The Reincarnated Villain Can Break the Fourth Wall!-Chapter 165: Facing a Crafty Fox!

Yue Xiuying’s voice rippled through the air like a celestial melody.

"Did you see anything~?"

Yue Xi’s eyes narrowed beneath the hood.

"He isn’t using his full strength."

Yue Xiuying’s lips curled slightly.

"Oh? Can you defeat him?"

A pause.

Then a single word.

"Yes."

No arrogance. No hesitation. Just cold, hard fact.

Yue Xiuying smiled.

That was all she needed to hear.

___

Meanwhile, Elsewhere in the Shitshow…

Su Xiaobai was still too busy stomping out the last remains of Stormfire Peak’s pride to notice any of this.

That was, until—

"LITTLE VILLAIN! WHAT DID I TELL YOU? STOP RUNNING OFF ON YOUR OWN!"

A woman in light green robes appeared out of nowhere, storming straight toward him with murder in her eyes.

Zhu Qing had arrived.

Su Xiaobai’s ears twitched.

And like a guilty husband caught sneaking into the house at 3 a.m., he pretended not to hear her.

The entire sect went silent.

Zhu Qing—Mystic Peak Lord, Master of Formations, Queen of Illusions—was here.

And she wasn’t even hiding it anymore.

Her rage, her concern, her completely improper behavior for a Peak Lord.

The rumors weren’t rumors anymore.

Everyone knew it now—Something was going on between these two.

And the one who took it the hardest?

Zhao Tianxuan.

The Sect Master.

A man who had already lost faith in life multiple times today. His heart shattered like a jade slip dropped by a clumsy disciple.

"Peak Lord Zhu, don’t interrupt the match," he forced out, voice heavy with pain. "Su Xiaobai chose to participate on his own. It has nothing to do with you."

That’s when Zhu Qing, already pissed beyond reason, turned to look at Zhao Tianxuan.

And with just a single glare—The Sect Master shut the fuck up.

But instead of beating him, she found another target.

______

At the back of the balcony, a man dressed in black was snickering.

Hei Wuying—spymaster, certified bastard, and the reason disciples checked under their beds before sleeping.

His personal disciple, Yan Xue, wearing his signature fox mask, was already moving away.

Because he knew.

He fucking knew.

But his master?

His master was too damn stupid.

Hei Wuying smirked, whispering like an old auntie gossiping at a funeral.

"See? I told you. My sources confirmed it. Those two are totally fucking."

Yan Xue was dying inside.

"Master… Peak Lord Zhu can hear us."

Hei Wuying snorted.

"Relax. She wouldn’t dare—"

WHOOSH!

In a flash of light, Zhu Qing crossed the entire balcony in an instant. And before Hei Wuying could even process what the fuck just happened—

BANG!

His skull kissed the balcony railing.

"Did I ask you to speak?"

BANG!

"Did I ask you to speak?"

BANG!

"DID I ASK YOU TO SPEAK, YOU OLD GOSSIPING RAT?!"

BANG! BANG!

The sect watched in stunned silence.

Yan Xue casually walked five steps away, pretending he had no idea who this man was.

Even the other Peak Lords were frozen.

Because this?

This was the first time in history that a Peak Lord was getting his skull caved in by another Peak Lord.

Publicly.

And the worst part?

It looked awfully familiar.

All eyes snapped to Su Xiaobai.

"Oh no. She’s learning from him."

Su Xiaobai, who was watching helplessly as Zhu Qing recreated his signature move.

Zhao Tianxuan covered his face.

Hei Wuying, despite getting his skull caved in, somehow managed to survive.

His mask cracked, but his dignity was already in shambles.

He coughed, adjusted his half-broken mask, and returned to his seat like nothing happened.

Zhu Qing, meanwhile, dusted off her robes, sat down, and pretended like she didn’t just publicly execute a fellow Peak Lord.

_____

The Tournament Was Definitely Off to a Glorious Start....

Su Xiaobai was breaking bones.

Zhu Qing was breaking faces.

The sect disciples, who hadn’t gotten any action in their entire lives, were on the verge of a spiritual orgasm just watching.

And as for Stormfire Peak?

Their existence was already forgotten.

Liu Chenfu’s loss didn’t matter.

No one gave a fuck anymore.

Zhao Tianxuan, defeated by life itself, merely sighed and gave out the next order:

"Clean up the arena. Resume the match."

At this point?

He didn’t even care anymore.

His disciples were getting massacred.

