Chapter Forty-Eight: You’re the Real Country Bumpkin

Master Wu turned his head to look behind him. At some point, an unremarkable man had appeared at his back.

“Who are you?” Master Wu demanded, shaking his muddled head.

He could sense no internal energy from Lin Yi, no aura of threat—just an ordinary young man. Yet somehow this very man had managed to approach him without a sound. That was odd.

Lin Yi said nothing. He brought his palm down upon Master Wu.

The strike appeared soft and effortless, but somehow it contained immense power—a sudden sense of danger erupted out of nowhere.

“I must evade this!”

With a swift leap, Master Wu retreated, stumbling back more than ten meters.

Li Zhihan hurriedly got to her feet, her eyes brimming with tears. “Lin Yi, have you come to save me?”

She clutched her chest with both hands, looking pitiful and vulnerable.

Lin Yi nodded, then removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

Afterward, he addressed Master Wu. “You shouldn’t have come after her. If you’d chosen someone else as your furnace, perhaps I wouldn’t have found you so quickly.”

“You know the art of the Furnace?” Master Wu was surprised.

The Furnace Art did not belong to martial disciplines, but rather to the path of cultivation—rare and mysterious. He had roamed the land for over a decade, yet none had ever recognized his technique. And now, it had been exposed in a single sentence.

“A trivial, unrefined trick,” Lin Yi said, shaking his head.

Master Wu’s face twisted in anger, and he sneered. “You’re bold for someone so young. Quite the braggart.”

He pulled a small black bell from his robe and gave it a gentle ring. Instantly, a thick cloud of black mist spread outward, quickly engulfing the surroundings.

This mist was corrosive, eating away at everything in its path—even stone was left pitted and scarred.

“Lin Yi…” Li Zhihan, fearful, hid behind Lin Yi. His shoulders were not particularly broad, yet they radiated a sense of utter reliability.

“It’s all right,” Lin Yi assured her. He stepped forward, and in his hand appeared a golden spear, conjured out of thin air.

Pale purple lightning danced along the spear’s shaft, making Lin Yi seem like a thunder god descended to earth.

The black mist barely brushed the lightning before it began to melt away like snow under the sun.

“What… What is this?” Master Wu cried in terror.

“Immortal magic.”

Lin Yi’s voice was cold. He raised his arm, poised as if to throw the spear.

Master Wu’s legs buckled with fright. His own cultivation arts were utterly powerless before Lin Yi’s immortal magic—it was like a mouse cornered by a cat.

“Don’t—don’t kill me! I’ll serve you, I’ll be your servant!” Master Wu pleaded.

But Lin Yi had no interest in him.

Master Wu’s skills were formidable—at least by the standards of ordinary martial arts. But compared to other cultivators, he was nothing. Against someone of equal rank, he would be utterly crushed.

“Go.”

With a flick of his wrist, Lin Yi hurled the golden spear. It became a streak of golden light, piercing Master Wu’s heart clean through before vanishing into the air.

“I…” Master Wu’s eyes reflected his unwillingness—he could not believe that after all his years of roaming, it would end like this, slain by another.

He toppled to the ground, eyes wide open—a death with no peace.

Lin Yi’s expression remained indifferent; he had long since grown accustomed to such scenes.

For Li Zhihan, it was the first time she had seen someone die before her eyes. She felt fear, curiosity, and, most of all, a deep sense of awe for Lin Yi. The image of him wielding the thunder spear was now indelibly etched into her young heart.

“You wait here,” Lin Yi said. “I have one more person to take care of.”

Li Zhihan tugged at his arm, her voice soft and sweet. “Are you going to kill her too?”

“Yes. If she lives, she’ll only bring us more trouble. I don’t want today’s events to happen again,” Lin Yi replied.

Li Zhihan nodded.

Lin Yi left.

Li Zhihan sat there in a daze. “What kind of person is he? A tutor? A musician? A doctor? Or an immortal?”

“Yang Yujia is so lucky—to have such a teacher. Honestly, I’m a little envious.”

…

Yang Manli was scanning her surroundings, standing guard for Master Wu. In the distance, she saw a shadowy figure approaching.

“Is that Master Wu? That was fast. Surely he’s not a three-second man,” she thought with a trace of disdain, though her smile remained bright.

But soon she realized the figure was not Master Wu.

“Waiting for Master Wu? No need. He’s already gone ahead to hell to wait for you,” Lin Yi said.

“You brat, stop spouting nonsense. I know you—you’re Yang Yujia’s boyfriend!” Yang Manli’s face darkened.

She didn’t believe Lin Yi for a moment. Master Wu was like an immortal—how could he be killed so easily?

Lin Yi shook his head. “Believe what you want.”

Whether she believed him or not was of no concern to Lin Yi. All he wanted was her life.

Bang.

Lin Yi vanished from where he stood. The next instant, he was at Yang Manli’s side.

He seized her by the throat, paused, and said, “Oh, right. Yang Li is down there too.”

“Yang Li!” Yang Manli’s eyes widened, but before she could react, there was a crisp crack—her neck snapped in Lin Yi’s grip.

Lin Yi had never been one to show mercy to his enemies.

He let her body drop to the ground, then called Wang Yang to come clean up the scene.

…

The next day.

Angel was waiting downstairs early.

Lin Yi entrusted Doudou to the care of Cai Qing and Lu Lu. With those two, he felt reassured. Besides, Lu Lu ran a cake shop—there was no chance Doudou, the little glutton, would go hungry.

