The Reckless Son-in-Law

Great Xia, Imperial Capital.

"Damn it, that live-in son-in-law, no idea what he does all day. Seems like he’s getting more and more arrogant," grumbled a balding middle-aged man in the kitchen, gripping a rolling pin indignantly.

Beside him, a woman dripping with jewelry complained, "He eats our food, drinks our stuff, and hasn’t earned a single penny since marrying Ting Ting! Back when Ting Ting was studying at Tsinghua, suitors lined up all the way to Great Britain. How did she end up picking this pretty-faced freeloader?"

The more the man thought about it, the angrier he got. Clutching the rolling pin, he declared, "No, today I’m gonna teach him a lesson!"

Just then, the faint sound of the door opening echoed.

Long Aoyun stepped inside, his cold gaze sweeping across the room.

The man shuddered, quickly grabbing a bowl of freshly made hand-pulled noodles and forcing a sycophantic smile. "Son-in-law, you must be tired after a long day. Here, try the noodles I made."

"Mm. Thanks."

Long Aoyun took the bowl, his tone indifferent.

"Here, your slippers are ready," the bejeweled woman chimed in, handing him a new pair. Watching him eat, she hesitated before tentatively adding, "So, Aoyun, don’t you think it’s time you got a—"

"Where’s Ting Ting?"

Long Aoyun took a sip of broth, cutting off his mother-in-law mid-sentence.

The balding man hurriedly answered, "She’s still at work. Should be back soon."

"I’m heading out. I’ll be back in about two days. Let Ting Ting know."

With that, Long Aoyun grabbed a briefcase by the door and left.

Only after the door closed did the elderly couple exhale in relief.

"Useless old man! Weren’t you gonna teach him a lesson?" The woman smacked her husband’s shoulder in frustration.

The man grimaced. "I wanted to, but that son-in-law is terrifying! One look from him, and my legs turn to jelly. I almost kneeled just now!"

"Ugh, why did Ting Ting have to fall for him?"

The mother-in-law was equally furious but helpless.

As a stepmother, she had hoped to leverage Ting Ting’s beauty to climb into high society.

But then, out of nowhere, Ting Ting brought home this pretty-faced nobody.

At first, they thought Long Aoyun was just an ordinary unemployed youth.

But then—

The most arrogant young masters of the Imperial Capital bowed and scraped before him like obedient grandsons.

Pinnacle martial artists, who usually carried themselves with unshakable pride, trembled and kowtowed at the sight of him.

Even high-ranking officials didn’t dare breathe too loudly in his presence.

Everything pointed to the fact that this son-in-law was anything but ordinary.

Yet, after two years of marriage, they still had no idea what he did. He came and went at odd hours, never contributing a single cent to the household.

Outside, Long Aoyun pulled out his phone and spoke in a low voice, "Yin Hu, guard the Imperial Capital. I’m heading to Yunzhou."

Chunnan Island.

Two streaks of light clashed in the sky, their overwhelming energy forcing everyone to keep their distance.

A radiant greatsword collided with the fang-like demonic blade!

Both combatants staggered back.

Michael was covered in wounds, the gash across his face particularly gruesome.

An Yi was worse off.

His tattered clothes were soaked in blood.

But with his Immortal Martial Body, his injuries slowly healed—aside from his ruined attire, there was no trace of damage.

Michael, hovering midair on wings of flame, watched An Yi with growing unease.

Ever since this brat turned silver-haired, his power had skyrocketed. There was no quick way to finish him.

Worse, his endless regeneration made every attack pointless.

Michael’s eyes turned icy. He couldn’t afford to drag this out. One decisive strike—that was all he had left.

An Yi shared the same thought.

His funds, combined with Qin Yao’s billion, were still substantial, but every minute burned a year of his lifespan—equivalent to 36 million!

It hurt just thinking about it.

And his mother-in-law wouldn’t last much longer.

Lin Lan, her heart pierced, was barely clinging to life thanks to the elixir King Taishan had provided.

Both men prepared for their final move.

Michael’s body radiated light, encasing him in a protective aura.

An Yi narrowed his eyes. A big move? And that shield was to buy time.

A head-on clash? Perfect.

Understanding Michael’s intent, An Yi switched to his heavy sword, gripping it with both hands. Surging sword energy roiled around him like tidal waves.

For a brief moment, both fighters stood perfectly still—a rare sight in such a fast-paced battle.

Michael’s greatsword gleamed like a cocoon of light. White energy erupted as he swung down with heaven-splitting force: "Divine Retribution!"

At the same time, An Yi, having gathered his strength, slowly opened his eyes.

Terrifying energy wreathed his heavy blade.

"Sixth Form of the Dragon-Slaying Sword Arts—Tidal Fury!"

An Yi lunged forward, his sword sweeping horizontally like a raging tsunami, its blue edge flashing.

CLANG!

The greatsword and heavy blade collided.

Assassins from Heaven and warriors from the Underworld clutched their ears, blood streaming from their noses and eyes.

The sheer force of the clash was beyond mortal endurance.

Dust and debris flew. Trees were uprooted.

The deafening shockwave sent waves crashing ashore, seawater spraying into the sky!

Michael clutched his chest, vomiting blood. The impact had shredded his organs—he wouldn’t survive.

His four wings were destroyed, his power crippled.

The gauntlet housing his light sword had shattered.

Now, barely standing, he was a wreck.

Around him, everyone on Huiming Island had collapsed, unconscious or writhing in pain.

An Yi was down too, forcibly exiting his berserk state, his silver hair reverting to black.

His body was a mangled mess, blood pooling beneath him.

The heavy sword, however, stood pristine beside him, untouched by the clash that had obliterated Michael’s weapon.

Gritting his teeth, Michael staggered toward An Yi.

The kid wasn’t dead. He could hear faint, strengthening breaths. Given time, he’d recover completely.

Jealousy burned in Michael’s eyes.

A god, dying here?

No.

Even in death, he’d drag this brat to hell with him!

He raised a clawed hand, summoning a spike of light aimed straight for An Yi’s heart.

CLANG!

A black cane intercepted the spike, dispersing it effortlessly.

The newcomer was a tall, cold-eyed young man, his presence sharp as a blade.

Michael froze. "Lin Chen?"

"Cough!"

An Yi stirred, his wounds already halfway healed.

"Old Lin? What are you doing here?" An Yi blurted, shocked.

"Can you leave him to me?"

Lin Chen’s voice was icy, his eyes bloodshot with hatred.

The face before him—Michael’s—slowly overlapped with the blurred, pixelated image buried deep in his memories.