Yang Yigu's sword technique was truly astonishing.
"Seemingly chaotic yet meticulously structured, unorthodox yet fundamentally sound—Brother Yang, your sword technique is remarkable," Chen Zong praised.
"I see you appreciate my swordsmanship," Yang Yigu said, shaking his head. He raised his wine gourd, never missing an opportunity to promote his brew. "Care for a drink?"
"Sure," Chen Zong replied, setting down a fresh cup. He was curious why Yang Yigu always insisted on sharing his wine, and why everyone he offered it to invariably refused.
Then, Chen Zong learned the true meaning of bitter fruit.
This wasn't wine at all—it was a cup of pure bitter water, not just acrid but intensely strong and utterly repulsive. Chen Zong finally understood why those who heard Yang Yigu's invitation to drink fled in panic.
"You lack appreciation," Yang Yigu sighed, observing Chen Zong's grimace. "This wine is brewed from over a dozen first- and second-grade medicinal herbs. It nourishes the body and replenishes Qi Blood. Don't you see? It's like life itself—born into hardship, we must endure bitter trials before tasting the sweetness of triumph."
Chen Zong couldn't bring himself to spit it out, so he held the bitter liquid in his mouth, letting the harshness spread across his palate, making his scalp tingle.
Slowly, Chen Zong keenly sensed a hint of sweetness emerging from the intense bitterness. It gradually spread, eventually supplanting the bitterness with a mellow, sweet flavor.
The conflicted expression on his face relaxed, replaced by a sense of pleasure. He swallowed the mouthful in one gulp, feeling a comforting warmth spread through his body.
"Bitterness yields to sweetness—a truly remarkable brew," Chen Zong sighed sincerely. His heartfelt praise made Yang Yigu's eyes light up as if he had found a kindred spirit.
"From this moment forward, I, Yang Yigu, consider you my friend," Yang Yigu declared earnestly. His hazy eyes seemed to sharpen momentarily, his tone serious, before reverting to their drunken haze. The fleeting clarity was like a hallucination.
Others, especially those born into privilege, could never truly understand the profound meaning contained within that bitter mouthful. But Chen Zong understood it perfectly—it was a reflection of his past decade, his present year, and what he envisioned for his future.
Yang Yigu must feel the same way, Chen Zong thought.
At the banquet, another friendly sparring match concluded.
"Kong Lianshan, you're just a commoner. What right do you have to stand among the Six Young Prodigies?" Wang Shenghong rose to his feet, pointing rudely at Kong Lianshan. "Come out here and I'll show you that you don't deserve to be here."
"As you wish," Kong Lianshan replied calmly, remaining seated as steady as a boulder. His expression unchanged, he slowly rose and strode to the center of the arena.
"Take this!" Wang Shenghong charged forward, his fists slamming into Kong Lianshan like a relentless cascade of stones rolling down a mountainside. The continuous impact of his blows echoed like boulders cascading down a mountainside.
This was the Perfection Realm Rolling Stone Fist Technique, a Foundation Establishment Martial Art.
Kong Lianshan remained composed. He extended his arms, raised his palms vertically, and deployed the Boulder Palm Technique, a Foundation Establishment Martial Art, with steady, methodical strikes.
Wang Shenghong's punches rained down in a furious barrage, while Kong Lianshan's palms stood firm as boulders. Both were at the fourth layer of the Qi Blood Realm, having tempered their Blood Qi six times. Their fundamental capabilities were evenly matched; victory would hinge solely on their combat prowess.
The clash of fists and palms resonated like thunderous war drums, the impact echoing through the arena.
For a time, Wang Shenghong couldn't break through Kong Lianshan's defenses. His expression grew increasingly grim as his attacks failed, especially since he had personally challenged Kong Lianshan. In contrast, Kong Lianshan remained calm, unhurried, and unperturbed, his movements precise and composed.
"Boulder Break!" Frustrated by his inability to breach Kong Lianshan's defenses, Wang Shenghong channeled his Qi Blood Power and unleashed the first layer of the Low-Grade Human-Rank Boulder Fist Technique: Boulder Break.
At the Entry Realm, Boulder Break caused Wang Shenghong's fist to swell, transforming into a massive stone-like mass that slammed violently into Kong Lianshan.
