The morning sun filtered through the training courtyard, scattering long beams of light across the stone floor. Lin Feng stood bare-chested at the center, his breathing slow, steady, controlled. His skin glistened faintly with sweat, but beneath that calm exterior, his muscles thrummed with a faint, controlled power.
He slowly opened his eyes.
"I've finished the first level of the Golden Body Manual," he murmured, flexing his fists. "My body is as tough as a Xiantian-level weapon."
A faint smile curved his lips. The air around him seemed heavier now, every motion deliberate and precise.
Suddenly, a deep voice echoed across the Lin family estate:
"Every member of the Lin family, gather at the fighting arena!"
The elder's call rolled like thunder.
Lin Feng exhaled softly. "The clan assembly…" he whispered.
Within moments, the estate came alive. Servants and disciples rushed toward the arena, chatter filling the courtyards.
"Is it time for the clan assembly?" someone said excitedly.
"I heard top powerhouses are sending envoys to pick disciples!"
"They say the top ten can choose which sect to enter!"
"And the first place—he'll receive a Xiantian-level weapon and skill!"
Lin Feng's hand tightened into a fist. A Xiantian weapon… and a chance to show them all that I'm not trash. His jaw clenched. I'll take first place. No matter what.
When he arrived at the arena, whispers followed him like shadows.
"Isn't that the Lin family's trash? What's he doing here?"
"He actually came? He thinks the competition's for people like him?"
Lin Feng ignored them all. His steps were calm, eyes forward, expression unreadable.
From the edge of the crowd, a sneering voice cut through the noise.
"Lin Feng, what are you doing here? This isn't a place for trash like you."
Lin Yun stepped forward — the third elder's son, his robe pristine, his posture proud. His aura pressed faintly outward; a fourth-grade mortal realm cultivator.
Lin Feng didn't even glance at him. "How's that your business?" he said flatly.
Lin Yun's face darkened. "You—trash!" He lunged forward, his right arm snapping into a strike.
"Tiger Fist!"
The air whistled as his fist cut through it, but Lin Feng's expression didn't change. He shifted his stance, grounding his weight, and threw his own punch — no technique, just pure physical force.
Their fists collided.
Bang!
A sharp crack echoed. Lin Yun's body jerked back violently before crashing onto the stone floor, sliding several meters away. He clutched his right arm, his face twisting in pain.
"Ahhh! My arm—!"
The crowd gasped.
"Lin Yun was sent flying with one punch!"
"Is Lin Feng a fourth-grade expert now?"
Lin Feng lowered his hand, flexing his fingers once. "So weak," he said quietly.
Lin Yun's eyes burned with hatred as he staggered up, clutching his broken arm. "I'll kill you! My senior brother will deal with you at the arena!"
"Bring it on," Lin Feng said, his tone calm, almost bored.
Without another glance, he walked toward the registration table.
The elder there scowled when he saw Lin Feng approach. "Your name and cultivation level?" he said curtly.
"Lin Feng. Fourteen years old. Sixth-grade mortal realm."
The elder's expression turned sharp with irritation. "Do you think this is a joke?"
Lin Feng's eyes narrowed. A subtle shift in his breathing, and the air seemed to grow denser around him. His inner qi pulsed once — calm but unmistakably strong.
The elder's brows furrowed. That aura… sixth-grade? Impossible!
Around them, the crowd began murmuring.
"Am I seeing things? Lin Feng's a sixth-grade expert?"
"I thought he had trash talent!"
"What kind of training did he do?"
The elder composed himself quickly, then waved a hand. "Fine. Take this token. The number of stars shows your victories. You're number one hundred."
Lin Feng took the token respectfully. "Thank you."
As he turned toward the arena, the atmosphere was already electric.
High above the crowd, the Lin family patriarch stood and raised his hand. His voice carried across the entire courtyard.
"This year's clan assembly will be different," he declared. "Representatives from the Martial Pavilion, the Ye family, and the Gold Sea Sect will be observing!"
A ripple of shock moved through the disciples.
"Why are the other powerhouses here?"
"Even the Gold Sea Sect?"
"This is huge!"
The patriarch's gaze sharpened. "Silence! In addition, the envoys of the Sword Sovereign Sect, the Martial Sect, and the Fire Pavilion will be watching. The top ten will have the power to choose which sect to enter. Do your best."
He lowered his hand. "Let the battles begin."
"Number fifteen versus number thirty-six!" the elder shouted.
