Chapter 130: Three Punches

In the early evening, He Chang’an returned to the Mountain Residence Inn. At the main entrance, he encountered Ying Eleven, the eleventh prince of the demon clan’s royal court, who was about to leave for Lady Tianhu’s establishment, known as “Near Intoxication.”

Ying Eleven, accompanied by four attendants, stopped right in the center of the gate, calmly and politely observing He Chang’an.

He Chang’an stepped back silently, waiting for them to pass.

Unexpectedly, Ying Eleven seemed quite interested in He Chang’an. Standing motionless on the steps, he scrutinized him carefully.

A gentle smile adorned his face, but his gaze was reckless and even rude, bordering on deliberate provocation.

The two men stood thus in silent confrontation for seven or eight breaths, neither willing to speak first.

Finally, one attendant could no longer contain himself. With a sharp sound, he drew his sword, glaring fiercely at He Chang’an, and coldly commanded, “Step aside for my master at once!”

He Chang’an glanced at Ying Eleven, paused for two breaths, then silently withdrew several steps to the side, making way.

He didn’t particularly like Ying Eleven; it wasn’t hatred exactly, just a feeling that this man was quite dull.

Such feelings were normal for him, so he remained indifferent—retreating a few steps without fuss.

But in Ying Eleven’s eyes, He Chang’an’s indifferent look and casual retreat were a grave provocation.

Who did he think he was looking down on?

To this eleventh prince, a human like He Chang’an was inherently lowly, relying on some powerful backing to exist peacefully in this demon clan town.

Ying Eleven had no intention of provoking trouble, but He Chang’an’s yielding stirred an inexplicable fury within him.

His expression darkened as he stood firmly in the gate’s center, neither advancing nor retreating, wanting to see how this despicable human youth would respond.

If he gained the upper hand, he would not hesitate to act.

Killing him outright was unlikely—Ying Eleven sensed this human had significant backing and was currently plotting something major, not worth wasting effort on such a trivial matter.

Still, he wanted He Chang’an to understand what it felt like to be beaten into a cripple.

A mocking smile curved Ying Eleven’s lips as his deep, pale golden eyes locked onto He Chang’an.

He Chang’an sensed a chilling murderous intent beginning to spread—this seemingly refined young noble intended to strike.

He hesitated.

He never sought trouble but was never afraid of it.

The problem was, in this demon clan town, the other’s status…

While He Chang’an hesitated, one of Ying Eleven’s attendants, unable to restrain himself any longer, stepped forward with a raised blade and slashed at He Chang’an.

The sword flashed like a stream, arriving in an instant.

The attendant was reckless, swinging blindly to kill the human youth before him.

He Chang’an stepped back, evading the blade, feeling somewhat annoyed.

Yet, unwilling to stir conflict, he withdrew two more steps, cupped his hands calmly, and said, “Please.”

The attendant’s expression stiffened, and he looked back at Ying Eleven.

Ying Eleven said nothing, his cold gaze fixed on He Chang’an.

The attendant, confused by his master’s intentions, stood in front of He Chang’an with his sword raised, unable to advance or retreat, creating an awkward tension.

“Are you He Chang’an?” Ying Eleven finally asked after a few breaths, his tone rude.

He Chang’an nodded gently and softly replied, “Yes,” then fell silent.

Ying Eleven took a slow step forward; He Chang’an stepped back.

Ying Eleven took another step; He Chang’an retreated again.

Ying Eleven stopped, surprised as he studied He Chang’an, then suddenly smiled and spoke with refined politeness, “Humans truly have an innate advantage—both warrior and scholar. You are quite extraordinary.”

Seeing He Chang’an remain silent, the demon prince stepped forward again and continued, “Is this why you disdain our demon clan?”

His words dripped with provocation.

He had intended to leave but, looking into He Chang’an’s calm, clear, indifferent eyes, an invisible nerve was struck, sparking a murderous impulse.

He despised humans, especially this one, who seemed to yield only out of boredom rather than respect.

That attitude was the most detestable.

Ying Eleven’s noble and elegant countenance, with its narrow eyes lending a heroic air, now radiated a fierce killing intent.

His pale golden eyes gradually clouded with a grayish hue.

“Human, take three punches from me, and I will let you go this time,” Ying Eleven said coldly, his aura swelling as he extended a pale hand, slowly curling it into a fist.

With a slight raise of his brow, he arrogantly asked, “How about it?”

“No,” He Chang’an replied, turning to leave without acknowledging the provocation.

This demon prince’s outburst revealed the peak of the sixth-tier warrior realm. Coupled with his demon bloodline powers, He Chang’an had no chance.

Starting a senseless dispute made He Chang’an inwardly curse his bad luck.

Seeing He Chang’an ignore his provocation and turn away, Ying Eleven’s anger flared. His narrow eyes narrowed sharply. Without a word, he struck a fist directly at He Chang’an’s back.

If the other sought death, he would send him off.

He didn’t even bother with a warning shout or proper form—this was a stealth attack, delivered with full force.

Demon clan martial arts prized sudden power, a single strike to kill; etiquette and martial ethics were for the human scholars.

Ying Eleven barely regarded this youth, only wary of his background. Yet in this town, no one’s background surpassed the demon royal court.

Even if trouble arose later, a few spirit stones or elixirs would smooth things over with powerful figures.

Thus, this punch was intended to kill.

For centuries, no one had dared blatantly ignore him face to face, enraging the violent and cruel Ying Eleven.

He Chang’an had anticipated this. When Ying Eleven launched his full-power punch, He Chang’an had already adjusted his energy to peak state. He swiftly turned and countered with a punch of his own.

Separated by over ten steps, their fists collided with a deafening boom.

A fierce gale and surging force erupted.

The cobblestones beneath them cracked and shattered, seven or eight pieces breaking away. Two tall magnolia trees trembled under the blast.

Flower petals and leaves drifted down, creating a stunning scene.

Riding the momentum of the collision, He Chang’an flipped backward, landing with a series of quick steps to regain balance after retreating seventeen or eighteen paces.

His face darkened, turning pale instantly.

“You attacked me by surprise?” he asked calmly, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth, meandering down to stain his green robe.

“What of it, you human dog bastard?” Ying Eleven sneered, stepping forward with a burst of strength, preparing to hammer another punch.

His fist, the size of a millstone, sliced through the air with a piercing whistle, aiming straight for He Chang’an’s chest and abdomen.

He Chang’an countered with a punch of his own.

This time, he rolled back, retreating twenty steps.

He said nothing, his face even paler. More blood seeped from his mouth, wiped away casually by his sleeve.

“Do you intend to kill me?” He Chang’an steadied his breath and asked.

“Yes. I despise you and want to kill you, human scum,” Ying Eleven replied without hesitation.

Instead of striking immediately, he inhaled deeply. His bones cracked audibly as his pale golden eyes turned completely ashen, faintly flickering with a blood-red glow.

“I want you dead!”

Ying Eleven unleashed part of his bloodline power, sending a powerful punch hurtling toward He Chang’an.