Chapter 28: Instant Kill

Suddenly, a thunderous crash shattered the tense atmosphere of the auction. The doors to the hall were blasted from their frames. A gang of savage-looking men stormed in, some brandishing guns, others wielding blades and swords, and some, though appearing unarmed, clearly concealed weapons on their persons. They spread out, immediately forming a circle to surround the crowd.

Each one was dressed in outlandish attire, their faces twisted with cruel, bloodthirsty expressions. The black-suited bodyguards, trained ex-military men, reacted swiftly. Yet, as some reached for their weapons, they were instantly attacked—cut down by bullets or struck dead by flying blades and hidden darts. The attackers moved with uncanny speed and precision, far outstripping the guards, and it was clear they had come prepared.

A few guards attempted to charge, relying on their skills, but none lasted more than a moment—they fell to the ground almost instantly. The assailants fought with ruthless efficiency and dazzling speed, unmistakably martial arts masters, accustomed to killing as easily as slicing vegetables.

Amid the flashing blades and bursts of blood, the wealthy guests scattered in panic, like ants in a boiling pot.

“If you want to live, do as I say!” A savage voice thundered through the hall, chilling everyone to the bone.

One of the attackers fired a machine gun in a wild burst—not at the crowd, but at the ceiling. Debris rained down, causing screams and cries of terror.

When the gunfire ceased, a heavy silence fell. No one dared move; the rich guests stood rooted to the spot, their legs trembling uncontrollably.

The attackers quickly dispatched every bodyguard. The fallen guards lay scattered across the floor, those still alive groaning in pain, their strength gone.

One of the assailants, apparently unsatisfied, pressed a ghastly cleaver against a wounded guard and, with a single stroke, severed the man's head. The horrific sight provoked a chorus of shrill screams from the women present.

But the screams were abruptly cut short by a gunshot. The woman who had screamed loudest had her head blown apart by a gunman, suffocating all further sound. The terror of death felt closer than ever; no one dared make a sound.

“Everyone, get down and put your hands on your heads!” barked the machine gunner, firing another burst into the ceiling. The opulently dressed tycoons forgot all decorum, cowering and squatting on the floor at the first crack of gunfire—some even dropped to their knees, and the faint-hearted lost control of their bladders.

Zhang Tianyou, seeing Chen Yuyi unmoving, hurriedly pulled him down by the arm. “Yuyi, do you want to die?”

Chen Yuyi squatted without a word, though his eyes grew cold.

Zhu Shaoqi's face had gone ghostly pale, her body slack, clutching Zhang Tianyou's sleeve in terror.

Wang Ziqian also crouched, but his brows remained furrowed as he observed the gang's movements from the corners of his eyes.

Zhu Shaohui, by contrast, was paralyzed with fear—ordinarily calm and poised, he now trembled head to toe.

As for Tao Qiang and the other young gentlemen and ladies, none dared even breathe loudly; they shook like leaves in a gale.

Even the staff joined the guests, huddled together on the floor, hands over their heads, not daring to budge.

At this moment, a scar-faced thug strode to the center of the hall.

“Do not be afraid, everyone. We're here for money, that's all. Hand over your valuables and I guarantee your lives,” he declared, his voice not loud but resonant, clearly using inner strength to project it.

“That man is Xie Gang,” Wang Ziqian whispered to Chen Yuyi, inching closer. “An inner strength practitioner, the leader of the group. There are seven of them—they're known as the Black Wind Seven Fiends. Besides their martial prowess, some are sharpshooters. They usually operate along the border, murdering and robbing for a living. I don't know why they've appeared here, but we mustn’t act rashly.”

The Wang family, owing to its special status, often dealt with criminal martial artists, and so they kept careful records of such notorious figures.

Wang Ziqian longed to strike and kill these men, but he knew now was not the time for recklessness. He was skilled, perhaps a match for Xie Gang alone, but against all seven, especially with their guns, he had no chance. He worried that Chen Yuyi, proud and stubborn, might act impulsively, so he offered the warning.

Chen Yuyi merely smiled faintly.

