Chapter 99: Wasting Threats

“Thank you, Disciple Jin. You may return to my youngest daughter and guide her back to the monastery. I shall be with the Young Master for some time.”

Matriarch Chen’s voice was melodic, but each word carried a razor chill to them. Feng felt the hair on his neck stand — as if some giant, fanged beast was breathing down his neck.

One wrong move, one mere act that may indicate an intent to harm, and Feng would be dead before he could respond.

His Father was in the Fourth Step of the Spirit Realm — greater than the Matriarch by a considerable margin — yet Feng had never once felt threatened in the presence of his Father.

He had not realised how much the Patriarch had been holding back. There would be no such courtesy here.

Jin bowed lower, daring not even to speak or glance at Feng before retreating. It was the smart move. Even so, he felt the disciple's guilt within his qi empathy before she fled.

Feng made a note to assuage Jin’s shame later if he survived the coming conversation.

Whenhe survives the coming conversation, he chided himself. Matriarch Chen was hardly about to kill a Young Master within his own Sect… right?

“I must admit my surprise to see you here, Honoured Matriarch,” Feng began, still bowing low. “My Sect has prepared quite a welcome greeting, one worthy of your exalted status. Would you not rather—”

“Be silent.”

Feng’s mouth clamped shut. It was less a voluntary action and more one borne of instinctive fear — like how one freezes in the face of a predator.

Matriarch Chen walked over. The Young Master remained bowed and could only see her feet approaching, framed by a dress of black silk, rimmed with icy blue. They were bare, he realised. Delicate toes with the soles wrapped in lace-like velvet.

Once she was an arm's length away, a razor-tipped finger reached for his face.

Steel-clawed dug into his skin, forcing him to straighten his back as they slowly lifted upwards. Feng beheld the full grace of the Matriarch before him: a Split-Headed Carnivore within the Spirit Realm.

He could not see her face, and her body was far more conservatively clad than her disciples, but her beauty was apparent for all to see — a shapely body accompanied by near-inhuman height.

Feng could not find it in himself to appreciate it. The feral pressure loose upon him was making it difficult to breathe.

But he had faced worse. Killed worse, albeit indirectly. The gaze of the Botulvorn Beast years ago was ten times heavier than the one he suffered now, and so Feng stared into the veiled eyes of Matriarch Chen with only just the right amount of deference.

She did not appreciate that.

“I have killed men for looking at me with those eyes,” the Matriarch spoke softly. “Bold, daring, and defiant, thinking me another Tribulation to be conquered in their beds. Another trophy to be savoured while they thread their greedy Path.”

“I assure the Matriarch my goals are not so lofty,” Feng mildly replied. “I only wish to live.”

His words — as well as the unwavering tone within them — appear to have caught her by surprise.

She chuckled, and the pressure finally abated.

“Woe to you, then. I might have said ‘yes’, if only for the opportunity to remove you from my daughter’s life.”

Feng had no lack of clarity about what the Matriarch meant by that. The woman had not become the head of a man-eating cult by being chaste or restrained.

She released her finger from him and turned away. Feng steadied his breathing, cycling his panicked qi back to a state of calm.

“I shall be brief, for it won’t be long before your Father realises I am already within his Sect,” the Matriarch began. “I demand that you call off your marriage with my daughter.”

Feng had expected that to be the reason why the Matriarch was going to such lengths to meet him. Her current actions could easily be the start of a diplomatic incident. No doubt the Matriarch would have to quietly provide certain reparations for this transgression once the Patriarch found it about this — and hewouldfind out.

But there was likely no other way she could have a private meeting with the Young Master. His Sect would have never allowed it, not without considerable protection, at least.

This was their first time meeting face-to-face, and with good reason. The Matriarch’s disdain for Feng’s existence was quite well-known.

He was the one responsible for ‘corrupting’ her daughter’s lucrative marital prospects, after all — and thus, by extension, robbing her Sect from a wealth of profitable ventures and connections.

Perhaps the Matriarch thought that by intimidating Feng with her presence, he might give in to her demands. It was not a ludicrous thought. She was nearly two Realms higher than he and one of the most powerful individuals in the Province.

Anyone sane, cultivator or otherwise, would already be kowtowing on their knees to fulfil her requests, especially after all her efforts to secure a private meeting with him.

A pity it would have to go to waste.

“With all due respect, Matriarch Zijing, I refuse,” Feng replied, voice steady. “This marriage was arranged nearly a decade ago — before I was aware of it, even. You had given your word to the agreement with my Father. Your demand, in this particular instance, holds no sway over me—!”

