Retirement begins with summoning Yuan Tiangang

He spoke casually, as if he were looking for someone to share a table with in a teahouse. But Raymond Lam remained vigilant.

The man didn't seem to care. He took two steps forward and stood right in the middle of the alley, blocking Lin Feng's way.

Not too fast, not too slow, not too far, not too close.

"You were bidding really aggressively at the auction just now."

The man said,

"Ninety million taels, without even blinking an eye."

Lin Feng's heart tightened.

"That cultivation technique,"

The man continued, his voice as calm as if he were talking about the weather, "The Heaven-Burning Technique, a good thing."

He paused, then suddenly smiled, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth:

"Unfortunately, you can't practice yet."

Lin Feng opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could finish, he suddenly realized something was wrong.

He felt a little dizzy.

The man's eyes, those bright, sparkling eyes, seemed to have deepened.

Like two pools of water, with lights reflected on the surface, the light shadows ripple outwards, drawing people in.

"you……"

Lin Feng tried to look away, but his neck wouldn't obey him.

"take it easy."

The man's voice changed, becoming softer and deeper, as if it came from a great distance, yet also as if it were right beside his ear.

"I just feel that it's a bit of a waste to have such a good technique on you."

Lin Feng could hear his own heartbeat, thump-thump-thump, like a drumbeat.

He wanted to move, but his hands and feet felt like they were made of lead.

"Please keep this for me for now."

The man's voice continued,

"I'll pay you back when you become stronger."

As he spoke, he reached out his hand, a steady, unhurried hand, and reached into Lin Feng's arms.

Lin Feng's mind went blank.

No!

The cultivation technique hasn't been put into my storage ring yet.

He used all his strength to struggle backward.

His legs were as weak as noodles, but he still took a step back and bumped into the wall, his back aching.

"Master!" he cried out in his heart.

"Master! Someone's trying to steal my cultivation technique!"

The voices of Master Yu Yuan rang out almost simultaneously:

"Kid, this guy..."

The old man paused.

Lin Feng had never heard his master speak in such a tone before.

It wasn't the usual boastful bragging, nor the seriousness when giving guidance, but rather... solemnity.

Like a frozen river in winter, hard and heavy.

I can't see through him.

The four words, like four stones, pierced Lin Feng's heart.

The man's hand had already touched his collar.

It's very light, like brushing away dust.

But Lin Feng felt that hand was like a mountain, pressing down on him and making it hard for him to breathe.

He wanted to hide, but couldn't; he wanted to shout, but couldn't.

The man hooked his fingers around the edge of the jade slip and pulled it outwards.

Lin Feng suddenly gripped the jade slip with his right hand.

He didn't know where the strength came from; it was probably just pure, unyielding resentment.

He gripped the jade slip tightly, his knuckles turning white, his fingernails digging into his palm.

"No, no..."

The man paused for a moment.

He looked down at Lin Feng's hand, at the bulging veins, and suddenly smiled.

"She's quite stubborn."

He spoke very softly, as if praising a kitten that was guarding its food.

Then he flicked his wrist slightly.

Lin Feng felt as if he had been electrocuted, and his fingers involuntarily loosened.

The jade slip slid from his palm and fell into the man's hand.

The entire process takes no more than three breaths.

Lin Feng watched helplessly as the jade slip was taken away, his whole body turning cold.

His mind went blank, with only one thought remaining: Ninety million taels... gone.

No, it's not about money.

That was given to him by his master!

"Master..."

He shouted in his heart, his voice trembling.

Master Yu Yuan did not answer.

silence.

Only the wind in the alley and the faint sound of the night watchman's drum in the distance.

Then, Lin Feng suddenly felt a lightness in his body.

It's not light.

It's out of control.

He felt like he had been squeezed into a corner, transformed from the master of his own body into a bystander.

He can feel his limbs and his heartbeat, but he can't control them.

He could only "see," see himself standing up straight, see himself raising his right hand, see himself.

It took flight.

That's right, fly.

His feet were off the ground, hovering in mid-air, three feet above the ground.

Then five feet.