Cheers erupted as two disciples stepped forward. Fists clashed, dust rose, the sound of blows echoed like drumbeats. Lin Feng stood silently among the crowd, his gaze calm and unblinking.
"Wow, Lin Wang is dominating again," someone whispered. "The genius of the Lin family—he's already at the ninth-grade martial realm."
Moments later, another voice called out:
"Number one hundred versus number eighty-seven!"
The crowd buzzed instantly.
"Number one hundred? That's Lin Feng, right?"
"He's fighting Qin Yun from the Martial Pavilion—he's seventh-grade!"
"This should be over quickly…"
Lin Feng walked calmly into the arena. Across from him stood Qin Yun — tall, confident, a faint smirk on his lips.
"I'm Qin Yun," he said arrogantly. "You should surrender before I embarrass you."
Lin Feng's silence only made the smirk deepen.
"You dare ignore me?" Qin Yun snapped. He drew his sword in one smooth motion and swung.
"Rock Stunning Slash!"
The blade cut through the air with precision and weight, aiming straight for Lin Feng's shoulder. The crowd gasped.
But Lin Feng didn't move until the last possible second. His right foot slid half a step back, his torso turning as he raised his arm. His fist shot forward like a piston, his breath sharp and controlled.
"Dragon Fist!"
The blow connected with a thunderous impact.
Boom!
The shockwave kicked up dust around them. Qin Yun's sword went flying as he himself was hurled backward, hitting the arena floor hard and rolling several meters before lying still, his face bloodied and stunned.
Lin Feng lowered his hand slowly, his expression calm. "So weak."
The arena fell silent. Then—
"He sent him flying with a single punch!"
"Wasn't Qin Yun the Martial Pavilion's second genius?"
"What kind of strength is that?"
The envoys watching from the stands leaned forward, eyes narrowing in interest.
"Find out everything about that boy," the Fire Pavilion envoy muttered.
The elder cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly. "Number one hundred… wins!"
The arena buzzed with excitement. Dust still floated in the air from Lin Feng's previous match, but he was already walking calmly back to his corner, his eyes steady, his breathing slow.
"That kid… he didn't even use a weapon," murmured an elder.
"And that wasn't even a full-force strike," another added.
"Number one hundred wins again!" the announcer shouted.
Another cheer followed.
Lin Feng's lips twitched slightly. "So this is the level of the so-called Martial Pavilion geniuses?" he whispered. "Far weaker than I imagined."
Over the next hour, his name echoed again and again through the courtyard.
"No. 100 wins!"
"No. 100 wins again!"
"No. 100 advances!"
Each time, the crowd roared louder. The dust, the sound of fists meeting flesh, the vibration of shattered stones beneath the fighters' feet — it all became a rhythm. Lin Feng was the rhythm's heartbeat.
"Ten wins in a row," whispered one disciple. "He's unstoppable."
"Lin Feng is the dark horse of the tournament!"
"He might even enter the top five!"
Women in the crowd whispered excitedly.
"He's so calm."
"And that hair—so handsome…"
Lin Feng ignored it all, his focus fixed on one thing: first place.
"Number one hundred versus number fifteen!" the elder announced.
The arena fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted with anticipation.
"Number fifteen… that's Ye Ning, the Ye family's number one genius!"
"She's a ninth-grade mortal realm expert! Lin Feng's luck just ran out."
When Lin Feng stepped into the arena, his eyes locked onto Ye Ning — tall, graceful, her saber gleaming under the sunlight. Her black hair danced with the wind, and a faint, confident smile curved her lips.
"What a beauty," Lin Feng said quietly.
She cupped her fist. "Ye Ning."
"Lin Feng." He returned the gesture.
"Then let's begin."
Without hesitation, Ye Ning moved. Her foot pressed against the stone floor, sending a faint shockwave as she shot forward. Her saber whistled through the air, slicing horizontally toward Lin Feng's ribs.
The strike was fast — a clean, practiced cut — and her qi flowed smoothly through her meridians, sharpening the edge of her weapon.
"She's strong," Lin Feng murmured, eyes narrowing. He raised his blade, blocking the strike.
Clang!
The collision of metal echoed like thunder. Lin Feng's feet slid half a meter backward, and Ye Ning took five steps back, her eyes wide. What? He blocked that?
Whispers rippled through the arena.
"He forced her back!"
"He didn't even use a technique!"
Ye Ning's gaze sharpened. "You're better than I thought."
"Hmph. You haven't seen anything yet."
She swung her saber again, her qi flaring. A faint streak of lightning crackled around the blade.
