Chapter Forty-Three: Playing with Knives

Such petty tricks, and you dare to show off in front of me? Truly, you must be blind, thought Ling Tian with a disdainful snort as he looked at the terrified Yuan Xiaotian.

Crack!

A sharp sound shattered the deathly silence.

Everyone saw Ling Tian smash his wine bowl to the ground.

“This meager fare isn’t enough to eat or drink. Yuan Xiaotian, why don’t you slice off a few pieces of your own flesh for me to taste? I ate too quickly just now and didn’t even savor it. And the rest of you, stop standing around like fools—bring me more wine, now!” Ling Tian commanded in a deep voice, infusing his words with a touch of inner strength. His voice boomed like a bell, making the very table tremble.

The attendant who had just brought the wine bolted from the room, whether to fetch more wine or simply out of fear was unclear. The others all gazed at Ling Tian with eyes full of terror. Those who had mocked him earlier now dared not even breathe as his cold stare swept over them.

Yuan Xiaotian, a man hardened by years in the underworld, had seen people eat human flesh before, but never like this. When he’d forced others to cut their own flesh, the toughest would simply swallow it and later retch until they brought up bile. Yet Ling Tian not only ate the flesh but chewed it with relish, as though savoring some delicacy. Now, unsatisfied, he wanted more. Was he even human?

“If you have any other tricks, feel free to try them. I’ll be here to oblige,” Ling Tian said calmly, then turned to the beautiful woman whose wounds had just been bandaged. “Yuan Xiaotian, didn’t you say you’d pay this lady a hundred thousand? Or are you planning to go back on your word?”

Humiliated by his crushing defeat in the first round, Yuan Xiaotian was in no mood to argue with someone who dared eat human flesh. He could only answer, “What’s the rush? I’ll give it to her in a moment.”

“I think it’s best you pay her right now, in front of me. Surely the chairman of Everlasting Real Estate is as good as his word?” Ling Tian mocked.

I can’t let this brat look down on me!

Yuan Xiaotian ordered someone to fetch the money and counted it out in front of Ling Tian.

“You, see her out,” Ling Tian instructed Zhang Ding. Zhang, shrewd as ever, immediately understood—Ling Tian didn’t trust Yuan Xiaotian to let her go or wanted to avoid losing control of the situation, and so took this chance to send Zhang away. From the moment the dishes were served, Zhang knew today’s game was a dangerous one and that he’d be of little help by staying.

Zhang nodded and, as he prepared to leave, leaned in and whispered, “There are a lot of them. Can you handle it? Want me to call the police?”

“No need. Dealing with a bunch of small fry is no trouble. Once you’ve delivered that poor girl to safety, wait nearby for my call,” Ling Tian replied quietly.

The woman, clutching her hundred thousand, threw Ling Tian a grateful smile and limped after Zhang Ding. Yuan Xiaotian’s men did not try to stop them. Once Zhang had put her in a taxi, he sent Ling Tian a text.

“Let’s continue, then,” Ling Tian said after reading the message, pocketing his phone and smiling at Yuan Xiaotian.

“If I don’t show you something ruthless, you won’t know who you’re dealing with. Little Knife, show Young Master Ling what you’ve got!” Yuan Xiaotian shouted in frustration.

The one called Little Knife was a burly man in his thirties, shirtless, with a fierce dragon tattoo curling over his back and a menacing face. He was Yuan Xiaotian’s top enforcer, a veteran of the streets who’d committed every manner of crime since his teens.

Little Knife picked up the Nepali kukri used earlier to cut flesh, spinning it expertly and earning a round of applause. He slammed the blade into the table, glared at Ling Tian, and growled, “Watch closely, boy, and see what real skill looks like.”

Ling Tian sneered. The first round had humiliated Yuan Xiaotian, and now he wanted to regain face with another trick. Clearly, the earlier slap hadn’t hurt enough. This time, Ling Tian would make it unforgettable.

Little Knife sat across from Ling Tian, twirling the kukri with impressive dexterity. Suddenly, he thrust out his left hand, splayed his fingers wide on the table, and with his right hand began stabbing the blade rapidly between his fingers. Each movement was swift and precise, the tip of the blade striking the wood between his fingers and flicking up tiny shavings.

The performance was so riveting, the audience held their breath, afraid to make a sound.

Confident in his skill, Little Knife felt emboldened. After a warm-up, he upped the ante—closing his eyes and continuing, even faster.

Ling Tian thought to himself: Is this all? And you have the nerve to show off?

Closing one’s eyes wasn’t much of an added difficulty. With enough practice, anyone could sense the position of their own hand and pull off the trick.

“This trick? I grew bored of it years ago. You’re just swinging your axe before the master carpenter—pathetic,” Ling Tian mocked, cursing Little Knife for risking his own left hand.

Irritated, Little Knife barked, “If you’re so great, let’s see you try!”

Ling Tian rose, approached Little Knife, and with a lightning-quick move, snatched the kukri from his hand. Only when he saw the blade in Ling Tian’s grasp did Little Knife realize it was gone, his face blanching at the speed.

Yuan Xiaotian finally sensed something was off. For the first time, his gaze toward Ling Tian was grave. No wonder even a master like Old Wolf had lost to this man. Never mind anything else—this boy’s courage and speed alone were enough to give anyone a headache.

“Let me borrow your left hand,” Ling Tian said coolly.

Before Little Knife could react, his left wrist was seized and pinned to the table. Blade in hand, Ling Tian stabbed between his fingers even faster than before—so fast the eye could only catch a blur of steel. Finally, he, too, closed his eyes, mimicking Little Knife.

As a knife expert, Little Knife knew how different it was to use someone else's hand for this trick instead of his own. His face turned ashen, but he could not break free. The grip on his wrist felt less like flesh and more like an unbreakable iron vise.

Suddenly, Ling Tian stopped, and with a few quick flicks, sliced across Little Knife’s fingers, drawing blood. Little Knife howled in pain. At that moment, Ling Tian released his wrist, and Little Knife leaped back, leaving a large, bloody handprint on the table.