Then one zhang (approximately 3.3 meters).

A grayish-white aura emanated from his body; it wasn't the pure gray of true qi, but rather a mixture of white, like the morning mist of winter.

The mist swirled around him, making the entire alleyway appear hazy and indistinct.

The man took a step back.

His smile was still there, but his eyes had changed.

Those bright, sparkling eyes narrowed.

Lin Feng hovered in mid-air, looking down at his hands.

Spread your fingers, clench your fist, and then open them again.

The movements were slow, as if they were familiarizing themselves with a tool that hadn't been used in a long time.

Then he looked up at the man.

"My things,"

The voice came from Lin Feng's mouth, but it wasn't Lin Feng's voice at all; it was old and deep.

"You dare to rob me?"

The man paused for a moment.

Then he laughed.

This time it was a real laugh; his shoulders were shaking.

"So there was an old guy there."

He said his gaze fell on the silver ring on Lin Feng's left ring finger, and suddenly...

"No wonder, no wonder."

He took a swig of wine, his tone as relaxed as if chatting in a teahouse: "Several hundred years, right? For a remnant soul to still be able to possess and seize a body, its power is considerable. However..."

He paused, a smile playing on his lips:

"Do you really think you can fight me with that tiny body that's only at the second level of acquired cultivation?"

Raymond Lam did not answer.

He clasped his hands together and made a hand seal.

The grayish-white mist suddenly exploded, transforming into countless streams of light that shot out in all directions.

That wasn't an attack; it was a stealth technique.

He was enveloped in a stream of light, like a gray lightning bolt, instantly darting out of the alley, across the street, and over the city wall.

Three breaths later, he was already standing in the wilderness five miles outside the city.

The night wind was strong, blowing the wild grass flat and bending it down.

In the distance, the shadows of the mountains stretched out, dark and menacing, like a crouching giant beast.

The moon overhead was round and white, its clear light shining down, making the fields look as if they were covered in frost.

Lin Feng stood on a protruding rock, the grayish-white mist still lingering.

He had just caught his breath.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

It's slow and steady.

The man emerged from the night, still dressed in the same gray cloth clothes and carrying the same wine gourd.

He walked with ease, as if taking a stroll in his own yard after dinner.

"The location is pretty good," he said.

"This barren mountain is perfect for burying people."

Raymond Lam turned around, his expression grave.

Deep in his mind, Lin Feng could sense his master's tension, a tense, almost overwhelming tension.

He had never seen his master like this before.

"Who exactly are you?"

When Master Yu Yuan spoke, his voice was as deep as if it were a stone.

The man did not answer.

He raised his gourd, tilted his head back and took a sip, then stood there casually, waiting.

Master Yu Yuan took a deep breath.

Then let's fight.

He spread his hands, and a surge of gray-white mist rose around him.

That wasn't ordinary true energy; it was the primordial power accumulated by his remnant soul over hundreds of years, and every bit used was a bit less.

But there's no time to worry about that right now.

He drew a talisman in the air with his right index finger and flicked the five fingers of his left hand in succession.

In an instant, the world changed color.

Dozens of spells took shape simultaneously, some transforming into wind blades, some condensing into ice cones, some burning into fireballs, and some coalescing into lightning.

A dazzling array of colors, overwhelming and sweeping towards the man.

That was Master Yu Yuan's signature technique, the Hundred Techniques Resounding Together.

At his peak, this move could simultaneously activate 365 spells, covering an area of ​​100 miles.

Now only a remnant soul remains, and can only unleash more than forty spells at a time.

But enough.

At least that's what he thinks.

The man watched the spells flying all over the sky but did not dodge.

He didn't even draw his sword, make any hand seals, or chant any incantations.

He simply raised his right hand and gently pinched his thumb and middle finger together.

"Smack."

A snap of the fingers.

The sound was faint, like a withered branch breaking or a dewdrop falling to the ground.

Then, all the spells—those forty-odd spells that were enough to level a small hill—shattered simultaneously.

Like soap bubbles.

Like dandelions blown by the wind.

