Chapter 892 — Scorching Sun at the Gate

CHAPTER 892

Scorching Sun at the Gate

“Shi Feng!” Qu Ming shouted. “Come out!”

The Phoenix Tail Pavilion’s gate stood open. Its red pillars and the gilded phoenix over the lintel shone in the morning sun, and the street in front of it was packed from wall to wall. The buyers in the queue didn’t leave. They turned around to watch.

Shi Feng came out through the gate with his bandaged arms folded in his sleeves. Ji Yuanhe came as far as the threshold behind him and stopped there.

Two princess’s guards at the gate looked at the upper balcony. Long Caili stood there, veiled, with Shen Yaoqing. She shook her head once, very slightly, and the guards stayed where they were.

“Young Lord Qu,” Shi Feng said. “Your carriage is at the end of the street. I saw it on my way out.”

“I know where my carriage is!” Qu Ming said.

His eyes were red, and he hadn’t changed his robe since the teahouse. He stopped five paces from the gate. The twelve sect sons fanned out behind him, but none of them came any closer than a few steps.

“You bought it,” Qu Ming said loudly. “Everyone here should know it. The herbs came from her vault. The notary came from her family. The glass was built by the Jiang, and the Jiang came to your courtyard two days ago with a chest. A servant’s furnace doesn’t fold nine clouds. A princess’s money does!”

The crowd murmured. Some of the buyers looked up at the balcony, then quickly looked away.

“First,” Shi Feng said. “The herbs were a loan. I wrote her a receipt in front of a witness, and I paid it back in front of another one. Ask the Serene Jade chief disciple. She was there both times.”

On the balcony, Shen Yaoqing didn’t move.

“Second,” Shi Feng said. “Master Xuanyuan isn’t of the princess’s family. He’s the Emperor’s sworn brother, and if he leans anywhere, the whole court knows it’s toward the Fifth Prince. He sat because the Pavilion asked him to. And the only thing he did during the sitting was put out your fire when you threw it at the glass.”

A few people in the crowd laughed. Qu Ming’s face went from red to white.

“Third,” Shi Feng said. “The Jiang came two days ago to buy a pill. They paid three million for it. If I’d bought my Mark from them, they’d have paid me nothing. That’s how buying works, Young Lord. The man who buys pays.”

He turned toward the gate.

“That’s all,” Shi Feng said. “Your carriage is waiting.”

“Don’t turn your back on me!” Qu Ming screamed.

Qu Ming’s right hand came up, and the morning grew hot.

A disc of white-gold fire formed over his palm, as bright as a small sun. Scorching Sun Flame, the Azure Sun’s pride, the art that had made him sixty-fourth on the Tianxing. The street felt it at once. Paper lanterns over the stalls curled and blackened. The front rows of the crowd threw themselves back.

Behind Shi Feng, Ji Yuanhe took one step back through the gate, then made himself stop.

“Get back! He’s really doing it!”

“In front of a princess’s gate?”

“He’s peak Deity Transformation! The other one’s mid Shattering Void! Is he out of his mind?”

Qu Ming threw it.

The sun crossed the five paces between them in a blink. It came straight at Shi Feng’s chest, hot enough to melt a sword.

Shi Feng didn’t draw. He turned back and lifted his left sleeve, the way a man lifts a sleeve to keep rain off his face.

The Quiet Sleeve Art at Major Success opened. The white-gold fire went into the sleeve and simply vanished. There was no sound, no heat, no smoke. To the crowd, it looked as though the sun had flown into a fold of cloth and gone to sleep.

Inside the sleeve, the All-Devouring Physique took it whole. It tasted of sour heat and too much pride. Shi Feng swallowed it down, and his burnt forearms warmed a little.

The flame went out like a lamp in the rain.

The street was completely silent.

“Where did it go?”

“It went into his sleeve. It just went in.”

“A Scorching Sun Flame, gone without a sound…”

“…”

Shi Feng lowered his arm and shook out the sleeve. A thin wisp of smoke came out of it.

“Thank you,” Shi Feng said. “My arms were cold.”

On the balcony, Long Caili’s hand came off the rail.

Qu Ming stared at the sleeve. Then he stared at his own palm, and his breath came short and fast.

“Again,” Qu Ming whispered. “Again!”

He raised his hand and called the flame.

Nothing came.

A few sparks flickered over his palm and died at once. He tried again, harder, and the veins stood out on his neck. His palm turned red, then pale. Not even a spark came this time.

His hand began to shake.

It shook at the wrist first, then all the way to the elbow, and he couldn’t stop it. He grabbed it with his other hand, and both hands shook together.

The twelve sect sons behind him looked at each other. One of the Tang cousins took a quiet step back into the crowd.

Shi Feng watched the shaking hand for a moment. His face wasn’t amused anymore. He knew exactly what it was.

Then he slid his right hand into his sleeve and took out a small paper box.