Feng barely finished before he was lifted off the ground by his throat. The Matriarch had moved too quickly for him to perceive. Her arm held him aloft like a toy, effortless and relaxed, as Feng’s legs dangled metres above the ground.

Was she always this tall? In the span of an eye blink, the Matriarch had grown to a height of over three metres while still retaining her humanoid form.

“Mydemand holds no sway?” she whispered. Feng choked as her grip tightened. Her fingers dug into his throat as their nails lanced through his iron skin like paper. “Your political status has made you too bold, Young Master. Do you truly think yourself so important?”

The Young Master’s legs kicked while his hands struggled against the grip on his neck. His efforts were futile.

“You… would risk… the alliance… to make a threat?” Feng choked out. “You… are not that… foolish…”

“A threat? I do not waste time making threats, Young Master. I simply kill whoever stands in my Path. You are in it right now.”

The grip on him tightened. The skin on his neck was tearing. Feng heard something pop and crack.

“My daughter’s ridiculous infatuation with you has ruined countless opportunities,” Matriarch Zijing continued calmly. “Marriages with Inner Province cultivators, Heirs, even Young Masters or Young Mistress… Avenues to riches and influence unseen for an Outer Province Sect. All priceless beyond belief. All gone — spat in their faces by that petulant child. For you.”

She lowered the struggling Young Master down to face level. The Matriarch tilted her head, still veiled behind opaque silk. “Why? What is it about you that has her so enthralled? Your cultivation is commendable, but it is nothing compared to what others have offered her. The same goes for your political status, your looks, or your charisma. You are nothing. Nothing compared to what she rejected so carelessly. So why?”

Feng could not say anything. His throat was being crushed. Blood spurted from his lips.

His eyes remained defiant, even as he became lightheaded.

“No matter. I do not care,” the Matriarch said. “This is my final courtesy, Young Master. Break off your engagement with my daughter. She will not agree otherwise. Only with your word would the girl relent on this foolish endeavour.”

The grip on him lessened — not enough for him to speak, but just barely sufficient for him to breathe before he passed out.

“If it is the alliance that concerns you, I shall allow you to marry my younger daughter, Lingyu, and our Sects shall still be bound in marital ties,” the Matriarch carelessly offered. “If it is a matter of cultivation or influence, I shall have you showered in resources and connections, enough to ensure your ascension to the Nascent Realm and an eventual spot within the Border Gate Sects. And if it is a matter of lust to be sated…”

The Matriarch lessened her grip further while pulling him close. Feng took a desperate breath, and his senses were immediately assailed by the woman’s intoxicating scent — an addictive mix that dulled his mind. It was more potent than anything he had experienced before, even from Lianshi.

Feng could feel the Matriarch’s body, a mix of beguiling softness and toned hardness pressing upon him. He felt like a fly caught in a trap, her larger form wrapping all around. Her scent, her flesh, and most of all…

He could smell her hunger — desirous and carnal — and it roused him in full.

“I dare say whatever I can provide would easily triumph over whatever she could give you.” The Matriarch twisted her grip such that it caressed his neck as she whispered. “I will even ensure your survival in the experience — a boon I have granted few other men in my long life.”

“And if I… refuse?” Feng half-snarled. “You cannot kill me. It would… doom you and your Sect…”

His head was spinning — his cheeks flushed, and his body aroused — but he was not stupid enough to miss the tempering of his spiritual system. The qi of the Matriarch was intermingling with his, influencing his emotions by causing a qi imbalance.

Had Feng’s senses not been sharp enough to detect it, he would have succumbed to lust already. Even then, he only managed to hold on to his senses by a hairbreadth.

One false step, one second of faltered will, and his mind would tumble over the threshold. The woman would ensnare him entirely.

Chen Zijing huffed with amusement. “How resilient… I have known men an entire Realm above your standing who would have given in by now. Perhaps a different, less kind approach, then…”

The snaking lust within him retreated, though only by a fraction. The Matriarch continued: “True, if I kill you, the consequence will be grave. Your Father would seek retribution. Our Sects will go to war. Thousands will die. And my dear daughter would likely be the first to rip my head off my shoulders. However…”

Matriarch Chen’s other hand reached up and pulled the veil from her face.

Feng saw… He saw…

People.

A hundred. A thousand? How many? And… They were all still moving.

“You will still be dead, writhing between my teeth, like all the others I devoured before — your blood harvested for all eternity.”