The Su family mansion was ablaze with light. Hundreds of red lanterns cast a festive, arrogant glow over the grand hall. Esteemed guests from various minor martial families filled the seats, their voices a sycophantic drone of congratulations. Tonight was the night the Su family ascended. Tonight, their daughter, Xue Yao, was officially engaged to the Young Master of the great Hua Shan Sect, Murong Jue. Madam Su, dressed in opulent silks, floated from table to table, her face flushed with triumph. For three years, her family had been the laughingstock of the city, saddled with a useless, live-in son-in-law. Now, that stain was gone. In his place stood Murong Jue, a true dragon among men. “Congratulations, Madam Su! Your Xue Yao is a phoenix, destined to soar with a dragon!” one guest gushed. “The Hua Shan Sect is the future of Jianghu! The Su family has secured its legacy!” another declared. Madam Su laughed, a shrill, proud sound. “My daughter deserves only the best. We have finally swept the trash from our doorstep.” At the head table, Xue Yao sat like an ice sculpture. Her beauty was undeniable, but a cold distance radiated from her. Beside her, Murong Jue draped a possessive arm over her chair. He was handsome, but his eyes held a cruel, entitled glint. He sneered, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “I heard that piece of trash was cast out with nothing but a broken sword. A fitting end for a dog who doesn't know his place.” The crowd laughed along, eager to curry favor. The humiliation of Lu Feng was the evening's favorite topic. It was the perfect foil to their current glory. Suddenly, the grand doors creaked open. The chatter died down. A cold draft swept through the hall. There, framed in the doorway, stood a lone figure. He wore simple, worn clothes that looked utterly out of place amidst the finery. His face was calm, his eyes as still as a deep, forgotten well. It was Lu Feng. Silence fell. A thick, awkward tension replaced the celebratory mood. Guests exchanged confused, mocking glances. Madam Su’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. “Lu Feng! You dare show your face here? Who let this dog in? Security!” Lu Feng’s gaze swept past her, past the jeering crowd, as if they were nothing more than furniture. He didn’t even glance at Xue Yao. His eyes were fixed on the empty space before the head table. He walked forward, his steps unhurried and steady. Each footfall echoed in the dead silent hall. “Stop right there, you trash!” Murong Jue stood up, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He felt an inexplicable surge of irritation. This man’s calmness was an insult. A worm should grovel, not walk with such indifference. Lu Feng stopped. He finally looked at Madam Su, his expression unreadable. “I am not here for your banquet,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I am here for my household register.” A beat of silence. Then, the hall erupted in laughter. “His household register!” “He came to a grand martial engagement to ask for paperwork? Is he a complete idiot?” “He truly is the king of useless men!” Madam Su’s face turned purple with rage and embarrassment. To be shamed like this in front of such important guests! “You worthless animal! You think you can just walk in here and make demands? You are nothing! Less than nothing! Get out of my sight before I have you beaten to death!” Lu Feng’s eyes remained placid. “Give it to me, and I will leave.” “Hahahaha!” Murong Jue’s laughter was the loudest of all. He stepped in front of Xue Yao, shielding her as if from a foul disease. “Listen to him! Still giving orders. Trash, do you know who I am? I am Murong Jue of the Hua Shan Sect. Your wife, no, your *former* wife, is now my woman.” He pulled Xue Yao to her feet, his hand gripping her arm tightly. “Look at her, trash. Look at what you’ll never have. She is a goddess. You are a maggot in the mud. The fact that you once shared a roof with her is the greatest shame of her life.” Xue Yao’s body was stiff. She refused to meet Lu Feng’s eyes. Her voice was as cold as ice. “Lu Feng, just go. Don’t make this any more humiliating for me than it already is.” Humiliating for her? A flicker of something ancient and cold stirred in Lu Feng's depths. For three years, he had endured their scorn, cleaned their floors, and swallowed their insults, all to repay a debt. He had sealed his meridians, suppressed his true essence, and lived as a mortal. He had given them a chance to be decent. They had failed. “My register,” Lu Feng repeated, his tone dropping a degree. The very air in the hall seemed to grow heavy. Murong Jue’s smile vanished. This trash’s persistence was infuriating. It was time to put him in his place. Permanently. “You want something?” Murong Jue sneered. “Fine. You can provide tonight’s entertainment.” He turned to his personal guard, a burly man whose temples were bulging with cultivated Inner Qi. “Zhang Hu! This trash is spoiling my mood. Break his arms and legs. Let’s see if he can still ask for things when he’s crawling on the floor like the worm he is.” The guard, Zhang Hu, grinned cruelly. He was a respected practitioner, his Inner Qi strong enough to shatter stone. Dealing with a known piece of trash would be child's play. “Yes, Young Master!” Guests leaned forward, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. A live beating was far more exciting than polite toasts. Madam Su smirked. This was the perfect outcome. Xue Yao flinched slightly, a knot tightening in her stomach. She told herself it was disgust, not concern. This man had brought it on himself. Zhang Hu cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing through the hall. He strode toward Lu Feng, radiating killing intent. “You should have stayed in the gutter, trash. Now you’ll return there in pieces.” He gathered his true essence, a faint white glow enveloping his fist. He was not holding back. He would cripple this man with a single, devastating blow to the chest, shattering his ribs and his sternum. Lu Feng did not move. He did not even look at the approaching guard. His eyes were still fixed on Madam Su, as if waiting for a piece of paper. Zhang Hu roared and lunged, his fist a blur of motion, aimed directly at Lu Feng’s heart. The punch connected. BOOM! A terrifying, explosive sound ripped through the air. But it was not the sound of bone breaking. It was the sound of an unstoppable force meeting a pathetic one. An invisible shield of golden Qi erupted from Lu Feng's body. Zhang Hu’s fist, his arm, his entire body was repelled as if struck by a divine thunderbolt. He was blasted ten meters back, a cannonball of flesh and blood, before he slammed into a thick marble pillar. He vomited a torrent of blood mixed with organ fragments and slid to the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief. Dead. The entire hall fell into a shocking, absolute silence. The music had stopped. The whispers had vanished. All that remained was the sight of the dead guard and the man who hadn’t moved a single inch. Young Master Murong’s arrogant smirk was frozen on his face, which was now ashen white. He shot to his feet, a chair clattering behind him as he trembled uncontrollably. “Inner Qi? True essence? You... you're a Grandmaster?!”

The Banquet of Humiliation