Chapter Forty-Four: Bare Hands

Xiao Guowei had no idea what Xiao Cheng was up to, but whatever little tricks he had in mind, Xiao Guowei didn’t care. In the face of true strength, all tricks were in vain.

The two shining broadswords drew ever closer to Xiao Cheng. Suddenly, he sprang into action, silently reciting “The Fivefold Celestial Shock.” After holding back for more than ten seconds, the technique finally burst forth—a startling ribbon of pale blue light swept into an arc, sword energy slashing in all directions.

The Azure Edge Sword swung straight for Xiao Guowei’s broadsword. With a resounding clang, the three weapons clashed, erupting in a shower of fierce sparks. Then, Xiao Guowei suddenly felt a lightness in his hands—looking down, he saw that his broadsword had been cleaved in two.

This was precisely what Xiao Cheng had been waiting for—Xiao Guowei’s full-force strike. Without it, Xiao Cheng would have had no chance of cutting through both swords.

Staring at the half-broken blades in his hands, Xiao Guowei was visibly shaken. His swords were no ordinary weapons—they were made of depleted uranium-titanium alloy, among the hardest materials in existence, as tough as tank armor. Yet now, they had been severed by a single stroke of Xiao Cheng’s sword. What kind of blade was this?

Glancing at the sword in Xiao Cheng’s hand, he saw not a single nick or blemish. Shocked, he wondered when Xiao Cheng had acquired such a divine weapon.

He had forgotten that Xiao Cheng’s sword was forged from top-grade meteoric steel with interwoven patterns, making it far sharper and tougher than any depleted uranium-titanium alloy. Even diamonds would yield before such a blade, let alone any mere alloy.

Xiao Cheng gave Xiao Guowei no time to recover from his astonishment. His sword never stopped. Now that Xiao Guowei’s swords were broken, his chest was wide open—Xiao Cheng pressed the attack, aiming for his heart.

Sensing danger, Xiao Guowei immediately leaped back. But after such a powerful strike, retreating was no easy feat. Despite his quick reflexes, Xiao Cheng’s sword still opened a savage gash across his chest.

Stepping back, Xiao Guowei looked at the wound, his face dark and cold. Xiao Cheng had actually injured him—a possibility he had never considered. The sharpness of Xiao Cheng’s sword was beyond his imagination; it was by no means an ordinary weapon. Yet, the wound was not deep enough to rob him of his fighting strength—it was simply terrifying to the eye.

“It’s indeed a fine sword. Today, I’ll be taking it for myself,” Xiao Guowei said with a grim smile.

Xiao Cheng stayed hot on his trail, sword thrusting and slashing relentlessly. Now was the perfect time to strike while the iron was hot—Xiao Guowei had lost his weapons.

Despite his predicament, Xiao Guowei showed no panic. His steps remained steady, dodging Xiao Cheng’s attacks again and again. Vaulting onto the spiral staircase, he glared coldly at Xiao Cheng and hurled his two broken blades at him.

Xiao Cheng’s advance was checked as he deflected the fragments with his sword, unable to close the distance further.

After several minutes of combat, Xiao Guowei had gained a thorough understanding of Xiao Cheng’s prowess. Whatever cultivation technique Xiao Cheng practiced, he was indeed fast—but not quite fast enough. With his swords broken, there was no need to hold onto them. Seizing the moment when Xiao Cheng was distracted, Xiao Guowei reached behind his back and drew a silver Desert Eagle.

Over twenty centimeters long, with an inverted-triangle barrel and a gaping 11mm muzzle, the Desert Eagle was an intimidating sight—the undisputed king of handguns, unmatched in speed, rate of fire, or power.

The semi-automatic Desert Eagle could fire two rounds a second, its bullets supersonic, with enough force to penetrate an inch of steel.

Seeing the pistol in Xiao Guowei’s hand, Xiao Cheng frowned. Against an ordinary handgun, he might have had a chance to maneuver, but with the Desert Eagle, this killing machine, he had no room at all.

This was the third time he had faced the threat of a firearm. The previous two times, he’d managed to dispatch his opponent before they could aim.

But this time was different. Xiao Guowei moved with lightning speed, giving him no chance to react, already taking aim. Any movement on Xiao Cheng’s part would be met with the pull of the trigger. At such close range, there was no way to dodge the bullet.

“Hmph! I’d like to see you dodge a bullet,” Xiao Guowei sneered from the spiral staircase.

Even he himself would be helpless at this distance, not to mention Xiao Cheng, whose strength was slightly inferior.

Xiao Cheng spread his hands helplessly and smiled, cracking a rather lame joke: “I bet there aren’t any bullets in there.”

He’d considered the possibility of encountering firearms on his way here, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this—especially a Desert Eagle. Still, he felt no fear. At worst, he could use the Earth Escape Technique to slip down to the first floor.

Of course, unless absolutely necessary, he would not do that. He had come today to kill Xiao Guowei—there was no reason to leave now, and he certainly didn’t want to reveal the Earth Escape Technique. Xiao Cheng sighed inwardly. It seemed he had only one option left.