Nothing was left.

Master Yu Yuan's hand froze in mid-air.

Deep in his consciousness, Lin Feng felt a buzzing sound in his head.

He couldn't understand why his master stopped, but he could sense his master's emotions. It wasn't surprise, it was... despair.

The man lowered his hand and took another sip of wine.

"good."

He said the tone was like he was commenting on a younger colleague.

"To be able to unleash more than forty spells on such a frail body, you must have been at least at the seventh or eighth level of the Celestial Realm back then."

He paused, then added, "Unfortunately, that was hundreds of years ago."

Master Yu Yuan remained silent.

He remained silent for three breaths.

Then he raised his head, bit his right index finger, and used the blood as ink to draw a talisman in the air.

The moment Fu Cheng was completed, a wind suddenly arose between heaven and earth.

It wasn't an ordinary night breeze; it was a howling wind caused by the forced extraction of spiritual energy.

The spiritual energy of heaven and earth within a ten-mile radius seemed to be seized by an invisible hand, frantically converging towards that blood talisman.

The blood talisman grew brighter and redder until it finally burst into flames—not fire, but blood flames, flickering and burning.

Master Yu Yuan pointed his sword to the heavens with his left hand, his voice hoarse:

"Sword, come!"

The words fell.

A crack appeared in the sky.

From the cracks, countless tiny points of light swarmed out, like fireflies or shooting stars.

They converged, attached, and fused towards the blood rune, and in the blink of an eye, a giant sword took shape.

The sword was thirty feet long, entirely crimson, and its blade was wreathed in blood-red flames.

The giant sword hung in the night sky, brighter than the moon, making the entire wasteland look like it was on fire.

Master Yu Yuan pointed his sword forward.

The giant sword crashed down!

The air was torn apart, emitting a piercing shriek. The remaining pressure crushed the wild grass on the ground into dust, rocks crumbled, and soil flew everywhere.

This sword strike was the full power of his remnant soul.

The man looked up at the falling giant sword.

His eyes lit up.

It's not fear, it's appreciation.

Then he took down the gourd and took a sip.

He sipped it slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing, the liquid making a sound as it went down his throat.

After finishing his drink, he hung the gourd back on his waist, his right hand clenched into a fist.

He waved his hand gently towards the sky.

It's really light.

Like swatting away mosquitoes.

Like saying hello.

The moment the fist touched the greatsword, the crimson blade trembled violently, and then...

Broken.

It didn't break, it shattered.

The entire thirty-foot-long giant sword shattered inch by inch from head to tail, turning into countless specks of light that were scattered cleanly by the night wind.

Only a sliver of residual force pierced through the light fragments and struck Lin Feng's chest.

Just a trace.

Lin Feng's body flew backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing into the mountain wall a hundred feet away.

"boom--"

The mountain trembled, and rocks tumbled down.

Lin Feng is embedded in the mountain wall, with a human-shaped depression three feet deep.

A mouthful of blood gushed from his mouth, dripping onto his chest and spreading into a deep black stain.

The voice of Master Yu Yuan echoed in my consciousness, as weak as a candle flickering in the wind:

"Kid... I'm sorry..."

Lin Feng tried to speak, but his mouth was full of blood.

He moved his fingers, and excruciating pain shot through his limbs.

His meridians were severed.

Not just one or two, but all of them.

The eight extraordinary meridians and the twelve regular meridians are all severed.

The internal organs also suffered varying degrees of damage.

He didn't even have the strength to lift his head.

All that could be heard was the sound of footsteps.

It's slow and steady.

The man walked towards them from a distance, his back to the moonlight, so his face was not visible.

Only the gourd swayed gently at his waist, making a clanging sound.

He walked up to Lin Feng, squatted down, and looked down at him.

"Yo,"

He spoke, his tone surprisingly carrying a hint of admiration, "A cultivator at the first level of the Celestial Realm, actually managed to withstand one of my punches and survive. Interesting."

Lin Feng struggled to say something, but only his breath, a mixture of blood and foam, came out of his throat.

The man didn't seem to expect an answer from him.

