The Revenge of the Reborn Supreme Sovereign

"It’s him!"

After a long walk, the breathless Chen Yifan exploded with rage the moment he saw Qin Fan. Pointing at the figure ahead, he roared, his voice slurred and whistling from his gap-toothed mouth. At this moment, he didn’t care about the stabbing pain his shouting caused; he was singularly focused on the image of Qin Fan with all four of his limbs crippled.

In truth, Chen Shan didn’t need his son to point it out; he already knew his men had the bastard under control. He quickened his pace, entering the section of the wall that had been cleared of tourists. Behind him, Director Wang paused as he passed two of the guards on duty. "Keep an eye out," he ordered. "Make sure no one films this."

"Yes, Director Wang!" the men immediately nodded in response. They quickly scanned the crowd of onlookers gathered in the distance. When they spotted someone pulling out a phone to record, the two guards charged forward menacingly.

"Boss Shan!" After Chen Shan crossed the ten-meter cleared area, the men in black all bowed and greeted him respectfully.

"Drag him over to me!" Chen Shan gritted his teeth, his gaze fixed on the calm and composed Qin Fan, his voice incomparably cold.

"Yes, sir!" several of the men in black replied. They turned, about to lunge and seize Qin Fan.

But before their hands could reach him, Qin Fan smirked and lashed out with his foot.

BANG!

BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG!

He threw five kicks in what seemed like a single, synchronized motion. In the blink of an eye, the five Ming Energy Martial Artists were sent flying backward almost simultaneously, separated by less than a hundredth of a second. They crashed heavily to the ground with dull thuds, each one vomiting a mouthful of Essence Blood!

One kick. A casual kick containing less than ten percent of his power. Yet it had left the five Ming Energy Martial Artists severely drained, their faces turning deathly pale in an instant.

"They’re no good," Qin Fan said, shaking his head with a dismissive smile. He ignored the other men in black, who were frozen in shock, forgetting to attack. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Qin Fan strolled toward Chen Shan and his son with his hands clasped behind his back.

"So, what’s your background? What’s your status? Let’s hear it. Try and scare me," Qin Fan taunted, stopping five meters before Chen Shan. His gaze toward the father and son was like he was looking at a pair of clowns.

"Fuck him up! Kill him!" Spurred on by Qin Fan’s contemptuous stare, Chen Yifan forgot his shock at seeing his father’s Imperial Guards taken down with a single kick. Anger and hatred flushed across his face as he endured the pain in his body and roared again.

"It seems you haven’t learned your lesson," Qin Fan said with a small smile, shaking his head.

As he finished speaking, the other men in black finally snapped out of their stupor and charged. But Qin Fan moved first. He sprang forward, a mere blur in everyone’s vision. The next time they saw him clearly, he was already holding Chen Yifan high in the air.

"Are you sure you still want to come at me?" Qin Fan asked mockingly, turning to face the onrushing men in black while holding Chen Yifan up.

WHOOSH!

On pure reflex, the dozen or so men skidded to a terrified halt.

"Fuck you!" Chen Yifan screamed through his ruined mouth, still seemingly unaware of his perilous situation. Perhaps it wasn’t a lack of fear, but simply a lack of time to feel it. It all happened in a flash, the entire sequence taking less than a second and giving him no time to process anything.

CRACK!

His curse had barely left his lips when a crisp slapping sound echoed from his face.

SPURT!

The slap sent his head whipping to the side, and he spat out another dozen teeth! The blow had torn loose every last tooth from his bloody mouth; not a single one remained.

"Go on, keep cursing," Qin Fan said coldly, looking at Chen Yifan’s lolling head. "Let’s see if your backbone is tougher than your face!"

"WAAAAHHH!!!"

To his surprise, the next second, Chen Yifan began to wail at the top of his lungs. "Kill him! Dad, kill him!" But with all his teeth gone, his words were unintelligible, like he was wailing in the language of a Heavenly Book; no one could understand what he was screaming.

"Let go of my son!" Chen Shan’s face had turned the color of a pig’s liver. He clenched his fists so tightly they crackled. Rage, an emotion he rarely showed, twisted his features into a ferocious snarl as he bellowed.

"Are you begging me?" Qin Fan replied with a cold, dismissive smile. As he spoke, he took a step to the side, dangling Chen Yifan over the edge of the Great Wall. If he let go, Chen Yifan would undoubtedly plummet to his doom. Was there any need to consider the outcome of such a fall? No. It was certain death.

"No, no, no!" At this sight, Chen Shan’s hands, which had been clenched in rage, abruptly went slack. "No!" he bellowed in raw terror.

"Save me! Save me, Dad, save me!" Chen Yifan’s wails continued. He looked down, finally realized his predicament, and began to tremble and shriek hysterically.

Witnessing Qin Fan’s monstrous skill and psychotic behavior, Director Wang and the young men and women with him began to shiver, their faces drained of color. They all gulped, their terror palpable. Subconsciously, they began to inch backward.

Damn it. This guy isn’t normal! He’s a fucking lunatic! In full view of the public, he’s dangling Chen Shan’s son off the Great Wall. The slightest slip of his hand would mean death! How could someone be so insane, with so many people watching in broad daylight? Not even Chen Shan, with the backing of Four-nine City, would dare pull a stunt like this.

"Let my son go! Let him go, and we can talk about anything! Don’t do anything rash! Don’t be rash!" Chen Shan’s face twitched uncontrollably. He swallowed repeatedly, his throat dry with panic, as he held his hands out, pleading weakly.

"Heh..." Qin Fan sneered with disdain. With a slight tilt of his head, he slowly loosened his grip.

As his hand opened, Chen Yifan began to fall.

"NO!!!"

"NO!!!"

"NO!!!"

Whether it was Chen Shan, his entire contingent of Imperial Guards, or Chen Yifan’s friends and Director Wang, they all screamed hysterically, their eyes wide with horror. Chen Shan himself looked as if his eyeballs would burst from their sockets as he let out a heart-wrenching cry.

Could Chen Yifan possibly survive this fall? Impossible. There was no slim chance of survival; it was absolute, certain death!

Likewise, the tourists watching from a distance erupted in piercing screams at the sight.

However, what was a rapid descent to them was like a slow-motion, frame-by-frame sequence to Qin Fan. At the critical moment, he smiled leisurely and flicked his hand toward Chen Yifan’s back.

Mid-fall, Chen Yifan’s trajectory instantly changed. His body was swatted away like a volleyball, sent hurtling toward Chen Shan. Like an arrow loosed from a bow, he crashed hard into his father.

THUD!

With no time to brace himself or even react, the father and son slammed into each other, collapsing in a heap on the ground.

Just then, before the winded Chen Shan could even try to push himself up, a furious roar, filled with both panic and earth-shattering rage, thundered across the sky above the Great Wall.

"Chen Dog, I’ll curse your entire family for eighteen generations!"