“Mr. Lin, our flight to Miaojiang is at nine. Would you like to rest a bit more?” Angel asked as she drove.

“No need,” Lin Yi replied with a shake of his head. For him, even going a year without sleep would make no difference.

After waiting for a while, the two of them boarded the plane.

Seated beside Lin Yi was a slightly overweight young man, dressed in designer clothes, who kept conspicuously displaying a watch worth over two hundred thousand yuan.

“Hey, buddy, could you switch seats with me?” the man asked eagerly, unable to take his eyes off Angel beside Lin Yi.

Lin Yi remained silent, eyes closed as if resting.

The man’s face darkened. He pulled out a business card. “My name is Li Xinhui—lobby manager at the Golden Glory Hotel. If you ever come by for a meal, I’ll give you a thirty percent discount.”

His words sounded generous, but inwardly he was dismissive. Lin Yi’s clothes screamed country bumpkin. Golden Glory was a five-star hotel in Jiang Province, worth billions. Even the cheapest meal cost several hundred—he doubted this guy could afford a ten percent discount, let alone thirty.

Lin Yi cracked his eyelids open. He recalled meeting Yao Likun at a bar—that man’s father, if memory served, owned Golden Glory.

Seeing Lin Yi open his eyes, Li Xinhui thought he was intimidated and pressed his advantage. “Come on, buddy—one more friend, one more opportunity.”

Lin Yi didn’t take the card, simply closed his eyes again.

Li Xinhui’s face soured once more. He looked at Angel, who covered her mouth to hide a chuckle; he stared, momentarily transfixed. She was stunning.

Then he glanced at the country-bumpkin Lin Yi beside her—the more he looked, the more mismatched they seemed. Beauty and the beast.

“Miss, here’s my card. Would you mind getting acquainted?” Li Xinhui turned his attention to Angel.

He’d relied on this identity to attract countless women.

Angel didn’t take the card; a trace of contempt flitted through her eyes. A mere lobby manager—if he were the owner himself, even he wouldn’t dare speak to her so brazenly. She was only restraining her temper out of respect for Lin Yi—otherwise, she would have shown Li Xinhui what a true powerhouse looked like.

Li Xinhui’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air. He was embarrassed, but dared not show temper in front of a beauty.

So he turned his ire on Lin Yi, his tone taking on a veiled threat. “Listen, buddy, I have some pull in Jiang Province.”

Lin Yi opened his eyes and asked, “Do you know Yao Likun?”

“Of course. Why?” Li Xinhui replied, puzzled. As a lobby manager, it would be ridiculous not to know the young master.

“Call him now. Tell him I asked you to,” Lin Yi said, almost smiling.

Li Xinhui sneered. “Who do you think you are, to order me around like that?”

He assumed Lin Yi was trying to use him to curry favor with Master Yao—maybe land a decent job.

“If you don’t call, you’ll regret it,” Lin Yi offered kindly.

“Oh? Regret what? You’re a country bumpkin—why not stick to the train instead of trying to be trendy on a plane? This ticket probably cost you a week’s wages, didn’t it?” Li Xinhui mocked.

Lin Yi didn’t get angry. “Yao Likun’s suffering from alcohol poisoning—he’s probably still in the hospital, isn’t he?”

Li Xinhui stared at Lin Yi in surprise. Not many knew about this—just a few hotel executives. The rumor was that Young Master Yao had offended someone powerful, downed two bottles of whiskey, and landed in the hospital.

“How do you know that?” Li Xinhui asked.

“It’s simple—I’m the one who sent him there. If you don’t believe me, call and ask. Tell him Lin Yi is looking for him,” Lin Yi said with a half-smile.

This time, Li Xinhui hesitated. After a few moments, he dialed Yao Likun’s number.

Yao Likun was lying in his hospital bed; even while ill, he was surrounded by several scantily clad women attending to him.

“Young Master Yao, your call,” one of the women said.

“Who is it?” Yao Likun asked, pale-faced.

“It’s Manager Li.”

“All right, give it here.” Yao Likun took the phone.

“Hello, Young Master Yao.” Li Xinhui’s tone was respectful—he was always cocky with outsiders, but to the young master, he was a mere dog.

“What is it?” Yao Likun asked.

“I met someone on the plane—he says he knows you,” Li Xinhui replied.

“Who?”

“His name is Lin Yi.”

Boom.

Yao Likun felt a chill run down his spine. How could he forget that name?

A single phone call had forced Song Yu to come crawling.

A word had silenced the arrogant Song Qi forever.

Such a terrifying figure—why would he be calling through a small fry like Li Xinhui?

He was afraid. Truly afraid.

On the other end, Li Xinhui heard only silence and grew more anxious. He figured Yao Likun must not know this Lin Yi at all.

“Young Master Yao, this has nothing to do with me—it was that country bumpkin who insisted I call, even threatened that I’d regret it if I didn’t,” Li Xinhui tried to distance himself.

He didn’t realize Yao Likun was already trembling, drenched in cold sweat.

“Damn you, Li Xinhui! You’re the bumpkin, not me. From now on, you’re no longer a manager—you idiot!” Yao Likun snapped.

“But, Young Master Yao, I’m innocent…” Li Xinhui stammered, not understanding.

“Give the phone to the gentleman—now!” Yao Likun wanted nothing more to do with Li Xinhui.

Gentleman?

Li Xinhui’s heart skipped a beat. He felt a storm of trouble brewing over his head.