Chapter 32: The Sky-Piercing Sword Qi

“In the past, I thought this brat was pretty sharp—how can he not sense the tension today?” I really wanted to shout and tell Xiao Yang to run. But feeling the oppressive presence beside me, I knew if I did, the brute next to me would take real action.

At that moment, Xiao Yang had already approached. “Second Uncle, it’s been a long time.”

Perhaps it was a matter of cultivation, but despite ten years passing, Meng Haotian hadn’t changed much.

“Hmph!” Meng Haotian snorted coldly. He raised his hand, but remembering this was Spirit Sword Peak, he decided to show Zhou Jingpeng some respect and lowered it.

“If you don’t explain yourself today, I promise you’ll be bedridden for at least a month!” he barked, pointing directly at Xiao Yang’s nose. He then picked up his cup to drink, only to realize it was empty. He kicked Meng Changsheng.

“Pour me some tea, you fool! What are you staring at?” Meng Changsheng, kicked and flustered, hurriedly bent to pour tea. After filling Meng Haotian’s cup, he didn’t forget Zhou Jingpeng’s as well.

Xiao Yang looked up and paused for a moment. The slap mark on Meng Changsheng’s face was impossible to miss.

“Poor kid,” he thought, feeling a pang of sympathy—not only had he sold himself, but he was also a victim of domestic violence.

“Eh? Second Uncle, I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Xiao Yang feigned ignorance.

Meng Haotian couldn’t hold back any longer. He stood up, ready to take action, but Zhou Jingpeng intervened.

“Calm down, Second Brother. Let me ask for you.”

“Where’s the contract? Hurry up and tear it!” he shouted urgently. Tearing up the contract would appease Meng Haotian, sparing Xiao Yang from a severe beating—perhaps just a lesson.

“Third Brother, let go. Today I must teach this brat a lesson, playing tricks with me!” Meng Haotian looked like he was about to explode, and Xiao Yang sensed the moment was ripe. He quickly acted as if he’d realized something.

“So that’s what you meant, Second Uncle? There’s no contract—I was just teasing Changsheng,” he said with a bitter smile.

Everyone froze. Especially Zhou Yan and Meng Changsheng—they had seen Xiao Yang draft the contract with their own eyes. How could it suddenly not exist?

“Second Uncle, Changsheng called me big brother when we were kids. How could I force him into servitude?” Xiao Yang continued to explain.

Meng Haotian recalled the past—it was true. He had never actually seen the contract, relying only on Meng Changsheng’s word. With that, he suddenly turned to his son.

“Gulp!” Meng Changsheng shivered, nervously stepping back.

“Father, I really signed the contract! He’s lying to you!” He shouted with all his might, his voice echoing through half the Giant Spirit Sect.

But Meng Haotian’s face darkened. Only a few knew about this, but after that shout, the entire sect would soon hear. “You blockhead!” He kicked him twice, knocking Meng Changsheng to the ground. He felt as though even his flower was about to split open. He clutched his backside in agony, lying on the floor.

“Ah! It hurts, it hurts!” Seeing this, Meng Haotian just wanted to drag his foolish son away—too humiliating.

“Let’s go, you’re coming home with me.” He now believed Xiao Yang wouldn’t deceive him.

“No, no!” As Meng Haotian reached for him, Meng Changsheng, suddenly energized, scrambled up and hugged Zhou Jingpeng’s leg.

“Third Uncle, save me! My father will beat me to death!” Zhou Jingpeng was stunned by the sudden reversal. Moments ago, he’d been ready to strike his disciple, now he was about to thrash his own son. Seeing the handprint on Meng Changsheng’s face, he felt a pang of pity.

“Second Brother really doesn’t know his own strength,” he sighed, grabbing Meng Haotian’s arm.

“Let it go, Second Brother. Xiao Yang’s partly to blame—if he hadn’t joked, none of this would’ve happened.”

But Meng Haotian was clearly furious, determined to take his son home and give him a proper beating. The Meng family’s reputation had been utterly disgraced.

“Third Uncle, Senior Brother Xiao Yang told me to report to Spirit Sword Peak. Now I’m a disciple here—you can’t ignore me!” Meng Changsheng clung tightly to Zhou Jingpeng’s leg, refusing to let go.

Zhou Jingpeng paused, puzzled, and glanced at Xiao Yang. His peak never took disciples—it was an unspoken rule.

“Damn it, you brat! You’ve gone too far!” Meng Haotian was livid at the thought of his son joining another peak. As the Second Elder, with hundreds of disciples under him, how could his son join another? If it happened, who knew how many would ridicule him?

No, he absolutely couldn’t let it happen.

“You little rascal, are you going or not? If you don’t, I’ll cut all ties!” His volatile demeanor made Meng Changsheng even more frantic. In his mind, he saw himself being strung up and beaten. He shuddered, determined not to return anytime soon.

“Father, Third Uncle’s swordsmanship is superb. I want to learn the sword—I don’t want to use my fists anymore.”

He had found his excuse.

Hearing this, Meng Haotian fell silent. Who didn’t know Zhou Jingpeng, the sect’s foremost swordsman? If his son followed Zhou Jingpeng, his future would be limitless. But Meng Haotian couldn’t swallow his pride.

His son, apprenticed to someone else—even his junior brother—was intolerable.

“Fine! If you dare go back, I’ll kill you myself!”

With that, he swept his sleeves and left.

“Second Brother! It’s a misunderstanding, truly!” Zhou Jingpeng tried to explain, but Meng Haotian left without giving him a chance.

Watching Meng Haotian depart, Zhou Jingpeng grew angry.

“Xiao Yang, get over here!”

“Cough, cough! Master, don’t get angry—it’s bad for your health,” Xiao Yang replied with an awkward smile.

“Hmph! If you return, I’ll lose a hundred years off my life!” Zhou Jingpeng snorted.

Even he felt baffled by today’s events—he didn’t understand what was happening. He never took disciples; why was his senior disciple recruiting someone for him? Worse, he’d lured Meng Haotian’s only son, causing a rift.

Xiao Yang said nothing, walking over to Meng Changsheng with a mischievous grin.

Meng Changsheng shivered, wary of Xiao Yang.

“What are you up to?” Xiao Yang pulled out a copper coin from somewhere and waved it in front of him, muttering under his breath.

“You’re sleepy, you want to sleep…”

After dozens of breaths, Meng Changsheng’s eyes were wide as saucers—he felt no urge to sleep.

“Damn!” Xiao Yang cursed inwardly—those novels were all lies. He raised his hand and struck Meng Changsheng on the back of the head.

Bang!

Meng Changsheng collapsed, unconscious, without any resistance.

“You…” Zhou Jingpeng began.

“Don’t blame me—he wouldn’t sleep,” Xiao Yang shrugged helplessly.

Seeing Meng Changsheng knocked out, Zhou Jingpeng was about to ask what was going on.

“Have you forgotten Spirit Sword Peak doesn’t accept disciples?” he asked.

“Heh, trust me, Master—you will,” Xiao Yang replied with a mysterious smile.

Why had he gone to such lengths, risking Meng Haotian’s wrath, to keep Meng Changsheng? He had his reasons.

“Well, I’d like to see how you convince me,” Zhou Jingpeng said sharply, clearly annoyed by Xiao Yang’s actions.

“Watch closely, Master!” With that, Xiao Yang struck Meng Changsheng’s back with his palm.

Instantly, a surge of sword energy erupted.

Fortunately, Zhou Jingpeng reacted swiftly, suppressing the sword energy in an instant.

Yet a hint of shock appeared on his face.