Xiao Guowei couldn’t help but admire Xiao Cheng’s composure—even with a gun pointed at him, he could still joke. Given time, Xiao Cheng would surely become a formidable figure, but Xiao Guowei wouldn’t give him that chance.

Ignoring Xiao Cheng’s joke, Xiao Guowei said coldly, “Don’t think I won’t kill you. This is my turf. Even if I kill you, no one will ever know. Tell me, does anyone else know about my affairs?”

This was what worried Xiao Guowei most. If Xiao Cheng alone knew, he could simply kill him. But if the old master knew, he was finished. No matter how arrogant he was, he knew he couldn’t match the old man.

Seeing Xiao Cheng pay him no mind and instead leisurely admire the living room’s decor, Xiao Guowei trembled with rage. Did this brat think his gun was a toy?

“I’ll count to three. If you don’t answer, I’ll shoot,” Xiao Guowei threatened.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

As Xiao Guowei reached three, Xiao Cheng finally looked serious, his gaze fixed on the Desert Eagle in Xiao Guowei’s hand. His spiritual sense locked tightly on Xiao Guowei’s trigger finger—he would sense it the moment Xiao Guowei pulled the trigger.

“Very well, you have some backbone. You may die now,” Xiao Guowei sneered, taking aim at Xiao Cheng’s chest and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

Whether anyone else knew his secrets didn’t matter now—it was already done. Killing Xiao Cheng changed nothing.

At the instant Xiao Guowei pulled the trigger, Xiao Cheng spun around at lightning speed.

A gunshot rang out. At the same moment, Xiao Cheng performed an action Xiao Guowei could never have imagined.

Xiao Cheng spun his body a full three hundred sixty degrees, then extended his hand in a V-sign—a classic, if somewhat childish, pose for a photograph. If he’d shouted “Yeah!” it would have been perfect.

But Xiao Guowei was stunned, for between the fingers of that V-sign, a bullet was firmly pinched.

Catching a bullet barehanded? Impossible.

Since Xiao Cheng had entered the villa, he had done nothing but surprise him. The wastrel he’d always looked down on had become a master only slightly weaker than himself. Then there was that divine sword, sharp enough to cut iron like mud. Each revelation had shocked him, but nothing compared to this.

His mind went blank. Catching a bullet with bare hands—what kind of ability was this? He’d never heard of such a thing. Even masters like Xiao Fusheng, at the peak of their cultivation, could not do this. How could an eighteen-year-old like Xiao Cheng have achieved it?

At a distance of ten meters, a bullet would arrive in milliseconds, far faster than any human reflex. This was beyond the limits of the human body. The bullet could pierce an inch of steel—how could two fingers possibly hold it?

It was utterly impossible—yet Xiao Cheng had done it.

“You…”

This was exactly what Xiao Cheng had been waiting for. The moment Xiao Guowei’s emotions were shaken was his chance. When Xiao Guowei was on guard, even Xiao Cheng’s peak spiritual sense could not affect him. But as soon as Xiao Guowei’s emotions wavered, Xiao Cheng could use his spiritual sense to disrupt his five senses.

Xiao Guowei had just uttered a single word when his vision suddenly blurred.

At that moment, Xiao Cheng flicked his hand, sending the bullet straight into Xiao Guowei’s heart.

“This is impossible, impossible! How… how did you do it?” Xiao Guowei’s face turned ashen as he stared blankly at the blood gushing from his chest, pointing at Xiao Cheng.

“Actually, I was just messing with you,” Xiao Cheng said with a bitter smile, swaying unsteadily.

As he spoke, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth—he was clearly badly wounded.

Xiao Guowei looked at Xiao Cheng’s pained smile, as if understanding something, then slowly toppled from the spiral staircase, crashing onto the marble floor, dead. His lifeless gray eyes stared fixedly at Xiao Cheng.

Never in his life had he expected, after all his cunning and schemes, to fall at the hands of a mere youth.

Watching Xiao Guowei’s lifeless body, Xiao Cheng finally breathed a sigh of relief. His body swayed, blood streaming down his arm, dripping onto the floor with a soft patter.

Xiao Cheng forced a grim smile, his teeth stained red. “So this is what it feels like to be shot. It really hurts.”

In truth, he had never caught the bullet at all—he had only made it appear as if he had. Not even a peak master could truly catch a bullet; one could only dodge. Flesh and blood could never stop a bullet.

It was all a sleight of hand. People’s minds are bound by habit, and Xiao Guowei was no different. The difference between an 11mm and a 9mm bullet gripped between the fingers was impossible to discern.

His spin had been to let the bullet strike his back, avoiding a fatal spot, and to prevent Xiao Guowei from seeing where he’d been hit.

Xiao Guowei had aimed for his left chest; with his spin, the bullet struck his right scapula, missing his lung. Nevertheless, the Desert Eagle’s power was immense—even without a direct hit, the shock had injured his lung.

Taking a bullet in exchange for the life of a master who had perfected internal martial arts—Xiao Cheng considered it a fair trade.

He spat out a mouthful of blood, sealing the wound with his internal energy to staunch the bleeding. The gunshot would surely attract others in the villa, and in his current state, he needed to find a place to recover. But before leaving, he had to deal with the surveillance footage—lest anyone discover what had happened.

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