His Peak Lords were beating each other like street thugs.

His Sect was starting to resemble a low-budget martial arts drama.

And Hei Wuying?

That old cockroach?

Despite having his skull used as a drum, he was just fine.

Now sitting there sulking like a drunk uncle at a wedding.

He had no injuries, no broken bones—just a damaged ego and a cracked mask.

Zhao Tianxuan didn’t even waste a thought on him.

Because he knew—

Zhu Qing, despite being an absolute menace, wouldn’t go too far.

She knew her limits.

But Su Xiaobai?

Su Xiaobai had no fucking limits.

And now?

Now the match couldn’t be stopped.

Because if earlier?

If earlier it was just to test Su Xiaobai—

Now?

The tournament had gone full circus mode.

Sword Peak’s guy? Still MIA.

Celestial Peak? Sitting pretty, sipping tea, watching the chaos like VIPs at a high-end brothel.

The remaining three Peaks—Fire, Beast Taming, and Radiant—had contenders waiting in line like prostitutes picking clients.

Liu Chenfu? Gone.

His pride? Gone.

His Peak’s dignity? Buried six feet under.

No one even spared him a look as he slunk away like a cucked husband leaving a tavern.

Except Su Xiaobai.

Su Xiaobai watched.

And he didn’t like what he saw.

Fire Peak was supposed to be on their side, so why the fuck was Huo Rong sending people?

And Celestial Peak? That cold-ass lady had been too quiet. Too still. That meant only one thing—she was planning something.

But before he could think on it—

Hei Wuying, that masked cockroach, stood up.

And then?

The real tragedy began.

Hei Wuying flicked his sleeve like some mysterious grandmaster—except his mask was still half-broken from Zhu Qing’s beatdown, so he just looked like a cranky uncle at a wedding. He motioned to the poor bastard behind him.

"Yan Xue, go show them the strength of our Radiant Peak."

Silence.

The entire sect turned to Yan Xue—a slim, black-clothed figure wearing a fox spirit mask.

Not human.

Not strong enough for this shit.

And definitely not fucking willing.

Yan Xue looked like he’d just been told to fight naked in front of the Sect Master.

"Master… didn’t you say Senior Brother Feng and Huo were going to fight him first?" His voice was calm, but his soul had already left his body.

Hei Wuying waved him off like a whore dismissing a cheap client. "Plans change."

Translation: I don’t wanna get my ass beat again, so you go die instead.

The crowd caught on fast—this wasn’t a strategy move.

This was survival.

Zhu Qing had pounded Hei Wuying’s head into the balcony earlier, and the bastard wasn’t about to risk another public execution. So instead?

He threw his own fucking disciple into the meat grinder.

Yan Xue sighed, accepting his fate like a man who just realized the brothel he paid for only had old women left.

He jumped into the arena.

Landing smoothly, he bowed slightly. "Senior Brother Su, please guide me."

Then he hesitated.

Looked Su Xiaobai up and down.

And then?

The quiet bitterness in his voice cut through the air.

"We entered the sect at the same time… and yet I still don’t know how you climbed so fast."

And there it was.

Not just his resentment—everyone’s.

Every so-called genius, every talented recruit from the last twenty fucking years, all watching Su Xiaobai like he was the rich bastard who inherited a fortune while they were still out here sucking dicks for spirit stones.

When someone rises too fast, everyone wants to see them fall.

But Su Xiaobai?

Su Xiaobai just blinked.

Then frowned.

Then tilted his head.

Then, with genuine fucking confusion, said—

"…Who are you?"

Hiss~!

Silence.

Dead silence.

The entire sect collectively cringed.

Yan Xue froze. His eye twitched. A vein popped on his forehead.

Was he… was he so fucking irrelevant that Su Xiaobai didn’t even know he existed?!

Su Xiaobai, still genuinely trying to remember, muttered, "Same batch? Huh? Were you one of those outer court losers? No, no… maybe an inner court nobody? Wait, wait—were you that guy who got his pants ripped off during the first combat test?"

Yan Xue’s entire face darkened.

"THAT WASN’T ME, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!"

The poor bastard snapped.

He ripped his spear from his storage ring, spiritual energy crackling around him.

"Enough talk." His grip on the spear was so tight it looked like he wanted to shove it up Su Xiaobai’s ass. His aura surged, and then—he vanished.

Or at least, it looked like he vanished.

A second later—a storm of spears filled the air.

"Phantom Spear Technique!"

