Lian Feng slipped the token into his pocket.
"...Yes. That might be a good beginning."
Zhenhua's tone grew serious again.
"But be cautious. The immortals will see you as an ordinary, talentless wanderer because of your age.
Never reveal your true nature."
She paused briefly, then added,
"Draw no attention… and never, ever use your real name when making enemies."
Lian Feng nodded lightly. It was something he had done his entire life —
staying unseen.
Not long after, the time for farewell arrived.
Xinyue rushed to him and pressed a small, handmade bracelet into his hand.
"Take this… I made it with my master's guidance," she said, eyes glistening.
Zhenhua gave a rare gesture of respect — a slight bow — saying nothing more.
Then, the two immortals turned and departed.
Lian Feng stood there, gazing down at the bracelet and the token in his pocket.
He had returned to solitude — but at least now, he carried the memory of good people.
...
After a long journey, Lian Feng felt hunger gnawing at him and began preparing something to eat.
Half a day had passed since he parted ways with Zhenhua.
Thanks to the storage ring Zhenhua had given him, filled with supplies, his travels had gone smoothly.
When he channeled Qi into the ring, his mind was flooded with images of countless provisions.
He materialized the meat of a wild demonic beast, something quick to eat.
Smiling, he murmured,
"This storage ring and two days' worth of rations really do come in handy."
He bit into the meat with satisfaction.
---
Later, Qi coursed through his entire body as he sprinted forward.
Afterimages trailed behind him — flickers that vanished as soon as they appeared.
A distant surge of Qi caught his attention. His sharpened senses urged him onward,
and he dashed toward the source with blinding speed.
Soon, the scene unfolded before his eyes.
A group of mortals and an immortal were locked in battle with a wild demonic lizard, its scales as tough as steel.
Lian Feng slowed and observed.
The immortal's incantations weren't impressive; what intrigued him were the martial artists.
Especially a female fighter — her movements were fluid, elegant.
She directed her Qi through precise points in her body, each motion accelerating her strikes.
Her sword danced so swiftly that even Lian Feng could barely follow.
He studied every detail — her breathing, her footwork, the rhythm of her blade.
"A high second-class martial artist," he muttered with mild disappointment.
"What a pity. So shallow."
Still, he had gained an understanding.
The Qi they used flowed naturally through their bodies, unlike the rigid meridian circulation of immortals.
Immortals had become mechanical in both movement and spirit.
They had abandoned not only natural Qi — but their humanity.
Lost in thought, Lian Feng barely noticed the battle ending.
The immortal, now free, turned his gaze toward him.
"An immortal?" the woman's voice echoed sharply through Qi transmission.
"I didn't expect to find one here. You've been spying on us, haven't you? Who sent you?"
Lian Feng forced an awkward grin and raised a hand in mock greeting.
"Ha… haha, please, don't joke. I only just entered the Foundation realm —
how could I dare harm someone of your stature?"
"I simply felt the Qi fluctuations and followed out of curiosity," he said —
but the immortal cut him off coldly.
"As you can see, we're fine. We don't need your help.
And given your cultivation, I doubt you could offer any."
With that, the immortal turned and left.
Instead of anger, Lian Feng let out a quiet sigh.
Relief washed over him — for the first time, he had met someone and managed to conceal his power.
His true strength already surpassed the Foundation realm; that much he was certain of.
During his studies with Zhenhua, he had learned to channel even basic spells with perfect control —
pushing his power to a higher dimension.
Still, his focus remained on cultivation.
And for that, he wished to master martial arts.
Why? Because even as an immortal, his reflexes couldn't compare to those of a true martial master.
Moreover, martial cultivation — rooted in the natural flow of the body —
felt more harmonious with his dantian's unique structure.
By merging the two, he could fill his weaknesses and gradually strengthen his core.
---
Propelled by resolve, Lian Feng leapt forward.
He had found a new goal — to temper his body and walk the path of the martial artist.
As he journeyed, a question echoed within his mind.
"What is a weapon?"
He mused aloud,
"I come from a modern world. I know the extent of human potential.
If I were to choose a weapon, it wouldn't be just one — it would be countless.
Perhaps… being human itself is the greatest weapon."
He closed his eyes.
"With the right intent, even a branch can be a sword."
In that moment, an epiphany blossomed within him.
A figure appeared in his mind, surrounded by blades, spears, and sabers —
then, one by one, the weapons dissolved into nothingness.
Just as the figure began to move, a colossal beast emerged and devoured it whole.
Lian Feng's clarity shattered. He stared in shock — then anger.
The monstrous entity turned toward him, grinning as if it could taste his killing intent.
He felt an eerie familiarity, as though he had seen it before.
Perhaps the beast was not an enemy,
but a reflection of the truths he refused to accept.
The vision faded, leaving Lian Feng muttering a string of curses.
