One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Nie Lingfeng remained silent.

She merely tilted her head slightly and glanced at Zhang Chulan.

That glance was brief, but Zhang Chulan understood: You handle this.

"Cough cough."

Zhang Chulan cleared his throat and stepped forward. He took three steps and stopped. He put his hands in his pockets, leaned slightly forward, and stood casually.

He had a harmless smile on his face.

"Brother, let's talk this out. We're from out of town and don't know the rules. Please, be kind and let us through, okay?"

His voice was soft and his tone was gentle, as if he were begging for mercy. But those who knew him well knew that the more he spoke in that tone, the more likely he was to take action.

"Give you face? Who do you think you are?"

The bald, burly man spat disdainfully, spitting a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground.

"Either pay up, or get the hell out of here! Stop talking nonsense!"

"well……"

Zhang Chulan sighed. The sigh was long, as if he were regretting something.

The smile on his face gradually faded, and the curve of his lips slowly flattened.

"Then there's nothing we can do."

Before the words were finished—

His figure suddenly swayed!

It wasn't "walking," it wasn't "running," it was "shaking"—his body trembled in place, like a photograph being shaken, blurring, then becoming clear, and then he appeared in another location.

The next second, he was already in front of the bald, muscular man.

The two were less than an arm's length apart. Before the bald, burly man could even blink or his pupils could contract, Zhang Chulan's face was already right in front of him.

His right hand, fingers joined like a knife, held a highly compressed ball of white lightning at its tip. This lightning wasn't scattered arcs, but a needle-like beam, about the thickness of a finger, hissing as it struck. It aimed straight for the opponent's throat!

"Thunder Magic - Pointing Thunder!"

"laugh--!"

A thin, white bolt of lightning shot from his fingertip, swift as lightning, and struck the bald, burly man's throat with pinpoint accuracy.

It wasn't a "hit," it was a "pierce." The lightning bolt was like a needle, piercing the skin below the burly man's Adam's apple.

The attack came so fast that the bald, muscular man didn't even have time to react.

He only saw a blur before his eyes, and then a numbing sensation spread from his throat throughout his body—not "pain," but "numbness," as if countless ants were crawling under his skin, starting from his throat and rapidly spreading to his shoulders, arms, chest, and lower body.

He felt as if he had been electrocuted; his whole body stiffened, and his muscles contracted uncontrollably.

His eyes rolled back, his mouth was wide open, his tongue was sticking out, and saliva was dripping from the corners of his mouth.

He fell straight down!

With a "thud," his body crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

"Big brother!"

The henchmen behind him were terrified.

The skinny man screamed, his voice as shrill as a cat whose tail had been stepped on. The man with tattoos on his face drew a short knife from his waist, the blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Someone picked up a brick from the ground, while someone else pulled an iron chain from behind their back.

They grabbed their weapons and prepared to charge.

But Zhang Chulan was faster than them!

His figure blurred again—this time not by teleportation, but by a real, swift run. How fast? So fast that his body left several afterimages in the air, as if playing in slow motion, every movement clearly visible, but his real body was no longer there.

"Thunder Magic - Palm Thunder!"

With a slap to the skinny monkey's chest, lightning exploded, and with a "bang," a hole was blown in the man's clothes, revealing charred skin underneath. The man flew backward, crashed into the wall, and slid down softly.

"Thunder Magic - Pointing Thunder!"

With fingers drawn like knives, Zhang Chulan struck the tattooed man's wrist, causing it to go numb and the short knife to fly out of his hand, landing on the ground with a clatter. Zhang Chulan's knee had already pierced the man's abdomen.

"Bang!" The man bent over like a shrimp, his eyes bulging, and he spat out a mouthful of acidic water. His legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground.

"Thunder Magic - Palm Thunder - Rapid Fire!"

With a flick of his wrists, tiny lightning orbs shot out like a machine gun, "whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh," hitting the other henchmen. Each "crack" of a lightning orb exploding was accompanied by a scream and a fallen figure.

Less than ten seconds.

Those seven or eight henchmen had all fallen to the ground.

Some were convulsing, some were foaming at the mouth, some were curled up in a ball clutching their stomachs, and some were lying motionless on the ground. One was rolling on the ground clutching his leg, crying out, "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts!"

I can't get up anymore.

Zhang Chulan stood between them, his feet treading on pebbles and dust, the lightning on his body slowly receding. He shook his right hand—his fingers were a little numb from the continuous attacks—and then put his hand back in his pocket.

"Done."

He clapped his hands, turned around, and gave everyone a smug smile.

"How is it? Handsome, right?"

"It's alright."

Wang Zhenqiu pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and tilted his head to look at the people on the ground who were still convulsing.

"It's just dealing with a few small fry, what's there to be proud of?"

"Hey! I finished off the fight cleanly and efficiently, okay? One per second! Not a single one wasted!"

"One per second?" Wang Zhenqiu raised an eyebrow. "The first one took two seconds, the second one and a half seconds, and the third was fast, one second. On average, it's a little over one per second."

"Did you time it?"

"I estimate by sight."

"Your estimation is inaccurate!"

Just as the two were arguing, a cold voice came from the side—

"Hmph, this is interesting."

The voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear. It wasn't coming from a distance, but from above. It was as if someone was standing high up, speaking down to you.

Everyone turned their heads.

A tall, thin man wearing a black cloak was standing on the roof of an abandoned factory not far away.

The factory building was three stories high, with red brick exterior walls, some of which had collapsed, exposing the steel frame inside. He stood on the edge of the roof, with a gray-white sky behind him, his whole figure like a silhouette, its edges blurred.

He looked down at them. His face was mostly hidden by his cloak, revealing only a pair of eyes that gleamed with a cold light. The eyes were a deep color, the pupils almost blending into the irises, with only the whites of the eyes being bright.

It gives people an extremely dangerous feeling.

"Who are you?"

Nie Lingfeng narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Mendes of Paradise".

The man in black spoke slowly, his voice hoarse and deep, like the sound of sandpaper being scraped.

"I heard someone was causing trouble on my turf, so I came to check it out."

"Mendes?"

Wang Zhenqiu's expression changed slightly. He lowered his head, his lips barely moving, and spoke in a very low voice to the crowd:

"I've heard of this guy. He's one of the local bigwigs in the park, with a group of thugs under his command who specialize in robbery and extortion. And he's quite strong himself; they say he's a master of leg techniques. Anyone who's survived in the park for so many years is no ordinary person."

"A master of leg techniques?"

Lu Linglong's eyes lit up when she heard this.

She had just started practicing the Wind God Leg technique, and now she had encountered a master of leg techniques—wasn't this the perfect opportunity for real combat?

Mendes jumped off the roof.

The word "jump" is too light. He fell straight down from the height of a three-story building, without any cushioning or deceleration.

It landed silently.

The moment his foot touched the ground, his knees bent slightly, dissipating all the impact. There was no "bang," no dust kicked up, and no cracked ground. It was like a leaf drifting down from a tree.

This demonstrates an extremely solid foundation in light-body skills.

He walked slowly to the front of the group, his pace neither fast nor slow. The hem of his cloak dragged on the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. His gaze swept over each person's face, finally settling on Nie Lingfeng, looking at him for two seconds before turning to Zhang Chulan.

"That lightning technique you just used was quite interesting."

His voice remained the same: hoarse, low, and devoid of emotion.

"Who are you from?"

"Unaffiliated with any sect or faction, just a rogue cultivator."

Zhang Chulan smiled and spread his hands.

"A rogue cultivator?"

Mendes sneered, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

"A rogue cultivator possesses such powerful lightning magic? Do you think I'm stupid?"

Believe it or not.

Zhang Chulan shrugged, his tone neither humble nor arrogant.

"We're just passing through and don't want any trouble. Let us through, and we'll keep to ourselves, okay?"

"Just passing by?"

Mendes shook his head, the hood of his cloak swaying slightly with his movement.

"This paradise isn't a place you can come and go as you please. Since you've come, you have to leave something behind."

"Oh?"

Nie Lingfeng finally spoke.

His voice was calm and unhurried.

Yet he carried an invisible pressure. That pressure didn't emanate from him, but rather arose from the very act of him standing there—like a mountain standing there, not existing when you don't look at it; but when you look at it, it's there, heavy and stable.

"What do you want us to leave behind?"

Mendes looked at him.

His gaze lingered on Nie Lingfeng's face for a second, two seconds, three seconds. In that instant, his pupils contracted slightly, and the smile on his lips vanished.

A flicker of wariness flashed in his eyes. It was brief, like a flash of light, then vanished. But one could sense that in that instant, he mentally reassessed Nie Lingfeng's strength.

He could sense that the man holding the child was the most dangerous one in the group.

But as the local tyrant of the amusement park, he naturally wouldn't back down so easily.

He snorted coldly and slightly raised his chin.

"It's simple. Defeat me, and you can pass. If you can't—"

He paused.

A cruel smile curled at the corners of his mouth, revealing two rows of neat teeth.

"Then leave your life behind."

"OK!"

Lu Linglong suddenly jumped out.

She took three steps at a time, running from the back of the line to the front, and stood in front of Mendes.

Her ponytail swung in the air in an arc, her cheeks flushed slightly with excitement. Her eyes shone like two stars, burning with a fighting spirit—not anger, but a thirst for battle. She said eagerly:

"I'll fight you!"

"exquisite?"

Zhang Chulan was taken aback. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and reached out as if to grab her, but she had already run away.

"Don't be impulsive, this guy looks tough..."

"It's okay!"

Lu Linglong turned back and smiled at Nie Lingfeng. The smile was bright and confident, but if you looked closely, you could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes—not fear, but excitement, the nervousness of her first formal battle.

"Master, let me try! I want to see how much progress I've made in my cultivation this night!"

Nie Lingfeng looked into her eyes, which were filled with fighting spirit, and remained silent for a moment.

He recognized the light in those eyes—the kind of light that yearns to prove oneself. Not to prove oneself to others, but to prove oneself to oneself. She wanted to know if she had truly become stronger.

He nodded slowly.

"Go. Remember, don't overexert yourself. The essence of the Wind God Kick is agility, not brute force. Use your speed, don't engage him head-on."

"Um!"