Chapter Ninety-Four: The World Can Be Left Behind

The master of the Li Family Martial Arts Hall, Li Xiangqiang, felt a surge of pride upon seeing the demeanor of Aoki, the master of the Greenwood Hall. Yet, he feigned humility and said, “Aoki, you’re too modest. I’ll say it now: if anyone from your Greenwood Hall can force my disciples back by even half a step, I swear that within two years, I shall disappear from your sight!”

Aoki’s eyes flickered at these words, clearly tempted, but after some consideration, he decided to give up. A habit of timidity is hard to break; those who have grown used to being cautious seldom dare to take the first step.

Just as Aoki was about to acquiesce once more, suddenly, from out of nowhere, a wave of internal energy burst forth, striking Li Xiangqiang and all his disciples across from him. In an instant, they were sent flying! They crashed into the opposite wall of the reception hall with such force that the wall itself collapsed, filling the Greenwood Hall with dust and smoke.

“Ouch!”

“Who was that?”

“It hurts…”

“Ah!”

The ground was littered with groaning bodies, none fatally injured but all clearly suffering from grave wounds, unable even to stand. Aoki was astonished and turned warily toward the source of approaching footsteps. There, a youth clad in white wide-sleeved robes emerged, lowering the sword he had just wielded—the clear perpetrator of that devastating blow.

Yet, identifying the attacker so easily shocked Aoki even more than if the enemy had remained hidden. The youth stood far away, yet managed such powerful offense; to project sword energy a yard beyond the blade is the mark of a first-class master! Where had such a formidable figure sprung from? Was he here to aid their hall?

But wait—why did this youth seem so familiar? Wasn’t he the one Qingning rescued from the bottom of the cliff? Could it be that he was someone of great renown, a young prodigy famed throughout the martial world?

Aoki spoke: “Young hero…”

But the youth showed no intention of revealing his identity. “Don’t call me that. I’m leaving.”

With those words, Zhang Ning turned to Qingning, who had chased after him, and said, “I’m leaving.” Without a backward glance, he turned and walked away, leaving everyone behind, stunned and unable to react.

In Qingning’s eyes, the silhouette of this powerful, enigmatic youth—who had entered her life so briefly—slowly receded into the distance. That image remained etched in her heart for years to come. She was not so naïve as to fall in love with a stranger so quickly, yet she could not control her thoughts: What urgent matter pressed him onward? Whom was he so eager to meet? What stories lay behind his treasured sword—was it the center of his tale?

In truth, Zhang Ning’s technique was no legendary swordplay; the sword was merely a distraction. He had simply unleashed his unparalleled “Great Freedom Palm,” sending the assailants flying. Zhang Ning exercised restraint, causing no deaths, but in his haste, failed to moderate his strength, nearly crippling all members of the Li Family Hall. Thus, he inadvertently granted the Greenwood Hall precious time to recover—a stroke of fate that amounted to repaying a debt, though that story lay ahead.

Since arriving in this world, Zhang Ning had been careful to conceal himself. Even before pressing the “infusion” button, he pretended to swallow something, so that his sudden increase in power would appear natural. He feared his sect might discover his actions prematurely—if there was surveillance or tracing, wouldn’t he be exposed? Before growing strong enough, it was best not to let the already powerful Chen Zili know that someone had employed such a distinctive palm technique. Failure before success would only add another achievement to Chen Zili’s illustrious record.

Yet soon, there would be no need for subterfuge!

As Zhang Ning walked, he suddenly stopped, staring at the sword in his hand as if he had realized something profound. In his mind, he pressed the infusion button once more; in the blink of an eye, his cultivation soared to the Martial Pill Realm! In an instant, he had become a first-class master—a rank that few achieved after decades of arduous training. With the great masters withdrawn from society and regional masters holding their domains, Zhang Ning could now be counted among the most formidable figures in the land.

Rain fell.

A ruined temple.

A team of travelers dressed as escort guards busied themselves in one corner of the temple, preparing a hot meal. Among them, several women chirped and laughed, exchanging secret glances with those across from them.

On the other side of the dilapidated temple, a single figure reclined—also a woman. One side of her face was delicate and radiant, while the other was scarred and disfigured, evoking both pity and aversion. The women among the escort team whispered about her for this reason, yet she remained serene, seeming not to care.

Compared to those who, even in such harsh conditions, could rest and enjoy a hot meal, she was content with a clean spot on the floor, quietly tending to herself. Suddenly, her gaze sharpened, fixed on the temple roof. Only after a long moment did several apparent leaders among the escort team notice the same direction. They hastily hushed their companions, plunging the scene into silence.

“Hahaha!”

With a burst of laughter, the temple roof shook violently, and several figures descended in a whirl, landing before them. The laughing man swept his gaze indifferently before fixing it on the disfigured woman, his tone laced with mockery and disdain. “Lady An, you’d best return with us! If Master Chen learns you’ve wandered so far, he will surely be concerned!”

At the mention of Master Chen, the previously orderly and vigilant escort team erupted into a frenzy, chattering like a marketplace and scrambling to address the newcomers. The reason was simple: the Chen they referred to was none other than the most celebrated figure in the martial world—Chen Zili! The martial alliance leader, Chen Zili!

Chen Zili’s story was well known throughout the realm. Born in a sect nestled in wild mountains, he was not a successor of the sect’s legacy, but merely a low-ranking disciple. Who could have imagined that, with his junior sister at his side, he would soar so quickly upon entering the martial world?

His life was legendary—passing through a place where maidens tossed embroidered balls, he was struck on the head by the daughter of the wealthiest man, only to refuse her claim. He intervened in injustice and rescued nobility; with a few casual moves, he defeated famous young heroes, capturing the hearts of renowned elders’ daughters. He unraveled countless mysteries and old grudges, exposing the hypocrisy of many reputed figures, earning even greater admiration among his peers.