"Thunder Saber Art — Splitting the Sky!"
Her saber roared downward, a blinding arc of energy tearing through the air. The crowd gasped, shielding their eyes.
Lin Feng felt the air compress around him. So she's cultivated it to the mastery level… impressive.
But he didn't dodge. His body sank slightly, right foot stomping against the ground as he gathered his qi. The phantom of a golden dragon flickered faintly behind him.
"Dragon Fist!"
He threw his punch forward, his qi surging through his meridians like molten iron. The energy condensed into his fist before erupting outward.
BOOM!
A shockwave exploded from the center of the collision. The arena's barrier arrays shimmered as they absorbed the force. Dust and debris flew everywhere.
When the smoke cleared, Ye Ning was kneeling outside the boundary line, her hand pressed to her chest, blood staining her lips. Her internal qi was in disarray — her meridians trembling.
Meanwhile, Lin Feng stood within the ring, chest rising and falling, his right arm cracked slightly from the recoil of power.
"The Ye family patriarch is shocked," someone whispered. "A sixth-grade defeating a ninth-grade?"
"No… that's impossible!"
Lin Feng looked at the faint cracks forming along his forearm and smirked. "If my body wasn't this strong, that attack would've shattered my bones. She really is powerful."
The elder stepped forward, raising his arm. "Number one hundred wins!"
Cheers erupted, shaking the very air.
Up in the viewing platform, the envoys leaned toward each other, murmuring.
"Sixth-grade mortal realm… defeating a ninth-grade. This Lin Feng is extraordinary."
"Send word to the sects. He's worth recruiting."
Down below, Lin Wang — the Lin family's genius and son of the Patriarch — watched silently, his expression unreadable. "I have to take him seriously," he said softly.
Beside him, Xiang Zhong from the Martial Pavilion snorted. "Hmph. He just got lucky. Let's see how long that luck lasts."
Moments later, the elder's voice boomed again.
"Number one hundred versus number thirty-five!"
A thin man stepped into the arena, his face pale. He cupped his fist quickly. "I surrender!"
The crowd laughed as Lin Feng nodded once and walked off.
"Number one hundred wins again!"
Soon, only four contestants remained.
"The top four: Lin Wang, Xiang Zhong, Ye Ning, and Lin Feng!" the elder announced.
Excitement rippled through the stands.
"The final four already?!"
"Lin Feng made it that far?"
The four contestants stepped forward to draw tokens.
"Xiang Zhong versus Lin Feng!"
"Lin Wang versus Ye Ning!"
Lin Feng and Xiang Zhong climbed into the arena.
"I'll bet on Xiang Zhong," someone whispered.
"No way, Lin Feng's going to crush him."
Xiang Zhong sneered. "Don't get cocky just because you beat a girl. You'll regret challenging me."
Lin Feng smiled faintly. "If you can make me draw my weapon, I lose."
That calm statement struck Xiang Zhong like a slap. His face darkened. "You'll regret that arrogance!"
He lunged forward, his sword cutting through the air.
"Rock-Crushing Slash!"
The blade hummed with raw qi, the edges vibrating violently as it tore toward Lin Feng's chest.
Lin Feng didn't move at first. He studied the trajectory, the subtle bend of the arm, the flow of energy — then he raised his palm sharply.
"Cloud Palm — Splitting the Clouds!"
His qi burst outward, dense and refined. When his palm met the sword, the energy pulsed in a controlled wave.
BOOM!
The sound was deafening. Xiang Zhong's sword snapped in half, shards scattering across the arena floor. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Before he could react, Lin Feng's knee rose sharply, followed by a devastating kick to the stomach.
Bang!
Xiang Zhong's body folded around the impact and shot backward like a broken arrow, crashing into the ground.
He coughed blood, gasping, but Lin Feng was already in front of him again — his movement like a blur.
A straight punch cracked across Xiang Zhong's jaw.
Thud!
"Ahhhh!"
Lin Feng grabbed his collar, eyes cold. "So who's cocky now?"
"I—I surrender!" Xiang Zhong shouted, voice breaking.
"Number one hundred wins!"
The arena erupted again.
"He didn't even use his weapon!"
"He broke Xiang Zhong's sword with his bare hand!"
From the viewing stands, the Martial Pavilion Master's expression turned grim. "How is this possible…?"
The elder turned back to the stage. "Lin Wang wins his match!"
A moment later, the air filled with tension.
"The final battle: Lin Wang versus Lin Feng! The finals will be held tomorrow!" the Patriarch declared.