The Phoenix Grand Hotel enjoys great renown in the Dongjie district of Lanning City. Known for its high standards, attentive service, and exquisite cuisine, it is always packed during mealtimes.

  “Dad, I’ve dined here a few times before — the food is exceptional. I meant to bring you here the day you arrived in Lanning, but something came up and delayed us.”

  “I’m getting old. My sense of taste has dulled; no matter how delicious, everything tastes much the same. As long as you treat Mi Jun well, that’s enough for me.”

  During their casual conversation on the way over, Mi Jun had already shared his name with them.

  Likewise, he had learned that the elder’s name was Huo Lin.

  “Alright, I understand.”

  Huo Qing held a poor opinion of Mi Jun from the start, convinced he was nothing more than a fraud. Still, seeing that the boy was young, he didn’t press the matter — after all, it was just a meal.

  At the front desk, Huo Qing inquired, “Boss, are there any private rooms left?”

  “Yes, just one — number thirteen. Xiao Zhang, escort our guests upstairs.”

  A beautiful waitress arrived and led the three of them to a private dining room on the second floor.

  When it came time to order, Huo Qing passed the menu to Huo Lin, who in turn handed it to Mi Jun.

  “Mi Jun, feel free to order whatever you like — don’t stand on ceremony.”

  “Alright.”

  True to his word, Mi Jun did not hesitate and swiftly selected several lavish dishes.

  Such a gesture irritated Huo Qing.

  It wasn’t the extravagance of the dishes that bothered him — he could afford even the most expensive items the Phoenix Grand Hotel had to offer without blinking.

  What annoyed him was Mi Jun’s attitude.

  What was this supposed to be?

  Guests were meant to follow the host’s lead, but Mi Jun made himself at home as if he belonged. To an outsider, it might even seem like he was part of their family.

  “Mr. Huo, you don’t seem too pleased,” Mi Jun remarked with a faintly amused expression.

  “How would I dare?” Huo Qing sneered. “You’re clearly the one in charge here.”

  Huo Lin immediately scolded him, “Qingsong, mind your manners.”

  “But, Dad, he—” Huo Qing faltered, then narrowed his eyes at Mi Jun and asked,

  “Mi Jun, I’ve treated you to this meal — now can you tell me what exactly you were doing under that overpass?”

  “You truly want to know?” Mi Jun raised an eyebrow.

  “Unless it’s some shameful secret?”

  “Not at all. But I doubt you’d believe me.” Mi Jun sipped his tea, his tone calm.

  “I heard you’ve been practicing martial arts there at night, meditating for days at a time. So what is it — kung fu? Or are you cultivating immortality?” Huo Qing asked with open derision.

  “Oh? So you’ve heard?” Mi Jun chuckled. “Well, it’s not quite cultivation, but close enough.”

  “What? You’re actually cultivating immortality?” Huo Qing blinked in disbelief, then burst out laughing, his voice laced with scorn.

  Mi Jun replied coolly, “Amusing, is it?”

  “That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard all year,” Huo Qing said between chuckles. “Mi Jun, do you even know who we are?”

  “No,” Mi Jun shook his head.

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  “Of course you don’t. We’re not from this small city. We come from the provincial capital.”

  “Oh?” Mi Jun looked at him placidly. “And does that mean you think yourself superior?”

  “Not superior, perhaps, but certainly more experienced.” Huo Qing lowered his voice. “I’ve seen a true cultivator. What you’re playing at is child’s play.”

  “Qingsong, enough. He’s just a child,” Huo Lin said gravely.

  “You’re right. Why am I even getting worked up?” Huo Qing rubbed his temples, realizing he had lost his cool.

  Mi Jun, barely seventeen or eighteen, claiming to be a cultivator — surely he was just joking. Why take it seriously?

  Mi Jun said nothing more, but a thought had taken root in his mind.

  A real cultivator?

  He quickly realized that what Huo Qing referred to wasn’t a cultivator, but a martial artist.

  Ancient martial traditions still lingered on Earth, with distinctions between external and internal strength. External power could tear tigers apart and splinter wood; internal strength, subtle and refined, could redirect a thousand pounds with a mere ounce.

  Mi Jun, after all, had spent three years on Earth — he was no stranger to its ways.

  Yet to compare martial arts with cultivation? Laughable.

  In martial cultivation, the hierarchy was: External Strength, Internal Strength, Innate Energy, and the Path of Elixirs.

  Though a cultivator at the same level might match a martial artist in raw power, in all other aspects, cultivators held the upper hand.

