Huamu Ye's face had now gone from red to purple.
"You… you… I will beat you until you turn into a pulp!" the young master scread.
Han Yu sniffed and said, "With what. That body of yours? You're talking about cracking a walnut with your ass, when you can't even break a peanut with your teeth."
This ti, soone failed to hold back.
A small laugh burst from the back of the crowd.
Huamu Ye whipped around like a rabid dog.
"Who laughed! Who dares laugh!"
He spun wildly but, of course, no one claid responsibility. Any sane person valued their life enough not to volunteer for death.
Han Yu crossed his arms and said loudly, "Only those who are not blind like you."
Huamu Ye's jaw dropped. His brain could not keep up. His rage had surpassed words and entered the realm of pure incoherent fury.
Han Yu continued, "You were the one who bumped into . You should apologize. Everyone saw it."
Silence.
No one wanted to be the first to speak. Supporting a random stranger against Huamu Ye was like stepping into a pit of hungry wolves. But then…
A voice rang from the crowd.
"Yes. Young Master Huamu veered from his side of the street. Everyone saw it."
It was Driver Yun, who had smoothly shifted positions several tis in the last few seconds, making it impossible to pinpoint who had spoken. The man even held a steaming bowl of noodles up to his mouth as he looked away innocently.
Hearing soone else speak, a strange collective instinct kicked in. Several people nodded unconsciously before realizing what they had done. They imdiately paled, looking like they wanted to crawl under the nearest vegetable basket.
Han Yu spread his arms like a man presenting a victorious argunt.
"See? Everyone agrees."
He pointed at Huamu Ye.
"Apologize."
For a mont, Huamu Ye forgot how to breathe.
"What… what…" he sputtered. "You… you want to apologize? To you?"
"Yes," Han Yu said calmly. "With sincerity. And a bow would be good too."
Huamu Ye erupted.
"I will show you an apology!"
He lunged forward and threw a punch at Han Yu's face.
The punch was slow. The punch was weak. The punch was embarrassing.
Han Yu caught Huamu Ye's fist with one hand as if holding a child's toy. He could feel the utter lack of strength, like a toddler pawing at him.
Then Han Yu twisted the arm lightly.
CRACK.
Not a bone. Just joints shifting slightly out of place. Enough to hurt. Not enough to leave permanent damage. At least not yet...
Huamu Ye scread so loudly that a flock of birds flew from the roofs nearby.
"AAAGH! MY ARM! MY ARM! LET GO!"
His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground like a sack of flour, clutching his arm as if it had been torn off. His guards finally regained their senses.
"Save the young master!"
"Protect Young Master Huamu!"
"Screw the apology, kill that man!"
The guards drew their weapons in panic and fury, rushing toward Han Yu from all sides.
Han Yu looked at them with the calm irritation of a man who had been inconvenienced by mosquitoes.
The entire street held its breath.
What would happen next?
Han Yu smiled.
And that was when the real show began.
The mont Huamu Ye shrieked for his guards to save him, the n launched themselves toward Han Yu like a pack of rabid dogs desperate to salvage the scraps of their pride. But to Han Yu, they looked like clumsy chickens flapping their wings in a panic.
Exactly what he wanted.
Because now he was no longer just a rude commoner. He was a man defending himself from a group assault. The perfect justification for violence, especially the kind of violence a Slaughtered Moon Divine Blood sect disciple would deliver.
Han Yu's fingers stayed tightly wrapped around Huamu Ye's twisted arm. The young master dangled half limp, half wailing like a piglet caught in a door.
His one free hand flapped uselessly as he scread, "Kill him! Save ! Get this lunatic off !"
The first guard to reach Han Yu was a Qi refining realm cultivator swinging a wooden club with all the courage of a man who did not quite want to die but also did not want to lose his job.
Han Yu simply tilted his head.
The club whooshed past his ear by half an inch.
SMACK
With a bored expression, Han Yu backhanded the man across the cheek. The slap was sharp, clean, and almost elegant. The guard flew sideways like a sack of sand tossed from a cart, skidding across the ground until he rolled onto his back with a defeated groan.
The crowd gasped.
"Did he just slap a cultivator into the dirt?"
"That did not look like a normal slap."
"Is that man secretly a master?"
The second guard rushed forward with a shaky sword, perhaps trying to prove that steel was more reliable than flesh.
Han Yu casually swung Huamu Ye's limp body in front of him like a shield. The guard panicked, pulled his sword back too fast, and stumbled. His blade clashed awkwardly with the sword of another guard right behind him.
CLANG.
Both n yelped in surprise and crashed into each other, falling in a heap of limbs.
Huamu Ye screeched, "Do not use as a shield! Are you insane?"
Han Yu replied, "I told you to apologize. This is your punishnt for bad manners."
Three guards approached next, trying to coordinate a pincer attack.
Han Yu exhaled softly.
His right arm moved.
Just once.
A single sweeping arc.
Three slaps landed in perfect rhythm.
PAK. PAK. PAK.
Each slap was loud enough to echo off the walls and send dust drifting from nearby storefronts. The guards spun sideways like tops losing balance and fell to the ground clutching their faces. One whimpered that he could taste blood. Another complained that he could not feel his nose.
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