Kong Lianshan's expression shifted slightly. He immediately activated his Qi Blood Power, causing his palms to enlarge and rotate like millstones.
"Mountain Guarding Stance!"
The first layer of the Mountain Guarding Palm Technique, Mountain Guarding Stance, had been mastered.
The collision produced a deafening, muffled thud that shook the hearts of everyone present.
"Boulder Break!"
Furious that his initial strike had failed, Wang Shenghong roared and repeatedly surged his Qi Blood Power, bombarding Kong Lianshan with successive Boulder Breaks. His fists crashed down like a hail of massive stones.
Kong Lianshan countered with repeated bursts of Qi Blood Power, maintaining his Mountain Guarding Stance. The two seemed locked in a battle of attrition.
Ranked Martial Arts required Qi Blood Power to execute, draining the user's reserves with each use. Overuse could weaken one's foundation and prove counterproductive.
After several more thunderous clashes, Wang Shenghong's face paled. His Qi Blood Power was nearly exhausted, and continuing at this pace threatened to damage his foundational strength—a disastrous outcome. The gains would not outweigh the cost.
Seizing the momentary pause, Kong Lianshan struck out with his palms. He blocked one, but the other landed squarely on Wang Shenghong's chest with a resounding thud, like the striking of a drum. Wang Shenghong staggered backward, his chest throbbing as if shattered by the blow.
"Hmph," Wang Shenghong spat, his pale face contorted with resentment. Humiliated by his defeat, he slumped back into his seat without another word.
Kong Lianshan excels at defense, Chen Zong mused. To defeat him, one must either find a weakness in his guard or overwhelm him with superior force. There's no other way.
The sparring continued, match after match, each a display of Foundation Establishment Martial Arts between cultivators of equal cultivation bases.
The diverse combatants, varied martial arts, and contrasting fighting styles broadened Chen Zong's perspective, forming a cumulative experience. While these insights might not yield immediate results, they would subtly influence his future cultivation path, guiding him toward greater mastery.
From time to time, Chen Zong engaged Yang Yigu in discussions, exchanging insights on combat and sword techniques, fostering a valuable exchange of ideas.
"Chen Zong, you're just a member of the Branch Clan! You have no right to stand among us, the Six Young Prodigies!" Yang Feiyu snarled, his eyes blazing with fury as he drew his sword and pointed it directly at Chen Zong.
Clearly, Yang Feiyu was redirecting his anger at Yang Yigu onto Chen Zong. Unable to confront Yang Yigu directly, he resented Chen Zong's friendly rapport with him.
But since Yang Feiyu had issued a public challenge, Chen Zong naturally wouldn't refuse. To be honest, after watching so many battles, his hands were itching for a fight.
He rose, drew his sword, and strode toward Yang Feiyu, the blade shimmering softly in the light.
"A Branch Clan member is still a Branch Clan member. You can't even afford a Precious Iron Sword. Want me to lend you one?" Yang Feiyu sneered, glancing at Chen Zong's refined iron sword with undisguised contempt.
"Sure, I'll take the one you're holding," Chen Zong retorted.
Yang Feiyu's face froze in astonishment, then turned livid. The onlookers gasped, then burst into laughter.
Yang Feiyu had shot himself in the foot.
A Precious Iron Sword was no trivial possession, let alone one he'd gift to someone he despised. The very thought was absurd.
"Spare me your empty boasts," Yang Feiyu hissed, his voice icy. With a swift and graceful motion, he thrust his sword forward, executing the Flying Wild Goose Sword Art at its peak of perfection.
Sword followed sword in a relentless flurry, each blade slicing through the air like a wild goose in flight, striking at Chen Zong from every angle.
Chen Zong remained unfazed. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his sword in a precise point strike. A piercing eagle's screech echoed through the air, so sharp that onlookers mistook it for a raptor swooping down—an earsplitting sound.
In terms of raw power, the Eagle Strike Sword Technique and the Flying Wild Goose Sword Art were equally matched. But Chen Zong had honed his Eagle Strike Sword Technique to the Subtlety Realm, far surpassing the Perfection Realm of Yang Feiyu's Flying Wild Goose Sword Art.
Thrust after thrust, Chen Zong shattered every one of Yang Feiyu's dozen sword strikes in the blink of an eye.
