The sun hung heavy over the bloodstained hills of Jiuhe Province, its golden rays doing little to cleanse the filth that walked in the name of righteousness. On this day, beneath the shattered banners of fallen clans and broken oaths, a new farce was preparing to unfold.
A plaza made of marble and pride stretched across the heart of the provincial capital, guarded by statues of long-dead heroes and hypocrites turned into legends.
In the center, a raised platform had been constructed—an execution stage disguised as a public trial.
The crowd was thick, their voices like a tidal wave of judgment. Nobles lounged in golden robes, scholars whispered with self-importance, and sect disciples from dozens of factions preened like peacocks in heat.
But all their eyes turned to the one chained on the stage.
A boy. No, not a boy—a shadow—with jet-black hair, crimson irises, and a half-smile that made the bold hesitate.
Xiao Fan.
The so-called Demon Reincarnate.
The one accused of slaughtering an entire sect, corrupting the flow of heaven, and seducing the Sect Master's daughter into betraying her clan.
It was, of course, all true.
But that wasn't the point.
The point was: they weren't ready.
A blaring voice echoed across the square as the presiding elder of the Nine Bells Sect stood, dressed in robes as gaudy as his ego. "Xiao Fan, you are accused of heinous crimes against the righteous path. Speak now. Any last words?"
Xiao Fan raised his head slowly, lips parting.
"Yeah. Who styled your hair? A blind donkey on fire?"
Gasps rippled. A woman fainted. The elder twitched.
"Impudence!" barked a second elder. "You dare mock the Tribunal?!"
"I mock the air you breathe, the rocks you sit on, and the family trees that should've gone extinct."
Silence fell.
Then, laughter.
It didn't come from the crowd. It came from above.
Descending on a sword glowing with azure flames, a man in white robes embroidered with dragon-bone threads landed beside the platform.
Zhao Wuchen, Heaven's Pet.
The Prodigy of the Clear Sky Pavilion. The number-one ranked talent under the age of twenty-five.
And also, according to rumors, the next successor to the Grand Aether Alliance.
"Xiao Fan," he said, smiling like a man who'd never been slapped before. "You've made quite a mess. It's time someone cleaned it up."
Xiao Fan tilted his head. "Oh? And you think you're that someone?"
"I know I am."
"Then come up here and get your free trial of humiliation."
Zhao's smile thinned. "Arrogance without power is just suicide with extra steps."
Xiao tugged on his chains. They didn't break. He didn't need them to.
He smirked.
"Tell you what. You beat me, I'll let you execute me right here. You lose, though? You strip naked and run around the plaza shouting 'I am a frog's bastard cousin.' Deal?"
The elders erupted. "Outrageous! This is not a stage for your games!"
But Zhao Wuchen's pride had already taken the bait.
"Agreed."
The platform shook as runes flared and the chains binding Xiao Fan snapped, melting into liquid light.
A cultivator in the crowd gasped. "They unsealed him? Are they mad?!"
But they weren't mad. They were arrogant.
And that's always worse.
Zhao Wuchen unsheathed his sword. It hummed with celestial might, resonating with the surrounding heavens.
Xiao cracked his knuckles. No weapon. No armor. Just one devilish grin.
Zhao struck first, blade vanishing into a thousand illusions—each one aimed at a vital point. It was a technique so revered that entire sects wrote scriptures just describing its footwork.
And Xiao?
He caught the sword.
With two fingers.
"Nice toothpick," he said.
Then he slapped Zhao Wuchen across the face.
Not a slap of rage. Not even a slap of contempt. It was the kind of slap that changed destinies, that made ancestors weep in their graves and unborn children rethink reincarnation.
Zhao flew backward, bouncing three times like a broken kite before embedding into a statue of the Sect's founder.
Gasps became screams.
Xiao walked forward, slow and casual. "That statue looked better with him on it."
An elder roared, leaping from his seat. "This farce ends now!"
He threw a talisman that summoned a dragon formed of thunderclouds. It roared with ancestral fury.
Xiao Fan snapped his fingers.
The dragon exploded.
"What—"
"You summoned a pet thundercloud," Xiao said. "I sneezed harder things last night."
He moved. The elder didn't even see it.
SLAP.
The old man spiraled into the marble floor like a top.
Another elder screamed, summoning a sword array that blocked off the heavens themselves. "Die, fiend!"
Xiao didn't even dodge. The swords came. They shattered before touching him.
He grabbed the elder's beard, looked him in the eyes, and said: "You ever wonder why your wife keeps sending me spiritual fruit?"
The slap echoed.
People started fleeing. Others dropped to their knees.
A junior disciple vomited from sheer spiritual pressure. A scholar tore up his scrolls and renounced logic.
Only one figure remained standing: a woman in green, her face hidden behind a jade veil.
"You've made your point, Xiao Fan," she said. "But now you face me."
He looked her up and down. "Let me guess. Hidden genius. Ice beauty. Secret crush on me?"
She stiffened.
He grinned. "I see. Let's settle this the traditional way."
He vanished.
She raised her guard. Too slow.
The veil flew into the air, torn by a slap that didn't land on skin, but on pride.
Her cheek reddened. Not from shame. From the awakening of something primal.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know," he said, "but you'll dream of me anyway."
The elders had regrouped. All seven remaining stood together, forming the Seven Gates of Celestial Judgment.
It was a formation that had once slain a demon king.
They activated it.
Xiao sighed.
"Do you know what happens when you gather trash in one place?"
He raised his hand.
A single slap.
It didn't hit them.
It hit reality.
The sky cracked.
The formation shattered.
Seven elders were launched into the clouds like fireworks.
In the distance, a bell rang thrice. A sign that a Heaven-Level event had occurred.
Xiao turned to the silent crowd. "Anyone else feel like judging me today?"
Not a soul moved.
He looked at the Sect Master, who was trying very hard to hide behind a decorative pillar.
"Don't worry," Xiao said. "I'll visit your daughter later. She owes me a spiritual massage."
The man fainted.
And so, Xiao Fan walked off the stage of judgment, not as a criminal, but as karma's hand, the slap that corrected the record.
As he left, the only sound that followed him was the echo of face slaps still ringing through the heavens.