...
By the time he regained focus, he had unknowingly reached the borders of the Windborne Empire.
When he presented Zhenhua's token, it glowed faintly before the gate guards.
They bowed respectfully and let him pass without question or fee.
Yet the first sight within the city made him raise an eyebrow —
in the central plaza, martial artists exchanged blows, their roars echoing through the air.
Seizing the distraction, Lian Feng slipped away unnoticed.
He feared the light of the token might expose his immortal nature,
so he vanished without a trace.
---
For two days, Lian Feng watched quietly from behind the walls of a small martial school deep within the empire.
Occasionally he visited a tavern, but most of his time was spent observing duels from afar.
Every morning, the martial schools gathered for sparring matches.
Each movement, each breath revealed the harmony between body and nature —
the flow of Qi through muscle and bone, the rhythm of life itself.
He mirrored their breathing, synchronized his focus,
learning through silence and imitation.
Every motion was a lesson.
"No first-class masters," he sighed softly.
"What a shame."
After his routine, he returned to his small rented room above a tavern.
---
By the third morning, when the students gathered once more,
Lian Feng was again perched silently upon a tree branch.
But this time, he had drawn attention.
A student in the back whispered to his friend, "See that man on the branch? He was there yesterday too… who is he?"
The murmurs spread until an instructor noticed.
A short but broad-shouldered man frowned and stormed toward him.
"Hey, you! This is a private training ground. Who do you think you are?"
Lian Feng turned his head, his eyes faintly vacant.
He stood, brushed the dust from his robes, and spoke in a calm tone.
"Hehe… forgive me, senior. I was simply admiring your fine techniques and lost track of time."
The instructor grunted, hand drifting to his sword hilt.
"Hmph! You've sullied our arts with your eyes. I should gouge them out!
But I am merciful — cripple yourself, and I'll let you go."
Before he could act, a refined yet commanding voice rang from across the courtyard.
"Senior, please stop."
Everyone — even Lian Feng — turned to look.
A young woman in silver-white training robes walked forward, her steps carried by the wind.
Her gaze was sharp, yet curious.
"Leave him to me," she said, eyes glinting with intrigue.
Seeing her, the instructor immediately stepped aside and bowed.
"Lady Ren! Please, teach this beggar his place."
Ren Yuer's eyes fixed on Lian Feng.
"I've been watching you for the past two days," she said slowly.
"Three mornings in a row, you appear in the same place.
You're fast — so fast I can barely follow."
Lian Feng smiled faintly.
"Your techniques were so captivating I couldn't look away," he said, feigning foolishness.
Ren Yuer frowned.
"Do you think flattery will save you?
Don't mistake me as an ordinary instructor.
I trust what I feel, not what I see."
She stepped closer, hand on her sword.
"Since you've been watching for so long… show me what you've learned."
Lian Feng raised his head, his gaze meeting hers.
A faint gleam flickered in his eyes.
Sensing his intent, a subtle smile touched Ren Yuer's lips.
"Please, Lady Ren, show him how small a frog in a well truly is!" the instructor urged, smirking.
Ren Yuer — a prodigy, nearly at the level of a martial master — drew her sword.
Lian Feng's demeanor shifted. There was no need for pretense anymore.
"So, you would attack a mortal who doesn't even have a sword" he said mockingly.
Ren Yuer chuckled. "Senior, give him one."
The instructor tossed a training sword toward him.
Lian Feng caught it midair with his left hand, drew it in a single fluid motion, and examined the blade.
"Good sword," he murmured — then sheathed it again and tossed it upward, catching it with his right hand.
Neither moved an inch.
Then, in a blink, they clashed.
Ren Yuer unleashed a storm of intricate techniques,
while Lian Feng deflected each strike with the bare minimum of movement.
He smiled like a madman — the emptiness within him fading with each clash.
An overwhelming sorrow rose in his heart, morphing into killing intent.
Pain wrapped around his spirit — but instead of breaking, his will sharpened.
Sharper… and sharper still.
Life was a bitter forge, and the human will, a dull blade.
Pain refines it — until it either shatters or cuts through the sorrow itself.
From Lian Feng, a wave of intent surged forth.
His sword blazed with invisible might, his killing will enveloping the arena.
In less than a heartbeat, hundreds of strikes descended upon Ren Yuer.
Her sword barely kept up. A few blows slipped through.
Blood trickled down her arm as her blade trembled.
Her eyes widened.
"This… Sword Intent?!"
Silence fell. The wind howled between them. Ren Yuer bowed her head.
"I failed to recognize my superior. Please forgive me, Master."
Lian Feng shook his head softly. "What you saw was merely a replica of Sword Intent.
I am only a peak first-class martial artist."
Ren Yuer could only let out a bitter, trembling laugh.
"Ha… ha…"
To be continued…