The elevator shot upward rapidly.
After returning home and changing clothes, Feng Lin headed straight for the upper floors of the Feng Corporation Tower. The transformation of his life had brought him confidence; he couldn't bear to wait any longer. He had to formally confront the family and resolve the隐患 lurking three weeks away. The broad path of cultivation lay right before him—how could he resign himself to being manipulated by the family, wasting his life in the family factory?
The solar system was a chaotic star region, with a disordered social order where clansmen banded together to survive. Unlike the sparse populations of feudal-era Earth families, even the smallest family in the interstellar age had tens of thousands of members. A family was a small society in itself. Where there were people, there were conflicts; the more people, the more disputes. Moreover, to allocate the best resources to the most talented and cultivate true experts, the family divided its members into ranks based on talent and ability.
The elevator to the upper floors of the Feng Corporation Tower was packed, mostly with middle- and upper-class individuals in luxurious attire. Feng Lin, dressed in plain clothes, stood out conspicuously among them. Cold, disdainful glances swept over him. But since they were theoretically of the same clan, they didn't resort to harsh words, merely silently distancing themselves, unwilling to stand near Feng Lin. For a moment, the space around him was empty and glaringly obvious.
Feng Lin, however, remained composed, as calm as a gentle breeze. Soon, he reached his floor and strode out directly.
The eightieth floor of the Feng Corporation Tower. In the interstellar era, cities were filled with towering skyscrapers, each as massive as a small mountain, incredibly majestic. If one lived on too low a floor, sunlight was easily blocked, leaving them in perpetual darkness. These areas were often called "Black Streets," where the lower class resided. The higher the floor, the more sunlight it received and the better the environment. Thus, those living on the upper floors of the tower were typically wealthy or powerful.
Above the eightieth floor of the Feng Corporation Tower lived the absolute upper echelons of the Feng family—the direct line of the direct line. When Feng Lin, who looked like a lower-class clansman at first glance, walked in here, he instantly drew countless astonished stares. Their eyes swept over his plain clothes, disdain evident. Feng Lin acted as if he hadn't noticed, passing through the long corridor until he reached a spacious hall.
A long line stretched before the door, likely dozens of people. Though the queue was lengthy, everyone waited patiently in silence.
"Feng Family Management Office!"
With a family this large, boasting tens of thousands of members, more people meant more troubles requiring handling. Thus, every family on Earth had a core member managing all affairs, known as the Grand Steward. This was where the Feng family's Grand Steward worked. With the family's vast population, daily trivial matters were endless. To seek him out, one must have important business; bothering the Grand Steward with miscellaneous nonsense would not only be futile but also invite severe punishment. Even so, queuing was the norm, sometimes taking days.
Feng Lin found a seat near the back and sat down, waiting quietly.
"A lower-class clansman skipping work at the factory—what's he doing here?"
"Is he playing hooky? And he dares to see the Grand Steward? Isn't he afraid of punishment?"
"What audacity!"
...
The people in line, seeing Feng Lin approach, recoiled in disgust and began whispering among themselves. Feng Lin kept his eyes down, his expression serene.
The line moved slowly but orderly. Over an hour passed, and Feng Lin had only advanced five spots. At this rate, it would be ages before his turn. But he could only wait. Bursting in rashly would only anger the Grand Steward and worsen the situation—a very unwise move.
"You lower-class scum, get out of my way! Time waits for no one. Do you really need to bother the Grand Steward with your petty issues? If you delay my matters, you can't afford the consequences!" A jarring voice sounded beside him.
Feng Lin was shoved hard. He slowly opened his eyes, looking at the gaunt, monkey-like face before him, smug and arrogant, and let out a soft sigh. His expression mixed frustration and irritation.
Why did some people have to be such poor villains, lacking even basic awareness? Did he really look that easy to push around?
...
These random thoughts flickered through Feng Lin's mind, but he knew the reason when he got serious. The family's rigid hierarchy was clear. Ultimately, it was his status as a lower-class clansman that made him seem weak and exploitable. The family ranked people by talent and ability. Feng Lin had risen too quickly, still bearing the label of a ninth-level clansman—the lowest tier. The man opposite him had likely latched onto this identity, assuming Feng Lin had poor talent and weak strength, making him an easy target. Otherwise, with so many people ahead in line, why single him out? Was that just coincidence?
He had to grow stronger quickly. Only by becoming powerful could he escape this difficult situation. Otherwise, these endless annoyances would never stop—could he even cultivate properly?
Feng Lin simmered with silent anger.
"Brat, what's your name? Don't you know me, Feng Lang? Move it!" The skinny man, with a spoiled look, shoved him hard again when Feng Lin didn't respond. His eyes held a mocking glint—clearly intentional!
Feng Lin's response to such people was simple: his fists.
Fists as big as sandbags, landing blow after blow without a word. He threw a punch, heavy and forceful.
The man stared blankly, seemingly shocked by Feng Lin's decisive action, completely stunned.
Bang!
The punch landed with full force, sending him flying, crashing heavily to the ground. But the man immediately sprang back up, looking disheveled but apparently unharmed, glaring at Feng Lin, clutching his face, his cheeks flushed red. "Bastard! Don't you know you don't hit someone in the face?"
Though the punch hadn't used much strength, the fact that this guy took it head-on surprised Feng Lin—the man had considerable vitality.
Seeing Feng Lin ignore him, the spoiled brat grew even more furious, suddenly assuming a stance and lunging forward.
Snake Fist!
The man twisted his body, moving swiftly with an erratic gait, like a slithering snake approaching in a zigzag pattern. His fingers flicked, hissing like a serpent's tongue, aiming straight for Feng Lin's eyes—a vicious move.
"Good one!" Feng Lin showed no fear, meeting him head-on.
The Snake Fist technique was light and agile, focusing on maneuvering and striking vital points. It was quite similar to Bagua Palm. Feng Lin stepped into a Bagua stance, tangling with his opponent.
Fists and palms clashed. Feng Lin stood firm, while the man staggered back, losing ground from the first exchange.
"Well done! Fight! Beat him to death!"
"Don't be a coward if you're a man!"
"Didn't expect such a good show!"
...
The onlookers, eager for chaos, cheered and urged them on.
Suddenly, a commanding voice rang out.
"What are you doing? Starting a conflict within the family, breaking the rules? If you don't give me a reason, I'll have you both locked up!"