  With techniques to summon fire, command wind, call lightning, and shape ice; with spiritual energy to forge magical tools and inscribe talismans — a cultivator was far more versatile.

  At the Foundation Establishment stage, one could train their divine sense to pursue enemies across thousands of miles — far beyond the reach of any radar Earth had to offer.

  And at the Golden Core stage, the body became a crucible; essence the medicine, spirit the flame. One could refine a golden core and transcend mortal needs — no longer eating, sleeping, or aging, living up to five centuries. In mortal eyes, that was already true immortality.

  But to true cultivators, even the Golden Core was merely a beginning.

  Mi Jun understood how narrow-minded Huo Qing was and had no desire to lower himself into an argument. Instead, he lifted his cup and sipped his tea.

  He had to admit — the tea was quite fine.

  Huo Qing studied Mi Jun’s composed demeanor and sneered inwardly. “Even now, after being exposed, he looks so smug. Thick-skinned brat.”

  The atmosphere in the room turned tense, silence falling like a shroud.

  After a few minutes, a commotion erupted outside the room.

  “Brother Wolf, there really aren’t any seats left. Maybe try another place?”

  “What did you say? My boss is doing your establishment a favor by coming here — and you tell us to leave? You trying to go out of business?”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Then get out of my way!”

  Bang!

  The door burst open. A burly man stormed in with four lackeys in tow, his eyes sweeping over the trio.

  “This room’s empty, isn’t it?”

  The restaurant owner rushed in after them. “Brother Wolf, they’ve already placed their order.”

  “No dishes have been served. Table’s still clean. Perfect. Let them go eat somewhere else.”

  “This…” The owner looked distressed.

  “Forget it. I’ll handle this myself.”

  Brother Wolf shoved the owner aside and barked at the trio, “This room’s mine now. Time for you to leave.”

  “On what grounds?” Huo Qing stood, eyes blazing.

  “Because my boss runs this whole street,” Brother Wolf sneered.

  “Oh really?” Huo Qing scoffed. “I’m Huo Qing. From the Huo family.”

  “Huo Qing? Never heard of you. Around here, my boss calls the shots. Now get out before I lose my temper.”

  The disrespect was blatant — clearly, he had never heard of the Huo family.

  “You—” Huo Qing’s face turned crimson with rage.

  “What, you want to fight?”

  Brother Wolf took a step forward, muscles twitching, a fierce aura pressing Huo Qing back.

  Mi Jun smiled and said lightly, “Mr. Huo, you said it yourself — you’re from the provincial capital. No one here knows you. You’ll lose if you try to fight them.”

  Huo Qing wasn’t stupid. He knew he didn’t stand a chance — one Brother Wolf was too much, let alone the others.

  As the saying goes, “A scholar is no match for a soldier.” That seemed apt.

  “Hmph. I’ll call for backup.”

  He pulled out his phone.

  Mi Jun added, “I’m afraid help will come too late. By then, we’ll already be out the door.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Huo Qing snapped, thinking Mi Jun was mocking him. “You want to handle it?”

  Stretching lazily in his chair, Mi Jun replied, “Sure. I want to eat, after all — can’t let them ruin the mood.”

  Fearing he’d act rashly, Huo Lin quickly interjected, “Mi Jun, don’t do anything reckless.”

  “Relax. I’ve got this. It’s not that complicated. If we want them to back off, there’s a much simpler way.”

  As he spoke, he picked up a chopstick, unwrapped it, and drew one out, smiling calmly.

  “One chopstick is all it takes.”

  Huo Lin blinked in surprise.

  One chopstick? To scare off five thugs? Was he joking?

  Huo Qing had had enough. Slamming the table, he said, “If you can chase them off with a single chopstick, I’ll admit you’re the real deal.”

  Brother Wolf had overheard and glared at Mi Jun.

  He’d been wary when Huo Qing tried to make a phone call — worried he’d messed with the wrong guy.

  But now? One chopstick? He felt insulted.

  “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, boy. I want to see this miracle.”

  He stood his ground, neither advancing nor retreating, challenging Mi Jun with a defiant stare.

  Mi Jun raised an eyebrow, a cold smile curling his lips.

  “Very well. Watch closely.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when his wrist flicked.

  The chopstick flew like an arrow.

  Whoosh!

  A sharp whistling sound tore through the air.

  The attack came so swiftly that Brother Wolf barely had time to react. The chopstick pierced clean through his shoulder and embedded itself deep into the wall behind him.

  Thud!

  Everyone stared in stunned silence.

  Half the chopstick was buried in the wall. The other half, protruding, dripped with fresh blood — a vivid, terrifying sight.