The blade pierced toward Yang Feiyu's forehead, a blinding flash that momentarily blinded him. By the time he regained his vision, he felt a pinprick between his brows. He brushed it with his fingers and found a smear of crimson.
"Such speed!"
"Such lethality!"
Whispers of awe rippled through the crowd.
A glint of interest flashed in Tang Junluo's eyes. From Chen Zong's sword movements, he could see that the young man's skill had grown even faster, more precise, and deadlier.
"Now this is more like it," Tang Junluo murmured to himself. "Otherwise, defeating you would be no satisfaction at all."
Yang Yigu, his left hand paused mid-raise with his wine gourd, caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Chen Zong's sword technique had far exceeded his expectations.
With that, Yang Feiyu's defeat was inevitable.
"Die!" Yang Feiyu roared, unwilling to accept defeat. His hatred for Chen Zong intensified with each passing moment, especially after being wounded by him. Channeling his Qi Blood Power, he unleashed the first level of the Flying Eagle Sword Art:
Flying Eagle Kill!
The Precious Iron Sword, its tip honed to a razor-sharp edge resembling an eagle's beak, thrust viciously toward Chen Zong's chest, aiming to pierce straight through.
"Stop!"
"How dare you!"
Activating the Fierce Tiger Art, Chen Zong circulated his Qi Blood, amplifying his strength. Entering the Subtlety Realm, he executed the Willow Sweep Sword Technique, his body swaying like a willow branch in the wind, his sword dancing like a breeze. With a gentle touch, he deflected the Flying Eagle Kill before immediately counterattacking with a series of Eagle Strike Sword Technique strikes, also at the Subtlety Realm. Each blow landed with perfect precision, speed, and steadiness around the Flying Eagle Kill's trajectory.
He then transitioned to the Phantom Shadow Sword Technique, also at the Subtlety Realm. The sword light erupted in dazzling brilliance before dissolving into encroaching darkness, the alternating flashes of light and shadow momentarily disorienting Yang Feiyu.
Fueled by the Fierce Tiger Art's Qi Blood enhancement, Chen Zong seamlessly alternated between his three Subtlety Realm sword techniques, shattering the Flying Eagle Kill. He redirected his blade toward Yang Feiyu's face, a ruthless, decisive strike born of speed, accuracy, and unwavering resolve.
Yang Feiyu's pupils contracted in terror, but the sword moved too fast. The blade sliced mercilessly toward his throat, showing no mercy.
"Spare him!" a chorus of voices cried out. Tang Junhao acted swiftly, a spear materializing in his hand as he unleashed a surge of Qi Blood Power. The spear shot forward like a meteor chasing the moon, aiming to intercept the deadly strike.
The spear tip lightly brushed against the sword's edge, the collision of power stopping Chen Zong's attack. Chen Zong hastily retreated, but the impact had already shattered the tip of his sword.
Tang Junhao's spear was a Precious Iron Grade weapon of the highest quality, while Chen Zong's sword was a very ordinary Fine Iron Grade blade. A direct clash between them was bound to result in damage.
"Yang Feiyu, you're not welcome here. Leave now!" Tang Junhao roared, his anger palpable. Everyone had clearly seen that his earlier strike had been intended to kill Chen Zong.
Yang Feiyu stormed off, his face livid with rage.
"My apologies for damaging your sword. I'll compensate you," Tang Junhao said, turning to Chen Zong with a smile. "Someone, bring me a Precious Iron Sword."
"No, a refined iron sword will suffice," Chen Zong blurted out, startled.
The sword tip was its most crucial part; damage to it would severely diminish the blade's effectiveness.
"How can you give me a satisfying battle without a Precious Iron Sword?" Tang Junluo interjected, shocking the crowd. His words implied that he considered Chen Zong worthy of being his opponent. Was he overestimating him?
Soon, a Precious Iron Sword was brought forth. Tang Junhao presented it to Chen Zong with unwavering conviction. "Your sword technique is truly breathtaking. You deserve this blade."
"Thank you," Chen Zong said solemnly, accepting the sword with both hands. Gripping the ebony hilt with his right hand, he drew the blade slightly. Its razor-sharp edge gleamed with a faint azure light, reflecting in his eyes.