Chapter Sixty-Five: Hit Me, You Fool!

A wild gale swept through, the darkened sky filled with the rustling of leaves. All at once, Dao Yi blinked, as if sensing something, and turned his head slightly before letting out a long breath and allowing a faint smile to play on his lips.

"It won't fall, my life is not his to take." In that instant, confidence surged through Dao Yi, and he spoke with utmost seriousness.

"You’re really noisy." Just as Uncle Lin’s body seemed about to collapse, he suddenly appeared only a few steps away from the group. Yet, just as he was about to strike again, he sensed something amiss and retreated in a flash. In the blink of an eye, his back was drenched as though caught in a downpour. He stood to the side, gasping for breath, his heart still pounding with fear.

"Ah, why are you backing off, old man?" Except for Yun Fan, who fell into contemplation at the sight, the others were all at a loss. Then, after a brief pause, Dao Yi began to boast incessantly, his attitude brazen and unashamed.

"What did you just do?" Uncle Lin’s voice came through ragged breaths, broken and strained, as if he had just suffered a tremendous fright.

"I’ll say it again: I’m right here. If you have the nerve, just try me." Dao Yi exhaled another heavy breath, straightening his chest with newfound courage.

But then, a fit of coughs he could not suppress overtook him...

"You really think I won’t dare? Or is it that you’re betting I won’t risk my life?" Uncle Lin growled in a hoarse voice, his expression turning fierce.

Suddenly, a gentle breeze swept through the group, distinct from the raging wind all around—a breeze so light and pleasant it felt utterly real in the midst of the storm.

There was no sign of a person, not a sound to be heard. As Uncle Lin’s words faded, his left hand exploded into dust with a thunderous crack, and a hoarse cry of agony tore through the air.

"Heh! Old man! Now you see how fierce I am!" Dao Yi, his body battered and incomplete, taunted wildly.

"Who’s there? Playing tricks in the dark!" Uncle Lin roared, his voice thick with pain.

No one replied. Seeing this, Dao Yi hopped over to the wounded Uncle Lin, using his now less-swollen left hand to draw a line in the dirt with a stick. He tossed the stick aside and began to hop back and forth over the line.

"I’m out, I’m in! I’m out, I’m in! This is how I jump! This is how I hop! Come on, hit me! Hit me! Idiot!"

His tone was unbearably arrogant, his posture begging for a beating, teetering madly at death’s door. On the other side, Qiu Ling and the others, though unsure what was happening, clenched their fists and muttered to themselves, "He’s on our side, he’s on our side! Once this is over, I’m giving him a good whack!"

"Insolence! You brat!" Uncle Lin roared, suppressing the pain of his lost arm and swinging his right fist with ferocious momentum. The very air seemed to slice, making Dao Yi’s cheeks sting. This was Foundation Establishment—a blow whose force preceded the fist itself!

But before the fist could land, another thunderous crack sounded, and Uncle Lin’s right hand exploded. He staggered back, spitting blood, his face ashen and horror-struck.

The two wooden men nearby also retreated in alarm, exchanging terrified glances and calculating their escape.

"I say, Young Master, could you stop testing me like this?" a deep voice spoke up, tinged with resignation and a wry smile.

"You know, after so many years of testing you, you could at least show your face," Dao Yi shrugged, glancing behind him.

"You seem to have known about me for a long time," the voice replied, puzzled.

"I only knew of your existence, not whether you meant harm or good. But after all these years, I’m ninety-nine percent sure you were sent by that old man my father."

"So you were gambling on my help?" The owner of the voice fell silent for a moment before continuing.

"If not you, then my younger brother—he’d never abandon his big brother."

...Who gave you the confidence to think I could take on a Foundation Establishment cultivator? Yun Fan mused silently.

"Fine, I’ll come out," the voice said at last, sounding resigned.

Dao Yi smiled faintly, glancing around, but saw no one new. He couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been fooled...

Just as he was about to speak, he saw Qiu Ling and the others staring at him in astonishment. Looking down in the gloom, Dao Yi could still make out his shadow thanks to his cultivator’s eyes—only now, he had two shadows.

"What the—! Who are you trying to scare in broad daylight?" Dao Yi yelped, leaping up.

...Is it even daylight in this weather? Song Cheng thought to himself.

"Your father instructed me never to show my true form unless absolutely necessary. Please forgive me, Young Master," the deep voice echoed from Dao Yi’s second shadow.

"That old man of mine has kept so many secrets from me," Dao Yi muttered. Embarrassed for being startled in front of everyone, he suddenly got the urge to stamp on that shadow—only to find he could never step on his own shadow...

How humiliating...

"Your father did all this to protect you and your brother," the voice replied coolly, unbothered by Dao Yi’s antics—he had witnessed plenty over the years and was long used to it.

"Cough, cough! I don’t need you to defend him. I know the score. Right now, the priority is dealing with the ones ahead," Dao Yi said, hiding his embarrassment behind a fit of coughs.

The others looked on, speechless, and Song Cheng, in particular, sighed inwardly: “He’s still my hopeless brother. If, in the future, someone acts like this and claims to be you, I won’t believe it.”

"So this is why you were so sure He’er wouldn’t dare lay a finger on you?" Uncle Lin, now armless, spoke with a tinge of regret. He couldn’t sense the cultivation of the person hiding in the shadow—a sign that man was far beyond their league. If he was still alive, it was only because the boy before him hadn’t wanted to kill.

"That fellow’s been tailing me for years. Otherwise, do you really think I’d dare chat so casually with a Foundation Establishment and two cultivators at the seventh realm?" Dao Yi crossed his arms, glancing down at his two shadows.

"Big sis, I’ll bet you anything that earlier, his legs really were jelly. He was just forcing himself to stand tall, and now he’s just saving face," Song Cheng whispered behind his hand to Qiu Ling. Of course, he whispered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear...

"Shame we both agree, or I’d take that bet," Qiu Ling replied coolly, rolling her eyes at Dao Yi in utter disdain.

...Come on! Do I not care about my reputation? Can’t you speak a little quieter? There are so many people here!

"Heh, I really am no match for you youngsters," Uncle Lin said with a self-deprecating chuckle, unfazed by their words.

"Enough nonsense. Now it’s my turn. Cough! The situation’s changed. We can’t delay any longer. You, come with me—let’s end this quickly. If He’er asks, just blame it all on me!" Dao Yi cleared his throat and took a bold step forward, addressing the three before him with the same audacity, making no effort to conceal his contempt for He’er. If not for his bloodied right hand and tattered robes, he might even have looked a little impressive.

He really was a troublemaker.

"Uh, what’s your name again?" Dao Yi paused, suddenly realizing he didn’t know the shadow’s name.

"Eleven. That’s what your father calls me," came the reply.

"Alright then, Brother Eleven! Let’s finish this quickly," Dao Yi clapped his hands, attempting to show off his triumph, only to wince as agony shot through his shredded right hand.

"Dao Yi, for my sake, can you spare my uncle’s life?" Just as Eleven was about to act, a figure approached from afar: a black-robed youth, white folding fan in hand, his face pale and eyes narrow—it was none other than He Lin, carrying something in his hand.

What impeccable timing…