Chapter 108: One Million One Leg

Qin Feng's movements naturally drew Wang Teng's attention.

He had been embracing two women, flirting playfully with them, when the woman beside Qin Feng was abruptly "escorted" away. Wang Teng burst into loud laughter.

"Oh, isn't this Qin Feng? What, you came alone to drown your sorrows?"

Wang Teng's tone dripped with mockery. "What, didn't the young Miss Bai accompany you?"

Qin Feng paid no heed to the provocation and merely cast a faint glance his way.

"Wang Young Master, we'll meet again soon. I hope that by then, you can still manage to smile."

He rose abruptly to his feet, only to be restrained by the woman at his side.

"Wang Young Master, please don't be angry," one woman cooed softly. "It's beneath you to get upset with someone like this."

The other woman chimed in, urging, "That's right, Young Master Wang is a nobleman. Why waste your breath on this sort?"

Persuaded by the pair, Wang Teng's fury cooled slightly. He gave a cold snort. "Qin Feng, just you wait!"

Qin Feng pretended not to hear and drained his glass in a single gulp. He set it down heavily on the bar, stood, and headed toward the dance floor.

Deliberately, he passed close to Wang Teng and brushed shoulders with him.

In that fleeting moment, Qin Feng gave him a deliberate shove. Wang Teng staggered, nearly toppling over.

"You fucking looking for death!" Wang Teng roared, seizing Qin Feng by the collar.

Qin Feng had anticipated this move. He seized Wang Teng's wrist in return and twisted with all his strength. Wang Teng immediately grimaced, teeth bared in agony.

A faint crack echoed as bone shifted out of place amid the bar's din, yet it passed unnoticed by most.

Everyone present felt a sudden, icy chill.

Wang Teng's face drained of all color, cold sweat beading on his forehead. His mouth hung open, but only a series of hissing gasps escaped him, like a fish floundering on land.

"Watch your tongue next time, Young Master Wang," Qin Feng murmured near his ear, voice low enough for only the two of them to hear. "Some people are not ones you can provoke."

Wang Teng's men reacted instantly, surging forward in a menacing wave, eyes blazing with murderous intent, as if eager to tear Qin Feng apart.

The bar security moved to intervene, but a single glance from Qin Feng sent them retreating in alarm.

These guards had long grown accustomed to wielding power like tigers, but they had never seen such a look.

"What? Want to fight?" Qin Feng scanned the room, a mocking smile curving his lips. "With the likes of you crooked little melons, do you truly believe you can stop me?"

His voice remained soft, yet it carried clearly to every ear.

Those originally fierce bodyguards, under his gaze, recoiled a step at once, fear evident in their eyes.

Qin Feng snorted, releasing Wang Teng's wrist, and turned toward the bar's exit. His retreating figure was tall and proud, like a sword freshly drawn from its sheath, radiating sharp menace.

"Qin Feng! Stand right there!" Wang Teng clutched his mangled wrist, teeth grinding. "You fucking have the guts to walk away! If I don't kill you today, I'm not a Wang!"

Qin Feng halted, turned, and offered a cold smile. "I'm waiting."

Without a backward glance, he stepped out of the bar.

Watching Qin Feng's departure, Wang Teng's eyes blazed with fury.

He had never endured such humiliation in his life.

Especially not in front of so many witnesses, publicly shamed by Qin Feng. He would never swallow this affront!

"Someone! Call for help on the phone!" Wang Teng bit through the pain, bellowing at his subordinate. "Bring Li San here! Tonight, Qin Feng this bastard will pay for what he's done!"

The subordinate trembled and fumbled for his phone.

"Spread the word: anyone who breaks Qin Feng's leg gets a million. I want this kid to learn what it means to cross me, Wang Teng!"

The bar's noise dipped as Wang Teng's roar echoed. Every eye turned to him—surprise, fear, and cruel amusement.

Wang Teng was a classic rich second-generation, a spoiled heir. These labels only reinforced his arrogance.

Qin Feng, by contrast, was an unknown upstart.

In the ordinary course of things, someone like him should have kept his head down, swallowed every slight. Yet he had done the opposite—provoking the situation further, daring to humiliate Wang Teng in public.

Wasn't this courting death?

Everyone waited to witness Qin Feng's comeuppance, expecting him to be trampled and forced to his knees in apology.

...

Midnight streets stretched under dim streetlights, Qin Feng's shadow long and faint.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a plume of white smoke that curled lazily from his nostrils and lips before fading into the night.

"One million to snap a leg, huh?" Qin Feng muttered, a mocking smile playing at his lips. "You're really giving me credit."

He knew Wang Teng would not let this go. Tonight was merely the beginning.

But he felt no fear.

When soldiers come, generals block the way; when water rises, earth dams it.

He would see whose bones were harder—Wang Teng's or his own fists!

And if it came to it, he would even use Wang Teng as a stepping stone to reach the ancient temple's secrets.

"Beep, beep, beep..."

The phone's vibration broke Qin Feng's reverie.

He checked the screen. Yang Tianchen calling.

"Hello, Tianchen."

"Ah Feng, where are you?" Yang Tianchen's voice carried a note of concern. "Wang Teng spread the word—he wants to break your leg. What the hell did you do?"

Qin Feng smiled faintly. "Don't worry. I did it on purpose. Stay out of this; I don't want that bastard to back out and refuse to hit me."

"Ah Feng, I know you're capable, but two fists can't fight four hands!" Yang Tianchen urged. "And Wang's crew has warriors among them!"

"I'm grateful for the concern, but I'll handle this myself."

Qin Feng's tone was resolute. "Qin Feng is not someone to be bullied!"

"Sigh, how stubborn you are..." Yang Tianchen tried to reason further, but Qin Feng cut him off.

"Tianchen, I have to go. Goodbye."

He ended the call, slipped the phone into his pocket, and kept walking. In the gathering night, his figure seemed especially solitary yet radiated quiet resolve.

...

The next day, Qin Feng returned to the antique market as usual. Adjacent stood a restoration shop run by an elderly man past sixty, surnamed Zhang—everyone called him Old Zhang.

Qin Feng had only learned this recently.

Old Zhang had been the market's longest-standing figure. They said he had once been a legend, traveling the world, rich in experience. For reasons unknown, he had settled here, opening his repair shop and carrying on for decades.