Chapter Sixty-nine: The Return of the King of Acting!

Suddenly, Jiang Yuan erupted with a formidable aura, summoning forth the imperial fortune of the Human Sovereign. The tyrant’s oppressive might forced all the less accomplished soldiers to bow to the ground; even Deng Zhong, a Celestial Immortal, could not withstand such pressure. Anyone whose cultivation was lower than Jiang Yuan’s was rendered powerless before his tyrannical presence.

Even Wen Zhong was taken aback. At this moment, Jiang Yuan's momentum was extraordinary; had his own level been any lower, he too might have found himself compelled to pay homage.

Shrouded in the aura of the Human Sovereign, Jiang Yuan's figure appeared almost unreal, blurred and indistinct.

All were watching with intense curiosity, eager to see how the so-called Human Sovereign could make his words law. Nezha’s eyes were wide with wonder, determined not to miss a single detail—such marvels he had never witnessed before.

Even Zhang Kui, who had previously undergone one of Jiang Yuan’s baptisms, found himself filled with anticipation. After all, the Grand Preceptor had advanced from the peak of Golden Immortal to Great Luo Golden Immortal—if the King could achieve this, might he not help Zhang Kui himself ascend to True Immortal in the future?

This was closely tied to his own interests, and Zhang Kui could not feign indifference.

Ironically, the calmest among them was Grand Preceptor Wen Zhong himself. The truth was, he could not quite believe Jiang Yuan would truly help him break through to the Great Luo Golden Immortal realm—such a feat was simply too far-fetched.

“I, as the Human Sovereign of Heaven and Earth, command the world, and bestow upon Wen Zhong the realm of Great Luo Golden Immortal!”

Jiang Yuan’s voice rang out, deep and tinged with an enigmatic authority.

Wen Zhong waited a moment, only to find there was no change within him, not a trace of advancement in his cultivation. He looked at Jiang Yuan with some puzzlement and a hint of concern. “My King?”

He feared Jiang Yuan might have suffered some backlash.

In truth, Jiang Yuan was currently communicating with his system after putting on his grand performance.

“Hey, you lousy system, hurry up and process the transaction!” Jiang Yuan urged, desperate not to have his moment ruined.

Don’t spoil my dramatic spellcasting now!

“Ding! Transaction complete. 399 Tyrant Points have been deducted. Current Tyrant Points: 420.”

“The host may at any time promote Wen Zhong to Great Luo Golden Immortal.”

Seeing the Tyrant Points deducted, Jiang Yuan finally breathed a sigh of relief. The system might be a swindler, but at least it had some credibility; it had never yet given him a faulty item.

Jiang Yuan suddenly dispelled his overwhelming aura and, face stern and imposing, addressed the Grand Preceptor: “Grand Preceptor, come before me.”

Wen Zhong, half doubtful, approached. As he stood before Jiang Yuan, the latter abruptly raised his palm and brought it down sharply upon Wen Zhong’s head.

“Go!”

Jiang Yuan’s palm landed squarely on the back of Wen Zhong’s head.

A resounding slap echoed.

Everyone present was dumbfounded. Had they seen correctly? Had the King just slapped the Grand Preceptor?

Wen Zhong had never suffered such indignity, especially since, in his heart, King Zhou was still a junior. How was he to face the army after this? Without hesitation, he raised his twin whips, ready to teach Jiang Yuan a lesson, with no regard for the etiquette of monarch and minister.

“Is Your Majesty mocking this old man?” Wen Zhong thundered with anger.

Jiang Yuan quickly interjected, “Grand Preceptor, please quell your anger. Now, perhaps you should check your cultivation.”

Wen Zhong paused, then followed the King’s suggestion and examined himself.

His expression changed dramatically—he had truly advanced to the realm of Great Luo Golden Immortal in such a short span!

Seeing Wen Zhong’s reaction, Jiang Yuan knew his slap had not been in vain—this, too, was a bit of petty revenge for earlier slights. Who had dared to challenge him just now? Now, with a single slap, not only did Wen Zhong have to thank him, he owed him a debt of gratitude.

Jiang Yuan felt a surge of pride—what a genius he was!

“Thank you, my King!” Wen Zhong’s heart overflowed with gratitude. After years of fruitless effort, the King had solved his dilemma in an instant.

He now looked at Jiang Yuan with new eyes; the King had truly grown into someone even he could no longer fathom.

Such miraculous powers he had never even heard of. The thought made Wen Zhong’s eyes grow moist with emotion.

“With such divine abilities, how could our great Dynasty Shang not flourish?” Wen Zhong exclaimed.

“The Grand Preceptor flatters me,” Jiang Yuan replied with feigned modesty, waving his hand.

But Wen Zhong’s next words nearly made cold sweat break out on Jiang Yuan’s back.

“Was it the same for General Zhang?” Wen Zhong inquired with a puzzled look at Zhang Kui—such a promotion ceremony was, to say the least, bizarre.

Zhang Kui, suddenly put on the spot, was at a loss. He could sense the King’s mischief in avenging himself on the Grand Preceptor, but did not dare betray the King with the truth.

But the Grand Preceptor was one who could scold or strike the King at will; if he learned the truth later, not even the King could protect Zhang Kui. After a long hesitation, Zhang Kui finally gave a vague answer: “I suppose so?”

This reply clearly displeased Wen Zhong, who frowned and snapped, “It either is or it isn't. What do you mean, 'I suppose so'? Are you trying to fool me, General Zhang?”

Zhang Kui was in agony, glancing apologetically at Jiang Yuan—he was about to confess everything.

“At the time, the King...” Zhang Kui had barely begun to speak when Jiang Yuan sensed trouble.

Immediately, he feigned weakness, his body swaying as if on the verge of collapse, his voice faint: “Grand Preceptor, I suggest we return to camp. I am greatly spent; such a feat has drained my very soul, and I have need of rest.”

As expected, at these words, Wen Zhong’s expression turned to concern. “Is Your Majesty unharmed?”

Jiang Yuan shook his head, pretending to be resolute. “It is nothing, rest will suffice.”

“Good. Once you have recovered, I shall look forward to a few more slaps myself,” Wen Zhong said, reassured.

At this, Jiang Yuan nearly lost his balance, stumbling where he stood.

No more, or I’ll truly be emptied out!

“Return to camp, I am weary,” Jiang Yuan said, waving his hand.

Wen Zhong summoned the Black Qilin, urging, “My King, please mount.”

Jiang Yuan did not refuse, seating himself atop the beast.

Wen Zhong turned to the gathered soldiers and ordered, “Form ranks! Back to camp! This battle is our great victory!”

“Long live the King!” the soldiers shouted in unison.

Ordinarily, their cry would be “Long live the Grand Preceptor,” but today the King was present, and victory was indeed due to him.

Jiang Yuan merely nodded weakly, thinking now was not the time to reveal the truth—otherwise, he’d be in for a beating.

Just then, Zhang Kui approached, leading the Violet Jade Qilin for Jiang Yuan. He quietly asked, “My King, did I handle things to your satisfaction?”

To hell with your satisfaction—couldn’t you just have said yes or no? You nearly got me killed.

Were it not for the need to keep up appearances, Jiang Yuan would have given Zhang Kui a hard kick.

Are you supposed to be clever? What have I done to deserve such a pig-headed teammate?

Inwardly, Jiang Yuan could only admire his own acting skills. No wonder he bore the nickname “Nicholas Jiang Yuan,” a modest little film emperor.