Order was quickly imposed. Even those outside were herded in, the chairs pushed aside, and everyone forced to squat together. Some of the wealthy, hearing Xie Gang's words, immediately handed over their cases of cash and were moved to another side of the hall to squat.

In short order, many had parted with their wealth and been separated from the main group. The attackers were systematic—even assigning someone to keep a ledger.

When it came to Zhu Shaohui's turn, he handed over his case and timidly asked, “May I take my sister with me?”

A slap was his only answer. Terrified, he scurried to the other side.

Zhu Shaoqi was now petrified, desperate to call for her brother, but too afraid to speak.

Zhang Tianyou was equally fearful. He had little money left after purchasing the century-old ginseng and worried what would happen if the robbers found his contribution unsatisfactory.

“Damn it, is this all you've got?” A sudden angry shout rang out, followed by a scream. One unlucky soul, not a tycoon, produced all his cash, but was dismissed with contempt and instantly had his arm broken.

This only deepened the dread in the room.

“Write down an IOU and your address. We’ll come collect in a few days!” The poor man was forced to scribble a massive debt and his home address before being kicked aside.

After witnessing that, those with little cash quickly complied.

Xie Gang paced, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over several beautiful women. His eyes finally settled on Zhu Shaoqi.

He beckoned to a nearby thug. “Old Seven, bring her here.”

Zhu Shaoqi recoiled in terror, while Zhang Tianyou quickly shielded her.

Zhu Shaohui watched in agony from the side, instantly understanding Xie Gang’s intent.

“Move!” barked the thug, kicking Zhang Tianyou aside.

Chen Yuyi’s brow arched; he was about to intervene when, suddenly, a cellphone rang out.

Everyone froze.

Those crouched on the floor were baffled. Everyone’s phone had been confiscated at the entrance—how could one be ringing? Unless it belonged to the attackers, but the sound didn’t come from them.

The thug reaching for Zhu Shaoqi paused, patting himself down in confusion, before looking toward the source of the ringing.

Chen Yuyi stood up, producing a battered cellphone—it was his that was ringing.

A collective gasp swept the room. He dared stand up!

Chen Yuyi glanced at the unfamiliar number on screen, but sensed he knew the caller. He answered, utterly unconcerned.

Everyone, including the attackers, was stunned. By all rights, the gang should have punished him—if not with a beating, then a bullet to the head. Yet they were so taken aback that they simply stared. Who would dare disregard them and answer a call as if nothing was amiss? Was he mad or simply a fool?

Moreover, the criminals knew the guests’ phones had been confiscated. How could this man have one? His appearance—cheap clothes, a scuffed, low-end phone—set him apart from the wealthy crowd. What was he even doing here?

Thus, they hesitated.

“Is that Master Chen? This is Qin Guo.” A faint, wounded voice spoke from the other end, clearly gravely injured.

Master Chen?

The title made Chen Yuyi laugh inwardly—apparently, the little display he’d given Qin Guo last night had instilled great awe.

“What happened?” Chen Yuyi’s tone sharpened.

“I went to kill the employer, but failed. He had a master with him—a grandmaster, I couldn’t match him. I was badly wounded. The master didn’t pursue me, but he sent several men after me. Please, Master Chen, save my life!” Qin Guo relayed his location.

Chen Yuyi hung up, his eyes growing frosty.

“Who the hell do you think you are, acting tough in front of us?” The thug who’d tried to seize Zhu Shaoqi finally lost patience, releasing her and striding toward Chen Yuyi.

Without even glancing at the man, Chen Yuyi turned away, saying coldly, “I don’t have time to play with you.”

He flicked his hand. A streak of black light shot out.

In an instant, the black streak pierced the thug’s throat, then, as if guided by eyes, flashed through the throats of one attacker after another, before finally streaking toward Xie Gang.

Xie Gang’s face contorted in horror—he tried to evade, but the black light had already passed through his throat, embedding itself deeply in the wall behind him.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Xie Gang’s eyes bulged; he gurgled twice as his head tumbled from his shoulders.