Chapter Eleven: Enlightenment

“Damn it! There’s another powerful foe!”
Lin Fan’s face paled in shock; he hadn’t anticipated anyone lurking in the shadows, leaving him utterly on the defensive.
The sword’s light came too swiftly, its destructive force terrifying, its mournful wail echoing across heaven and earth.
“Who are you?”
Coughing blood, Lin Fan roared furiously at the sky, raising his hand to summon the White Tiger Bearing the Dead, then leapt away like an arrow, fleeing into the distance.
He knew the person attacking now far surpassed him; he dared not linger in battle, his only option was escape.
Yet Lin Fan had underestimated his opponent.
The sword’s light rampaged, cleaving the massive white tiger in two in an instant, then pressed on, unstoppable.
Blood sprayed, Lin Fan was struck, his body flung sideways, a terrible wound appearing on his back, flesh turned outwards, bone visible beneath.
In just one move, he suffered grave injury.
Feng Wanchun watched from afar, his expression grave, no longer attacking Lin Fan. Even he had sensed the intense threat from that sword’s light—this was not an opponent to take lightly.
A figure cloaked in black walked from the distance—a middle-aged man with a blank expression, like a death god lurking in the shadows, his eyes filled with murderous intent.
“Who are you?”
Feng Wanchun questioned, already prepared to fight, his formidable aura coiled and ready—if he struck, it would be thunderous.
“I’m here to kill him.”
The middle-aged man ignored him, continuing toward Lin Fan, as if only Lin Fan existed in his eyes, refusing to yield until his goal was met.
“So that’s it. We’ll stay out of each other’s way.”
Feng Wanchun smiled; since their aims were the same, there was no need to clash. For him, as long as Lin Fan died, it mattered little whose hand dealt the blow.
“Damn!”
Lin Fan trembled, the pain in his back biting deep into his bones. Had he not summoned the White Tiger Bearing the Dead, buying a single breath’s respite, he would have been cut in two and perished.
“In the Celestial Capital Gate, I was but a menial servant, never offended anyone except Cheng Yu. Yet Feng Wanchun and this man seem unfamiliar with each other, so he can’t be Cheng Yu’s envoy. Who else could it be?”
Lin Fan pondered, and a name flashed through his mind.
“Li Hua? Could it be Li Hua’s grandfather?”

This was the only explanation. It seemed that Li Hua’s death had left Lin Fan in a dire predicament on Cloud Bamboo Peak.
“Kill!”
The middle-aged man growled, his sword blazing, a brilliant shaft dozens of meters long slashing horizontally through the air.
“Horrifying—no way to match him!”
Lin Fan’s face changed drastically; at such close range, escape was nearly impossible, and the sword’s light was so fast it nearly defied vision.
Blood danced through the air as Lin Fan barely managed to move his body, narrowly dodging the lethal blow.
The sword’s light grazed his shoulder, sending a spray of blood, and his arm went numb, nearly losing all feeling—but it was better than having his head severed.
“What now? This man is at least a master of the eighth realm of physical cultivation—I can’t handle one, let alone two attacking together.”
Lin Fan grew increasingly anxious; death seemed inevitable, with little chance for reversal.
“I was personally rescued by Senior Sister Yunxi and earned her favor. If you dare kill me, she will hold you accountable—none of you will escape her wrath!”
Lin Fan shouted, stalling for time, hoping his status as Yunxi’s chosen disciple might deter the two foes.
“If you die here, not even Yunxi, not anyone, will ever know.”
The middle-aged man snorted coldly, unmoved, sword poised to strike again.
Despair flooded Lin Fan’s heart; he hadn’t expected such brazen disregard for Yunxi, an overwhelming sense of powerlessness enveloping him.
“Strength! I need strength! I’m still too weak. If I had the power of a true disciple, crushing these two would be effortless. Without reaching the Vein Condensation realm, I am but an ant!”
Lin Fan raged inwardly, the last vestiges of pride from his growth banished entirely. There was no end to cultivation; there were always stronger foes. The fourth physical realm was barely worthy of the term ‘ant.’
“Die.”
The middle-aged man strode forth, expressionless, swinging his sword once more. Light danced, splendid and dazzling.
The blow hung like a suspended galaxy, its chilling aura sweeping out, as if a wild gale had arisen in the clearing, seven streams of brilliance trailing from the blade.
“Is... is that the Northern Dipper?”
Lin Fan’s eyes shot wide open, recognizing the profound principle hidden within the strike.
“So that’s it! The secret of the Seven Stars aligned! Ha!”

Suddenly, Lin Fan burst into laughter, closed his eyes, and began to move his arm, unleashing the Seven Star Fist.
In that instant, he began to comprehend the ultimate move of the Seven Star Fist—the Seven Stars aligned. Once he summoned all seven stars, his strength would double, reaching twenty-two thousand pounds, enough to suppress the two before him.
Boom!
A thunderous explosion erupted, dust flying, Lin Fan buried entirely beneath sand and earth, his figure lost from sight.
The middle-aged man’s face changed for the first time, struck by the sense that an aura was quietly growing stronger.
“Attack together!”
The man barked, a hint of fear in his voice. His sword glowed like a rainbow piercing the sun, a brilliant sweep slashing deep into the dust.
Feng Wanchun’s face also shifted, hesitating not in the slightest; the mighty Kunpeng unfurled its wings, pressing down forcefully.
“The Seven Stars aligned—so this is the true essence. All strength converges on a single point, erupting in a flash. That’s the secret—not just greater strength, but greater attack force.”
Enlightened, Lin Fan suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze like twin lanterns piercing the heavens.
“If that’s so, then all fist techniques are but external forms. Everything returns to the origin—strength gathers within me, I will dominate!”
He roared, understanding that the Seven Star Fist contained a method of exerting force that was nearly the Way itself—breaking through with a single point. Only cultivators at the Vein Condensation realm could truly grasp this, showing the fearsome power of the technique. No wonder it was an ancient method.
“You two have been arrogant enough. Now, I’ve found the path, and I’ll crush you both!”
Lin Fan roared, lifting his right arm and swinging a punch.
His left arm was crippled, unable to exert force for now.
It was an ordinary punch, yet it contained Lin Fan’s spirit, energy, and will. Seven gray stars hovered behind him, their light shining, an enormous hand reached out, grasping the sword’s light.
Crack!
A sharp shattering echoed—the sword’s light snapped. With the Seven Star Fist comprehended, Lin Fan’s power now reached twenty-two thousand pounds, far surpassing his two adversaries.
He changed his grip from claw to fist, smashing down on the Kunpeng’s phantom head. A miserable cry sounded, the massive Kunpeng shuddered, then exploded into mist, vanishing between heaven and earth.
“Now, it’s your turn.”