"What? You want Lin Yi to kneel and kowtow three times? Chen Jiangping, don't you think you've gone too far?"
As soon as Chen Jiangping finished speaking, Zhao Hai Hong, who had remained silent until then, flew into a rage:
"We martial artists would rather break than bend. We've always only knelt to heaven and earth, our masters, and our parents. For anyone else—even the Sect Master of Tianshan Sect, or the leaders of the Daoist and Buddhist holy lands—a bow is enough."
"Now you're demanding Lin Yi kneel? That's ten thousand times crueler than killing him! What are you trying to do?"
"Silence!"
Chen Jiangping gave a cold snort, a murderous gleam flashing in his sinister eyes:
"You old relic, I've called you Elder Zhao out of respect, and you actually think you're somebody?"
"You're nothing but a Third Grade Martial Artist, yet you dare bark at me just because you're hiding beneath Tianshan Sect's tiger hide?"
"Speak another word, and don't blame me for what happens next!"
"Fine!"
Zhao Hai Hong was so furious he could barely contain himself:
"I, Zhao Hai Hong, have traveled the world my whole life and seen countless First-Rank Martial Artists, but never once has anyone dared speak to me like that. You little upstart—I'd like to see just how you plan to make me regret it!"
"Old relic, you're asking for death! You really think I wouldn't dare lay a hand on you?"
"Enough!"
Just as the two were about to come to blows in the teahouse, a firm voice rang out.
Inside the teahouse, Lin Yi suddenly spoke. His eyes were bloodshot, fixed on Chen Jiangping. They held resentment, fury, and despair—and a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of hope.
At last, his voice hoarse, he said to Chen Jiangping:
"Tower Master