The Almighty Dominance (by Sunshine) novel Chapter 639

The citizens of Qingshui erupted.

A stout housewife, her apron still dusted with flour from the morning’s baking, snatched up her best embroidered tablecloth and hurled it high like a battle flag. She stormed straight toward the nearest Qingcheng disciple, moving with the raw fury of an angry lioness.

“We spent all morning polishing that silver!” she screamed, her voice cracking with pure, unfiltered rage. “Do you have any idea how long it took to make it look tempting enough?”

Fat merchants dropped to their knees in the dusty street, clutching desperately at the disciples’ robes. “Please,” one begged, voice trembling, “just go away. Don’t ruin my business.”

“Old man,” one disciple replied, struggling to keep his tone steady, “we’re here to protect your business from being robbed.”

A silk trader wailed in despair. “Heroes, please! We finally had robbers—real ones! Go away! Let them rob us!”

“Last time we got robbed, my wife got a new dress. What do heroes even bring? Moral lectures?”

An old man pushed forward, eyes narrowed. “Heroes… are you going to rob us then?”

The disciple recoiled, shocked. “What?”

“If you’re not going to rob us,” the old man said, voice flat and desperate, “then please, just leave.”

“We’re trying to save you,” another disciple insisted, frustration sharpening his words. “How can you not understand?”

“We have no need of your help!” the crowd shouted back. “We need to be robbed! How can you not understand something so simple?”

The old widow who sold nothing but pickled vegetables stepped out of the throng, eyes blazing beneath her wrinkled brow. She heaved a heavy jar of brine high and smashed it at the feet of the nearest junior sister. Vinegar and shattered clay sprayed across the young woman’s robes, the sharp, sour smell exploding into the air.

“If you don’t get out of this place right now,” the widow roared, her voice surprisingly strong and fierce for her age, “I will fight every last one of you to the death!”

Then a very old woman—well into her eighties—hobbled forward on a walking stick. In one smooth motion she drew a slender sword from inside the cane. The blade was old, yet its edge still gleamed with deadly promise.

“When I was young,” she announced, gaze sharp and proud, “they called me the most beautiful Xiao Mei in three provinces. Back then I could have handled ten of you with one hand. If you want to help us, get out of here. But if you want to rob us… we’ll welcome you with open arms.”

The entire street took up the chant, voices rising into a thunderous roar. “Go away! Go away! We want to be robbed!”

The bandits stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, weapons still half-raised, mouths hanging open in disbelief. One younger outlaw whispered, voice thick with awe and confusion, “Is this… really heaven for bandits?”

“If heaven serves free banquets and angry grannies welcome us with open arms… I’m converting.”

The Qingcheng disciples stared in stunned silence for a heartbeat longer.

“Please,” one of them finally managed, voice cracking with shock. “We only want to help you.”

“Get out of here!” the citizens roared back. Their fury turned into weapons in an instant.

Housewives snatched up heavy rolling pins. Butchers grabbed cleavers in one hand and entire sides of roasted pork in the other, swinging the meat like gruesome clubs. Merchants scooped up stones from the street and began hurling them with vicious accuracy.

The disciples stood frozen, faces pale with disbelief. In all their years of training and righteous deeds, they had never been treated worse than the very bandits they had come to defeat.

“They’re the bandits you should be chasing away—not kind people like us!” a woman disciple screamed.

“Get out!” the crowd thundered. “You’re ruining everything!”

The Qingcheng disciples stumbled backward, eyes wide. The senior brother swung his sword in a desperate arc, parrying a flying roasted chicken leg that came hurtling toward his face. A stone whistled past his ear, missing by inches.

“We’re trying to protect you!” he shouted, voice breaking with frustration. “These men are thieves! Can’t you understand that?”

A merchant lobbed another stone, face twisted in anger. “Then go protect someone else! Go bother the Wudang sect—they’ve got real cultivators who can actually handle you all!”

Chaos spilled through the streets like a festival gone mad. The disciples ran, white robes flapping wildly behind them as they tried to explain, to reason, to invoke justice and righteousness. Every plea earned them fresh volleys of rotten vegetables, stinging insults, and flying furniture.

The junior sisters shrieked as rotten tomatoes cracked dangerously close to their ankles. The senior brother glanced back once, face streaked with sweat and burning humiliation. The entire city had turned against them, herding the disciples toward the eastern gates like unwanted stray dogs.

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