Chapter Thirty-Four: Can You Make Me Bleed?

"Alright, you can leave the person here."
Two martial artists dressed in black, whose aura was even colder and whose eyes were sharp as steel, blocked Dean's car.
Seeing this, Dean said nothing more.
Eagerly, Philia opened the rear car door, carrying her ingenious tools for today's interview. Dressed in a high-collared long gown, this Western beauty stepped out, exuding a unique charm. Even amidst the noisy guests and the blooming array of ladies, this cold yet alluring Western flower stood out among them all.
Hmm?
Why are there so many people here? There weren't many monsters in this area created by that devil, but there seemed to be quite a few women, all somewhat familiar. Did everyone else send their wives for the assassination as part of the plan, not just me?
Dean, observing secretly from the car, was puzzled.
He was just about to turn the car around and leave,
when his eyes widened suddenly.
His car was lifted off the ground by the martial artists flanking it. The tires hung in the air, powerless. One of the martial artists, smiling, addressed Dean inside the car.
"Rude golden-haired ghost, the Immortal Master hasn't said you can leave yet."
Before Dean could react,
a muscular arm, strong as a giant serpent, smashed through the car window and, amidst Dean’s shrill scream—like a girl whose skirt had been lifted—dragged him swiftly from the car! Dean struggled desperately, but the arm gripping him felt less like flesh and more like terrifying forged steel.
Bang!
Dean, weighing over two hundred pounds, was yanked out and, with a toss, thrown hard onto the marble floor of the flowerbed, pain sending his vision to blackness.
When Dean finally gathered himself and looked up, he nearly burst into flames.
Lan Yi stood right before him.
He lay on the ground like a toad, while Lan Yi, as always, did not hesitate to display his supernatural abilities. He floated gracefully above the ground, head lowered, inspecting the heap of battered flesh thrown before him.
A similar scene had occurred before his rebirth.
Fate truly is marvelous.
As long as you carry enough weight, you naturally weave a net of causality. Even after restarting time, certain familiar events will still replay before your eyes.
"You..." Dean was in so much pain he couldn't speak or rise.
He vaguely guessed their plan had been exposed, but dared not dwell on it.

A few seconds later,
Philia, with elegant and dignified steps, suddenly walked up beside Lan Yi. In front of everyone's gaze, her cold beauty blossomed into a smile. She rose onto her toes and, with a sudden movement, drew a shining object and stabbed it at Lan Yi's shoulder.
The iron weapon in her hand glittered dazzlingly in the sunlight.
Her sudden attack caught everyone off guard. Many invited or self-invited ladies gasped in shock or closed their eyes, unwilling to witness what came next.
Swish—
The dagger plunged instantly into Lan Yi’s shoulder.
Dean, sprawled on the ground, was ecstatic—success! The cross-shaped dagger blessed by the Vatican bishop; this evil sorcerer should now die a painful death!
Yet nothing happened.
Lan Yi, whose shoulder was pierced so easily, did not react. The nearby patrolling martial artists made no move, nor did any of the party officials or journalists present show any surprise.
Clearly, this had been planned.
Philia let go.
Under all eyes, the cross-shaped dagger seemingly embedded in Lan Yi’s shoulder, dissolved the next moment into grains of fine sand, indistinguishable to the naked eye, amidst swirling silver-white energy. The tip of the dagger had already become iron dust, giving the illusion it had pierced his flesh.
Southern Sacred Gate Dao Technique: Geng Metal Sword Qi.
The Geng Metal Sword Qi refined by Lan Yi, scattered like dust, gathered like silver sand, possessed a terrifyingly simple cutting power. Ordinary iron weapons, coming even close, would be instantly shredded by the protective Dao technique—becoming food for the sword qi!
Let alone a mere dagger.
If [Canghua] had set up a formation in advance, even machine gun fire could be ignored by Lan Yi.
"Poison, daggers, bedroom assassinations, snipers, explosives, suicide bombers—I even heard you planned to call in naval artillery."
Geng Metal Sword Qi, swirling and undispersed, coiled above Dean’s head like a living thing, its frightening sharpness keeping him utterly still.
"These methods—except for naval artillery, which I can't demonstrate here—"
"The rest, you may all try."
"Try and see, you mortals, what means could possibly harm me, make me bleed."
"By the way, does the god you worship bleed?"
Lan Yi’s voice was powerful, as if amplified, delivering his seemingly arrogant yet perfectly fitting words to every ear nearby.

All eyes turned to him with fervor and worship.
Miracles, endless public miracles.
Lan Yi’s fastest way to conquer the hearts of this era was just so: he was more generous than the elusive gods, more terrifying than any deity. He cultivated an image of omniscience and invincibility. In this world without spiritual cultivators, none existed who could make him bleed before men.
Poison?
In front of everyone, Lan Yi swallowed poison and remained utterly unchanged, showing not the slightest sign of poisoning. [Canghua] and Geng Metal Sword Qi had already purged the toxins upon entry.
Bedroom assassination?
That one wasn’t suitable for public display, but cold and elegant Lady Philia had demonstrated with the dagger. To the regret of the reporters, if Lan Yi had been willing to perform, many were ready to volunteer for a “bedside assassination” to see who could succeed—or withstand the Immortal Master’s “assassination.”
Snipers?
After a formal apology, martial artists fired machine guns at Lan Yi. Amid screams and shouts, Lan Yi emerged unscathed, raising his hand to turn the bullets to dust.
Explosives?
Several confused, curry-scented assailants from Indus, clutching grenades and explosives, were thrown before Lan Yi.
These dim-witted, lecherous, incompetent relatives—black chimpanzees—were stunned, and under Dean’s angry scolding, chose to flee, betraying their master without hesitation.
Lan Yi was speechless.
Indeed, those who love unrestricted fitness, the “A San,” always bring entertainment.
No suicide bombing, no miracle for the Immortal Master, no value in their existence.
Even if these assassins had eight legs, they couldn’t outrun the martial artists, who, with nimble leaps and practiced techniques, caught each one in a blink and finished them with a swift chop to the neck—ending the reign of these notorious red-headed patrolmen.
Then,
amid deafening explosions and thunderous blasts,
Lan Yi, who withstood the shockwaves that tore steel, lethal heat, and shrapnel that demolished walls, floated out unharmed. His clothes weren’t even singed.
"Well, can you make me bleed?"
Returning to Dean, Lan Yi looked down like a god upon a lamb, his gentle yet icy voice systematically destroying Dean’s psychological defenses.