immediately handed him his personal weapon—a ferocious tiger-head broadsword. The blade was wide and heavy, the hilt carved with a lifelike roaring tiger head.
Wu Feng gripped the heavy sword. The solid weight filled him with confidence. A bloodthirsty grin spread across his face, his eyes sharp as blades. "Interesting. Since it's an immortal, I'll go see for myself what this so-called immortal looks like!"
Before the words even faded, he had already thrown on his outer robe, grabbed the sword, and strode out of the hall. A chilling killing intent rolled off him, dropping the temperature of the entire assembly hall by several degrees.