The Shadow of the Overlord’s Palm

Third Young Master wore the legendary Golden Silk Armor, impervious to blades, poison, and hidden weapons alike. Ice-thin throwing needles? Mere mosquito bites.

And judging by the vegetable girl's age and internal strength, there was no way she had mastered such legendary feats as "leaf-flinging death strikes." Her ice slivers might startle a commoner, but to him, they were child's play.

But Du Xiaoyan was a different story.

She had no invincible armor. No lightness skill to whisk her away on a breeze. Just three paces between her and a hidden weapon assault—a distance so short even a drunk monkey could land a hit.

When the girl flung her glittering projectiles, Du Xiaoyan panicked. She was, at best, a barely-trained martial artist. She'd spent more time brushing her hair than blocking blades. Confronted with a hail of razor-sharp shards, all she could do… was cry.

But she didn't.

In that split-second of life and death, she remembered the man at her side—the one she'd foolishly pinned her hopes on. She placed her life entirely in his hands.

Had she known that this so-called "man" was actually the infamous Qin Ren, perhaps she'd have thought twice.

Luckily for her, the Third Young Master was temporarily moonlighting as a "Lover Saint," and in a rare moment of gallantry, he yanked her behind him, shielding her with his body. His folding fan snapped open, guarding his face.

Everything happened in a flash. As Du Xiaoyan stumbled behind him, the rain of ice needles came crashing down.

None of the shards touched her.All of them struck him.

With the crackle of a thunderstorm pounding a banana leaf, the shimmering darts struck his robes—and bounced clean off. His fan blocked those aimed at his face. But his exposed wrist wasn't as lucky.

Two slivers pierced the skin, burying halfway into the flesh. Blood beaded along the edge and trickled downward.

"No poison," he muttered, lowering the fan. The lecherous grin that usually clung to his lips had vanished. His voice turned cold, sharp enough to chill marrow. "But this was crueler than poison. If not for my internal strength, this wrist would be useless by now. If not for my armor… I'd be mince meat."

Du Xiaoyan felt a sweetness swell in her heart the moment he shielded her—but now, hearing that ice-laced voice, that honey curdled into dread.

She rushed forward, cradled his injured wrist, and gasped at the two icy blades lodged deep into his skin. His once-elegant sapphire robe now looked like a rag riddled with moth-holes.

Furious, she unslung her crimson whip and aimed it straight at the vegetable girl—

But he caught her arm.

Tears welled in her eyes. She looked at him, confused.

"I may cherish beauty," he said with a sneer, "but that doesn't mean I let women climb onto my head and piss on my pride. You"—he pointed at the girl—"are vicious. If it weren't for my skills and armor, I'd be a corpse by now. Murder, in broad daylight… you're bold, I'll give you that."

The vegetable girl stood frozen, pale as chalk.

She had never seen someone survive the Thousand Illusions Frost Rain. Never seen someone block it with their bare flesh. And certainly never seen anyone stare her down with—

Those eyes.

The moment she met his gaze, she forgot how to move. Her body trembled uncontrollably. Tears brimmed in her pixie-like eyes.

She was staring into the legendary Shura Demon Eyes.

When those eyes activated, courage died. Hope withered. Even the strongest lost the will to fight.

She had killed men before. Seen worse things than ghosts in a city like Dingzhou—one of the ten outlaw capitals of the Qin Empire. But this… this was something else.

No human should possess such a gaze.

The Third Young Master raised his palm, dark as obsidian, toward the heavens. His mouth curled into a cruel smile.

The air churned.

Seven streams of energy spiraled toward his hand, forming tiny cyclones that wrapped around him in a howling vortex. His ragged robe whipped madly. His long hair shot skyward like needles.

The whirlwinds grew, engulfing both Du Xiaoyan and the trembling girl. Du Xiaoyan stood untouched. The girl staggered like a leaf in a storm.

Her vegetable stall exploded. Spinach and radishes rained down like shrapnel.

A pillar of wind, thirty feet high, roared to life. Onlookers froze in awe. A crowd began to gather.

The Third Young Master stood at its center like a storm god. Hair ablaze. Sleeves flapping like wings.

"Bloodlust supreme, all else be damned. In this world, only I stand above."His voice echoed from some nether realm, like a devil chanting from the Nine Hells.

Du Xiaoyan trembled—even she, untouched by his wrath, felt its chill. Only now did she realize—he had never shown his true strength before.

My Li Lang is this powerful… surely Father will be pleased. Our engagement must be heaven's will.

But her heart clenched. His murderous aura was so dense, not even the infamous "Poison-Hand Dragon King" from Mount Tianping could match it.

Could he be a mass murderer?

No. He's cultured. Polite. Refined. Not a bloodthirsty maniac. He's just… angry. He's defending justice. He's protecting me.Yes. That must be it.

She reassured herself with sweet, foolish thoughts.

How could she know? The Third Young Master's fury wasn't born from chivalry—but pride.

Since mastering the Heaven-Shrouding Palm, he'd never been injured. Enemies dropped like flies. But today… a random brat had made him bleed.

The Shura Demon Eyes weren't a gift. They were a curse. Those who bore them were destined to dominate—or destroy.

And he, who trained in the Heaven-Shrouding Palm, was becoming just like its original wielder: Qin Xiaoyao, a man whose youth was soaked in blood. Qin had secluded himself in Xiaoyao Manor for twenty years just to contain his murderous aura.

If Qin Xiaoyao had stayed active in the martial world, even the demonic sects would've fled before him. No one would have dared challenge Xiaoyao Manor's supremacy.

Now, the Third Young Master—Qin Ren—had inherited his father's techniques and aura… and something darker.

The Shura Eyes.

Worse than Qin Xiaoyao ever was, he now teetered on the edge of bloodlust.

Luckily, his ambition was small. Chasing women, gambling, and drinking—that was his idea of greatness. As long as no one crossed him first, he wouldn't kill.

Unless, of course, you were a rival romantic bandit. Then you died. No questions asked.

But now?

Now that this girl had dared wound him, something snapped. He didn't care if she was beautiful or plain.

She needed to be taught a lesson.

Not death. A beating.

The drama, the vortex, the terrifying posturing—it was all part of the show. He didn't like hurting women. But they needed to understand:

Mess with the Young Master… and suffer.

His real plan?

Break her spirit. Beat her senseless. Strip her naked. Tie her to a bed. And... teach her who's boss.

That was what truly churned in his wicked little heart.

"Uncle Wei was right," he muttered coldly. "A woman not beaten in three days will start tearing off the roof."

His hand, wide enough to blot out the sun, began to descend.

The girl couldn't run. Wouldn't run.

The vortex had drained her willpower, her strength, her soul. That palm—black as night—descended like the heavens collapsing.

She could only stand there and die.

But just before the strike landed—

A hand, radiant and translucent like polished jade, sliced through the vortex and clashed with his palm.

There was no sound. No explosion. No shockwave.

Just silence. Like two feathers brushing.

And in that silence, all power vanished.

The whirlwind collapsed.

The curtain of death peeled away.

His shadowy hand recoiled—and as it withdrew, the jade hand aged before his eyes, losing color, becoming dry, calloused, wrinkled.

The Third Young Master stared at his own hand in stunned disbelief.

For the first time in his life…Someone had neutralized his Heaven-Shrouding Palm—without taking a scratch.