Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1122: I’m Song Haoran, and Now I’m Panicking…

The wait wasn’t long. The two temporary Song family members quickly returned, bringing good news: Haoran’s father and Song Ying were safe. They had discovered a basement in the hotel and taken refuge there for safety.

Haoran’s father, though semi-retired and having handed off most of the mercenary business to his son, was still a seasoned veteran. His command instincts remained sharp.

Outwardly, Song Haoran showed no emotion, but he quietly let out a breath of relief. Better yet, some news arrived from a scout: traces of missing Song family warriors had been found.

During the wait, Haoran had dispatched scouts to search nearby. They found coded signals left by the scattered Song family mercenaries. As veterans of global conflict zones—from tropical jungles to desert warfields—the Song family had long established unique codes to identify allies.

The greatest fear of a search was to find nothing. With a confirmed sign of comrades, morale soared. Many of these warriors had no parents—Song Tianyou was their only family. Their siblings were the ones who trained and fought beside them.

The team made their way to the signal site. With the help of the “Heaven’s Eye and Earth’s Ear” technique, they located the missing warriors with little effort. They had been hiding in a small medical clinic in a nearby town.

Beside the clinic was a small convenience store with basic supplies—food, medicine—enough for a few days. The heavy fog didn’t faze the warriors. After all, they were used to lying in swamps for days waiting to ambush their enemies.

When Song Haoran broke open the clinic door, several warriors inside were toasting marshmallows over an alcohol lamp for fun. The sudden crash sent them scrambling for weapons—one even fired a shot instantly toward the door.

But when he recognized the person standing there, he froze in horror.

Even more shocking, Song Haoran simply tilted his head slightly, letting the bullet graze past his ear and hit the ceiling behind him.Song Haoran whistled, closed the door, then called out, “Relax, I’m fine!”

He knocked on the door again and opened it with a grin. “Hello! Everybody!”

The warrior who fired exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes. “Strategist, could you not bypass all our defenses just to show off?”

“Come on, that was stylish. The perimeter was solid—good work. But man, you almost gave me a real series finale.” Haoran laughed. “Alright, stop lounging. Let’s move—we still need to find the others. I’ve figured out how to move through the mist.”

In less than ten seconds, the warriors had packed up and were ready to go.

But just then, gunfire erupted outside!

Princess Chuyang, who had entered the clinic with Haoran, frowned the moment she heard the shots. “Careful. Someone strong is out there.”

“How strong?” Haoran asked instinctively.

“Hard to say,” she replied seriously.

Haoran frowned, and the warriors looked to him for orders. He closed his eyes briefly, then barked instructions: “One to the right stairwell, another to the left corridor—take a sniper. You, stay here and set up. Wait for my signal. The rest, with me.”

…

In the clinic’s main hall, the group arrived to a horrific sight.

Seven Song family warriors had gone out with Haoran. Now they were scattered across the room, some embedded into walls, others slammed into the ceiling, blood dripping down as one body dangled grotesquely.

The last standing warrior was held by the forehead by a massive hand.

“You monster!!!” he screamed, squeezing the trigger of his SMG.

Dozens of bullets rained onto the giant man—but his head was crushed an instant later.

The brute tossed the corpse aside and exhaled calmly. The bullets, oddly, popped out of his skin—either expelled by muscle pressure or never penetrating at all.

“So this is modern weaponry... not bad.” The brute picked up the SMG, inspecting it. “Reminds me of old fire-lances... similar principle. Heh.”

Then, with a casual motion, he broke the gun in half.

Song Haoran emerged from the hallway, calmly surveying the scene—and noticed a stunning woman and a middle-aged man in a golden imperial robe standing behind the brute.

The robed man’s complexion was pale, but his aura was regal.

Haoran glanced at his fallen comrades. His expression remained calm, and he even let out a chuckle. “What is today—some kind of vintage costume drama shoot?”

The brute and the beauty looked at Haoran in shock. The yellow-robed man’s weak expression brightened, his eyes gleaming.

“Imperial countenance… the face of destiny… truly a born emperor! I never expected, a thousand years later, that one of my descendants would still bear the destiny of heaven!” the man said with reverence.

A strange wave of pressure hit Haoran, making him dizzy. He shook it off and frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

The robed man asked, “Are you a descendant of the Song family?”

Haoran stayed silent.

The man continued, “If so, do you know your true lineage? I am your ancestor.”

“Ancestor?”

“Yes… all of the Song family are descended from me.”

His voice had a strange magic. Haoran’s eyelids drooped slightly. The man smiled gently and extended his arms. “Come to me, my child. Return to your roots.”

Haoran hesitated… then slowly took a step forward. His expression went blank, his movements mechanical.