He took out the jade slip, turned it around in his hand, as if examining a jade pendant of good quality.

"Actually, I didn't mean anything by it."

He said it calmly.

"I just want to take this cultivation technique. I was discussing it with you earlier, but you wouldn't agree."

He sighed and put the jade slip into his pocket.

"Now look what happened, you're badly injured. What was the point?"

After he finished speaking, he stood up and dusted off the corner of his clothes.

Then he lifted his foot, ready to leave.

Just then, the night wind suddenly stopped.

The man paused.

He sensed that someone was watching him.

It wasn't an ordinary gaze; it was the instinctive tremor of someone being stared at by a ferocious beast.

He slowly turned around.

Ten feet away, a person appeared out of nowhere.

He was dressed in black clothes, black pants, and black boots, his body constricted by the tight-fitting outfit, and he stood ramrod straight.

The moonlight shone on his face, making his features appear as if sculpted by a knife, and his eyebrows and eyes as if painted in ink.

He was a handsome, sassy man, but his eyes were cold and expressionless.

He just stood there, doing nothing.

But the air in the entire wilderness seemed frozen.

The man narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you……"

The man in black did not answer.

He moved.

There were no signs, no momentum.

With just one step, ten zhang (approximately 33 meters) was covered in an instant.

Then he punched the man in the face.

"Bang!"

The man flew through the air like a stone thrown carelessly, smashing through three trees as thick as a stool and carving a furrow more than ten feet long before finally coming to a stop.

Before he could even get up, the man in black had already caught up with him.

Another punch.

The punch landed squarely on his chest.

"Bang!"

The ground collapsed, cracking like a spider web around the man, spreading for three zhang (approximately 10 meters).

The man groaned, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

The third punch.

The fourth punch.

The fifth punch.

The man in black didn't speak, he just kept punching, like he was forging iron or pounding rice.

Every punch landed solidly, every punch struck the same spot—the man's chest.

"Bang bang bang bang bang!"

The muffled thuds continued, like a downpour hitting the roof tiles.

The man's body sank into the soil, one inch, two inches, three inches.

The surrounding ground had collapsed into a shallow pit, riddled with cracks.

Finally, after what seemed like the umpteenth punch, the man suddenly raised his hand and blocked the next blow.

He was panting heavily, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were still bright.

"That's enough," he said.

The man in black stopped, but didn't retract his fist.

The man lay on the ground, looking up at the night sky, his chest heaving violently.

He paused for a few breaths, then spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Who are you?" he asked.

What grudge do we have?

The man in black did not answer.

He just stared at the other person silently, as if looking at a dead man.

The man slowly sat up and wiped the corner of his mouth.

His gray cloth clothes were torn in several places, revealing the skin and flesh underneath, which was bruised and purple, but there were no fatal wounds.

He sighed and took the wine gourd from his waist.

This time he didn't sip it.

He tilted his head back and took a big gulp.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and the liquor flowed down his chin, dripping onto his tattered clothes.

Then the second bite.

The third bite.

The fourth bite.

The fifth bite.

The sixth mouth.

He gulped down six large mouthfuls in one go before putting down the gourd and letting out a long breath. The aroma of alcohol lingered, like a cloud of white mist.

His eyes began to redden.

It wasn't just bloodshot; it was a genuine red, like two flames burning deep within the pupils.

The sky darkened.

It wasn't the clouds obscuring the moon; it was the sky itself, as if someone had splashed ink on it, turning from blue to black inch by inch.

The starlight faded, the moon dimmed, leaving only boundless, heavy darkness.

The wind in the wilderness has stopped.

Even the chirping of insects has disappeared.

The man stood up, dusted himself off, and looked at the man in black.

"It seems," he said, his voice lowering.

"We need to show some real skills."

The night wind picked up again.

This time, it came from behind him, carrying a chilling cold.

The man in black remained expressionless.

He simply turned slightly to the side, further concealing the mountain wall behind him and the dying forest peaks within it.

In the distance, it was dark and windy.

On the wasteland, two figures faced each other.