Crossing the Two Realms: From a Trader to an Immortal Emperor - Chapter 9

Chen Le’an suddenly noticed that Old Lao Wan was staring at him.

There was a complex mix of emotions in Lao Wan’s eyes—worry, hesitation, and something else, as if he had something to say.

Chen Le’an’s heart skipped a beat. Lao Wan knew him best and was also the only one aware that there was something wrong with his spiritual rice. After all, with Chen Le’an’s limited abilities, it was impossible for him to have grown spiritual rice successfully.

If Lao Wan spoke up now, it would all be over for him.

However, at that moment, Lao Wan subtly signaled to him with a wink, telling him to stay calm.

Chen Le’an understood. He gave a small smile and silently mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Lao Wan grinned back.

But before they could exchange another glance—

“Three!”

Liu Qiang’s voice rang out like a thunderclap.

A flash of golden light streaked across the air.

Lao Wan’s smile froze. His eyes widened in disbelief, filled with shock and despair.

A thin line of bl00d trickled down his forehead—a silent, final protest against this cruel world.

His body collapsed to the ground like a lifeless rag doll, devoid of all vitality.

Chen Le’an stood there as if frozen in time, his mind blank. His eyes lost their light, their brilliance replaced with an emptiness that swallowed everything.

Lao Wan.

The simple, honest man who had never fought with anyone.

The man whose greatest dream in life was to experience manhood and have a family. A humble, almost laughable dream—yet in this brutal world, it was an impossible one.

A man who, despite his own hardships, had still given his last portion of spiritual rice to Chen Le’an.

Lao Wan was dead.

Died without warning.

Died without reason.

Died in the most senseless, unjust way possible.

“Lao Wan!!”

A heartbreaking roar tore through the air.

Chen Le’an lunged forward, clutching Lao Wan’s lifeless body in his arms.

His eyes were bloodshot, his tears hot with grief and fury as they splashed onto Lao Wan’s dust-streaked face.

Self-blame. Guilt.

But above all, rage.

An unbearable, seething rage toward this godforsaken world.

Why? Why was this world so cruel?

Why did the lives of the poor mean nothing?

Why were they never allowed to control their own fate?

Chen Le’an clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, veins bulging from the sheer force of his grip. His entire body trembled with the effort of suppressing his fury.

His heart pounded violently against his chest, each beat fueling the inferno of hatred burning within him.

He glanced at the villagers around him—their faces pale with terror, their eyes filled with helplessness.

It was at this moment that Chen Le’an truly understood.

This world was heartless.

And if he continued to endure, if he continued to tremble in fear—then Lao Wan’s death would be meaningless.

He had planned to lay low, to survive, to grow stronger in secret.

But now…

No.

Now, he would fight.

For Lao Wan.

For all the helpless villagers.

For the right to control his own destiny.

Liu Qiang’s voice echoed coldly, slicing through the hushed silence.

“You all saw what happened. That was just the first. If no one confesses, I’ll keep counting.”

His words were calm, almost casual, as if he were merely discussing the weather.

“One.”

The number fell like a death knell.

Liu Qiang’s fingers shimmered with condensed energy, forming into a razor-sharp flying sword, its tip gleaming with deadly intent.

“No! Please! It wasn’t me!”

The villagers wailed, voices trembling with terror.

They huddled together, clutching their loved ones, their bodies shaking uncontrollably.

“Please, Young Master Liu, have mercy!”

One of the tenants dropped to his knees, hands clasped together as he sobbed and begged.

His voice cracked with desperation, his face streaked with tears.

But Liu Qiang remained unmoved. He acted as though he couldn’t even hear their pleas.

“Two.”

His voice was eerily calm, his spiritual energy coiling ominously around his fingertips.

The villagers recoiled in horror, many too frightened to stand.

Some even collapsed to the ground, their legs giving out beneath them.

The pungent stench of urine filled the air as someone lost control of their bladder in fear.

“Enough!”

A furious voice roared through the village.

“The poison was mine!”

Chen Le’an stood up, his voice unwavering, his gaze locked onto Liu Qiang’s with unshakable determination.

He was done cowering.

He was done hiding.

If someone had to die, then let it be him.

But at the very least, he would take this bastard down with him.

He moved carefully, gently placing Lao Wan’s body onto the ground as though sending off a dear friend on his final journey.

Then, he turned.

And faced Liu Qiang head-on.

The young master of the Liu family smirked, amused.

“Oh? So it was you?”

His voice dripped with mockery.

“Then die.”

Before the words had even fully left his lips, his spiritual energy condensed into a flying sword, slashing through the air at lightning speed.

Chen Le’an had no time to dodge.

The sword struck him directly.

However—the expected outcome never came.

Instead of piercing through his body, the attack was blocked.

Three layers of bulletproof vests absorbed the fatal blow.

The sheer impact still sent him staggering backward, bl00d spurting from his lips, his face drained of all color.

“Hm?”

Liu Qiang’s brows furrowed slightly.

Something was wrong.

Chen Le’an’s spiritual energy was clearly at the third level of Qi Refinement.

So how had he survived?

“Check him.”

Liu Qiang lazily gestured at one of his guards, a cultivator at the ninth level of Qi Refinement.

The man stepped forward.

But before he could react—

BOOM!

Chen Le’an exploded into motion.

With a burst of speed, he struck out with a devastating kick.

The guard’s head burst apart like a watermelon.

“Wind God’s Kick!”

Chen Le’an’s voice was low and sharp, his movements lightning-fast and terrifyingly precise.

The sheer force of the strike left everyone present in stunned silence.

Liu Qiang’s smirk faded slightly.

Something wasn’t right.

Chen Le’an’s strength was clearly that of a sixth-level Qi Refinement cultivator.

But his spiritual energy was undeniably still at the third level.

What was going on?

“Interesting.”

A slow, eerie smile spread across Liu Qiang’s face.

“You.”

He pointed at another guard, this one even stronger than the last.

“Don’t kill him just yet.”

He licked his lips, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“There’s a secret hidden in his body. Let’s find out what it is.”