Whoosh!

The first spear split into two.

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

Then four.

Then eight.

Then—fuck it, too many to count.

Within a heartbeat, dozens of spears filled the arena, moving faster than a desperate virgin’s hands on his first night with a prostitute.

They flickered, twisted, and blocked every escape route.

Even if Su Xiaobai wanted to dodge—

It was already too fucking late.

Yan Xue’s Phantom Spear Technique should have been unstoppable—a storm of spears, fast as lightning, unpredictable as a whore’s loyalty.

And yet—

Su Xiaobai fucking vanished.

"What?!" Yan Xue’s spear arm stiffened, his pupils shaking like a gambling addict on his last bet.

Not just him—even the Peak Lords were looking around like someone just snatched their wallets.

Swoosh!

"There!" someone pointed.

No—gone again.

A flicker. There—then gone—then there.

"Phantom steps?" The Fire Peak Lord Huo Rong’s thick brows furrowed as he rubbed his bald head. "No… that ain’t just speed."

Feng Ruhu, the Beast Taming Peak Lord, narrowed his eyes. His golden eagle, perched beside him, let out a shrill cry.

"Even my bird cannot track him…"

Beside him, Hei Wuying chuckled, voice tinged with amusement.

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"Perhaps your bird is just as blind as its master."

BANG!

A loud slap rang out.

Feng Ruhu’s palm landed clean across Hei Wuying’s masked face, sending his already cracked mask splintering further.

"Did I ask for a opinion?" Feng Ruhu withdrew his hand as if swatting a fly.

Hei Wuying tilted his head back up slowly, adjusting what was left of his mask. He didn’t respond. Not because he was merciful—

—but because he wanted to keep his fucking head attached to his shoulders.

Meanwhile, in the Arena…

Yan Xue’s face darkened, "Coward! You think this is a game? Fight me like a man!"

Su Xiaobai’s voice came from behind him.

"Alright. I’ll be gentle."

Yan Xue whipped around—too late.

A whisper—a fist cutting through the air like a collapsing star.

"Grand Collapsing Fist — First Form: Collapsing Mountain Strike."

BOOM!

The entire arena trembled as Su Xiaobai’s punch landed.

Yan Xue’s body lifted from the ground—launched like a meteor—before slamming into the edge of the platform with a deafening crash.

He didn’t just fall.

He cratered into the jade platform.

A deep, body-shaped imprint remained where he hit, smoke rising from the impact like the aftermath of a divine punishment.

"AAAAAGH—"

The crowd flinched.

"That’s mercy?! If he used full strength, that man would be dust!"

"His bones must be shattered!"

"Senior Brother Su, your kindness is terrifying!"

Su Xiaobai cracked his knuckles. "He’s still breathing, isn’t he?"

A low groan came from the rubble. Yan Xue twitched—barely hugging to consciousness.

"Someone scrape him off the arena. We still have more to go."

It was Hei Wuying who spoke, his tone as indifferent as if Yan Xue wasn’t his own fucking disciple.

The crowd side-eyed him.

"Damn, not even a word of concern?"

"Tsk, Radiant Peak truly has no humanity."

"What humanity? They’re all fucking spies!"

But Hei Wuying didn’t care. He already knew.

Yan Xue was never going to win.

Su Xiaobai’s speed? That wasn’t Phantom Steps, the widely known movement technique among spies and assassins.

No—it was something far more terrifying.

Something that tore space itself.

The moment Su Xiaobai moved, Hei Wuying recognized it instantly.

Spatial Steps.

A technique so rare and mysterious that most cultivators never even heard of it.

And yet, Su Xiaobai used it so casually, as if it was just another trick in his arsenal.

Hei Wuying was impressed.

But more importantly—

Hei Wuying wanted it.

As Yan Xue was being dragged off the arena like a discarded corpse, Hei Wuying slowly stood up, brushing the dust off his black robes. His cracked mask glinted under the sunlight, his eyes hidden but his intent clear.

"Su Xiaobai," his voice carried across the arena, smooth and unhurried, "I don’t want you to join our Radiant Peak."

"Huh?"

"Then what the hell does he want?"

Hei Wuying’s lips curled behind his mask.

"But that movement technique of yours… that’s a different story."

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Su Xiaobai’s eyes narrowed.

Hei Wuying continued, "Give it to us. It would greatly benefit the sect. Of course, it won’t be for free—"

His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair.

Then he named his price.

"One million contribution points."