The robed man smiled wider. “Such powerful blood, surging like wildfire… excellent, excellent. Truly worthy of my legacy!”

Then—black and purple energy began swirling around him. His pupils turned pitch black. He extended his hand… revealing a gaping, toothy mouth in his palm!

That grotesque mouth in his hand reached for Haoran’s chest… some kind of dark ritual was underway.

But just as it was about to touch Haoran’s heart—his eyes lit up.

BANG!

A gunshot exploded.

Haoran had drawn his pistol in a flash and fired directly into the palm-mouth.

The man recoiled, clutching his wrist in pain—then roared in fury!

He saw what happened and didn’t hesitate—his massive arm swept horizontally. Song Haoran reacted instantly, folding both arms in front of him to guard. But the brute’s strength was terrifying.

Haoran was knocked back, staggering several steps before slamming into a wall, which finally stopped his momentum.

The yellow-robed man snorted coldly, “You were awake the whole time?”

Haoran shook his arms and grinned wickedly, “Well, I wasn’t ready to hit the end credits of my life that fast. So, you’re claiming to be my ancestor? This just got interesting… my family’s ancestor came back from the dead?”

“Great Wilderness Devours the Heavens Technique.”

The sudden, crisp voice of a woman echoed—it was Princess Chuyang. Haoran, used to her tone, wasn’t surprised. But the yellow-robed man and his two followers all stiffened at her words and turned toward the hallway.

Princess Chuyang walked out expressionlessly, studying the yellow-robed man. “You’ve been cultivating the Great Wilderness Devours the Heavens Technique… the foremost of all heretical arts. Those who practice it sever all familial ties, using their own kin as cauldrons. The closer the blood relation, the more power it yields. Such inhuman cruelty—who would still dare cultivate this?”

“Feeding on your own relatives?” Haoran looked stunned… and chose to believe Princess Chuyang.

She frowned. “Martial cultivation differs from Dao cultivation. Martial artists rely on strong vital essence. Even if the body is honed to keep blood and energy flowing eternally, there’s always a limit. Before unlocking the body’s ultimate potential, decay is inevitable. Sure, there are ways to prolong life or individuals with strong natural bloodlines, but none compare to Daoists who’ve achieved true cultivation.”

“But martial artists can obtain great strength early on. Still, before reaching the stage of endless vitality, their blood energy drains rapidly. This technique was invented to make up for that loss—by using the blood of close relatives, it supplements one’s own without rejection. That’s why it’s the number one heretical art.”

“Heh… you know quite a bit, don’t you?” The stunning woman beside the yellow-robed man smiled faintly.

Princess Chuyang didn’t flinch. “That technique was once used by a demon cultivator and was later hunted down by Xuanyuan Palace. It should have been destroyed. Though… if Xuanyuan Palace kept it in their records, that’s not impossible. What does baffle me is why such an evil technique is out in the world again.”

The yellow-robed man took a deep breath. The purplish-black hue on his face faded, though he looked paler. “You two… bring this boy to me. As for the young lady… she’s no ordinary person. Capture her as well.”

He had once been a demon who wreaked havoc between the Daoist and Demon realms.

Gongsun Wuwei sneered, “You seem to know quite a bit about Xuanyuan Palace, young lady… I’d love to discuss it with you.”

Princess Chuyang snorted, side-stepping, “Insolent fool… Song Haoran, what are you waiting for? Teach this man a lesson!”

Haoran blinked. That earlier blow had nearly broken his arm bones. He looked relaxed, but in truth, the pain was agonizing.

How the hell am I supposed to fight this guy…?

But just then, Gongsun Wuwei, Gong Fanxing, and the yellow-robed man all suddenly changed expression. Even Princess Chuyang frowned.

Haoran had a sudden premonition—a surge of danger gripped him, sending chills down his spine. Instinct took over.

He leapt forward and grabbed Princess Chuyang, rolling them both to the ground.

“Watch out, Your Majesty!!”

Gongsun Wuwei and Gong Fanxing also shouted, moving protectively to guard the yellow-robed man.

Just then—

A streak of green light sliced through the medical clinic’s ceiling, crashing down violently!

A massive shockwave blasted through the room, flipping everything.

That beam of green light exploded into countless miniature sword flashes, piercing the main hall in an instant, shredding everything.

From the torn ceiling, a figure in white descended slowly from the sky.

She held a sword. Her face was cold, her gaze sharp as a drawn blade. She immediately locked eyes on Gong Fanxing and Gongsun Wuwei.

In a frigid tone, she said, “Finally found you two.”

“It’s you…” Gong Fanxing muttered.

The sword-bearing woman in white was none other than—

Qin Chuyang.

(End of Chapter)