Ye Qing Goes Berserk Jiang Yunhuang Suppresses Him With a Single Palm Strike

Though underground, an almost blinding radiance seemed to pierce through the tunnel.

The soldiers' eyes gleamed with intensity—locked onto Ye Qing like predators spotting prey.

A fugitive on the run. Capturing him would guarantee at least a third-class merit!

In the military, earning commendations was notoriously difficult, especially in peacetime. Beyond major competitions or special operations, opportunities were scarce.

To them, Ye Qing wasn’t just a man—he was a walking medal.

"Hands up! Come with us—now!"

Though Ye Qing had spent years traversing other realms, a sliver of sentiment for the Dragon Country remained. Unless absolutely necessary... he wouldn’t clash with these soldiers.

And so, bewildered, he let himself be escorted out of the tunnel.

Emerging into the open, Ye Qing froze.

Helicopters roared overhead, blades whipping the air, while soldiers—armed to the teeth—leveled their rifles at him.

"What... what’s going on?"

His mind blanked. The helicopters were relics of childhood memory, alien to him now.

"You’re wanted for intentional assault, illegal border crossing," the officer barked. "And now, add 'destruction of national defense fiber optics.' You just severed a critical line near the capital. Estimated damages: 1.26 million. Local authorities have been notified."

Finally, it clicked.

They wanted to throw him in jail?

No. Damn. Way.

"I—I didn’t! I didn’t cut any cables! I’m not some fugitive! Who’s framing me?!"

The soldiers exchanged exasperated glances.

Buddy, you’re still clutching the damn shovel. Think we’re idiots?

"Take him!" the officer snapped.

Ye Qing’s lips curled into a cold smirk.

"You think you can hold me?"

"Twenty years mastering Qinggong—today’s the day it pays off. You lot? Not even close."

With a scoff, his aura erupted, a tempest of energy coiling into an impenetrable barrier.

Though his meridians had once been shattered, even that hadn’t stopped him. If he could regrow certain organs, rebuilding his strength to the Grandmaster realm was child’s play.

"A martial artist!" The officer paled.

High-level martial artists were walking calamities. Against those at the pinnacle? Conventional weapons barely scratched them.

But the military had contingencies. Specialized units existed solely to handle rogue martial artists.

The soldiers tensed but held their ground.

"Even a martial artist complies with the law."

Click-click-click—

Muzzles snapped toward Ye Qing.

The officer radioed command: "Escaped suspect confirmed as martial artist. Suspected Gangjin-tier. Requesting backup."

A chill shot down Ye Qing’s spine.

Time to go.

"No one keeps me where I don’t wanna be."

His fist clenched.

A shockwave of inner force hurled the nearest soldiers back like ragdolls.

Gunfire erupted—but the bullets slowed mid-air, as if sinking into mud, before clattering harmlessly to the ground.

A Grandmaster’s barrier shrugged off small arms like rain.

BANG!

A deafening crack split the air.

Ye Qing’s barrier shattered. Blood bloomed on his shoulder.

Sniper.

The helicopter’s sharpshooter had found his mark.

Without the barrier’s dampening, that shot would’ve blown his head off.

Rage ignited.

"You dare?!"

This was his first injury—ever.

An enraged Chosen One was terrifying. A Grandmaster? Catastrophic.

A flick of his wrist sent a dozen soldiers sprawling.

But he wasn’t stupid. No fatalities—he wouldn’t wage war against an entire nation.

Run. Now.

If a sniper round broke his defense, what else could they bring?

Staying meant gambling with death.

"Stop him!"

Even wounded, his Qinggong left them in the dust.

Just as freedom seemed assured—

"Who said you could leave?"

A voice, thunderous and imperious, shook the earth.

A crushing pressure descended. A martial domain unfurled, domination made manifest.

A colossal palm—forged from pure energy—slammed down from the heavens.

Ever seen a palm strike from the sky?

BOOM!

Ye Qing looked up—and nearly pissed himself.

The impact sent debris flying. A crater half a basketball court wide gaped in the ground, its palm-print sunk half a meter deep. Fractures spiderwebbed outward.

As for Ye Qing?

Embedded in the dirt. Unrecognizable.

Bloodied, bones shattered, he looked ready for a funeral buffet.

The soldiers stood dumbstruck.

They’d seen combat. But this?

Then—a figure descended, landing with eerie grace.

Terror like a Dou Zong’s wrath.

"S-Sir—?" the officer stammered.

The man was Jiang Yunhuang.

Casually, he approached, producing a crimson booklet.

"Jiang Yunhuang. Chairman of the Martial Artists’ Regulatory Association. Deputy Director of National Security. Credentials."

The officer took it, awe deepening.

"He’s half-dead. No threat now. Take him."

With that, Jiang Yunhuang floated away, vanishing toward the Jiang ancestral estate.

Silence.

Then—

Gulp. Someone swallowed hard.

Only after he’d gone did the murmurs erupt.

"Holy shit! Was that even human? What realm is that?"

"Our division’s head instructor couldn’t do that. A Grandmaster? The legendary kind?"

"The damn Chairman. I’m bragging about this till I die."

Soldiers were still human. And humans? They worshipped strength.

"Alright, alright, calm down. Just haul this guy away already. Tie him up tight—I’ve already contacted the higher-ups. Two master martial artists are on their way to escort him."

"Sir, reporting—this guy’s been slammed so deep into the mud we can’t even pry him out. What now?"

Literally. Can’t even scrape him free!