Volume One: Turmoil in Yan and Yun Chapter Eleven: The Test

The Divine Dynasty advocated the separation of church and state, but that did not mean the sects were entirely detached from the mortal realm and untouched by the mundane. On the contrary, their ties to the world ran deep; throughout the Divine Dynasty, one could see members of the sects journeying far and wide.

Those who traveled on behalf of the sects were mainly outer-sect mentors.

Not every person with the potential for cultivation could discern their own gifts. To a toddler just learning to walk or a boy fetching water and chopping wood, cultivators and immortals were one and the same—who among them would imagine they might one day become such people?

As the saying goes, it is only with a discerning eye that a thousand-mile horse is found.

Yet even the outer-sect mentors, with their limited vision, could hardly be counted as true talent scouts. Most people qualified for the path of cultivation were not prodigies either.

The Wind and Sand Festival, a grand event that tested the caliber of the entire younger generation in Yanbei, attracted countless rogue cultivators and scions of lesser households. It gathered nearly all the top young talents of Yanbei. To rise above the rest in such circumstances—that was the mark of a true prodigy.

Thus, it was certain that the various sects would send observers to the festival. With Mount Taixuan located in Xiang Prefecture and the Kunlun Sect in Xuhai, both bordering Yanbei, they were the most likely to arrive.

Feng Muyun quickly understood all of this.

Yet there was still one matter he could not make sense of.

Steward Fei spoke slowly, “But most participants in the Wind and Sand Festival have already formed their Yuan Mansion. Of the top hundred on the Flowing Rankings, Yanbei boasts a tenth. Second Young Master may be clever, but he has not yet formed his Yuan Mansion. How can the gulf in cultivation be bridged?”

Moreover, Feng Yang did not yet have a life-bound artifact.

The Overlord Spear ranked high in both the Weapon and Martial Arts Chronicles, but that did not mean every Overlord Spear could claim such distinction.

In the Weapon Chronicle, the Overlord Spear referred to a person; in the Martial Arts Chronicle, it denoted a technique.

An ordinary Overlord Spear was merely a sturdy weapon.

Between a common weapon and a life-bound artifact, the difference was as vast as that between earth and sky.

This was precisely what Feng Muyun wished to ask.

Feng Qi thought to himself that their worries stemmed from not having seen Feng Yang dispatch the assassins of the Weeping Blood Pavilion in just two moves.

Uncle Mo knew, but perhaps he had not told Father yet.

Or maybe he had chosen not to say anything.

Feng Qi decided he needed to have a word with Uncle Mo.

But right now, the present mattered most. He was about to speak, then stopped himself.

Suddenly, Feng Yang said, “As long as I do not face my elder brother, I have confidence.”

Confidence meant victory.

As long as he did not meet his elder brother, he would win.

In their generation, only in the annals of history could one find someone who had bested Feng Qi.

Was this even confidence?

Steward Fei and Feng Muyun exchanged glances, somewhat astonished.

They had watched Feng Yang grow since childhood and knew his temperament well enough.

This child never spoke without certainty. Anything he voiced, he pursued with all his might.

Because he gave his all, he was thorough in every regard.

So he truly was confident.

Feng Muyun reached this conclusion instinctively, then found it absurd.

Throughout history, defeating someone of a higher realm was a daunting feat. Even the prodigies within the sects dared not claim absolute certainty—how could he?

Especially when fighting at the Body Tempering stage against those of the Mixed Yuan realm.

“Perhaps... I should test you?” Steward Fei suggested.

Feng Yang looked up at Steward Fei’s beer belly, scratched his head, and said, “Alright.”

Even as he spoke, he was already in motion.

The floor thudded dully, cracks spreading from beneath Feng Yang’s right foot like a spider’s web.

In a flash, he was before Steward Fei.

He threw a punch straight at Steward Fei’s chest.

Steward Fei’s clothes fluttered wildly, but his body did not move an inch.

He let out a light sound, seemingly a bit surprised by Feng Yang’s strength.

Feng Yang had not intended to end things in one blow; even as his fist struck, he raised his leg and kicked.

Feng Qi rubbed his nose.

Feng Muyun’s face was ashen.

Steward Fei looked down at the foot near his groin, his gaze filling with greater appreciation. “Good speed and power, but what I like most is this resolve... Show me your spear.”

He did not belittle the low blow; while such moves had little place in formal contests, battle was battle—the result mattered, not the process.

The bones buried in the strange stone forest could not rise to complain of how unfairly they had died.

Feng Yang raised his eyebrows, leaped back, and summoned the Overlord Spear.

His spear was of standard make—not the best even among the Feng family, let alone the Wind Legion.

Yet the Overlord Spear was still the Overlord Spear; its sharpness rivaled any other weapon.

He thrust forward.

It appeared utterly unremarkable.

But a smile finally crept onto Steward Fei’s lips, and he took half a step back.

“The opening move is simple, but within the clan, those who perform it better than you are fewer than five. Well done.”

So this was the Overlord Spear’s opening—Like a Dragon.

As the spear missed, countless afterimages shimmered along its shaft.

The Overlord Spear’s ninth form—Gale.

Steward Fei retreated again, his smile growing. He repeated “Good” three times in succession.

To wield the Gale Spear was excellent.

To connect Gale after Like a Dragon was even better.

To force him to retreat twice—nothing could be finer.

Feng Muyun looked at Feng Qi. “Why?”

Feng Qi thought, It’s certainly not for love.

Feng Muyun said, “You owe me an explanation.”

Feng Qi did not explain but sighed, “Father, you should read more books.”

Feng Muyun was taken aback and then furious, his anger quickly turning to shock.

He had just heard the sound of cloth tearing.

He turned his head to see Feng Yang half-bare, his blood energy radiating like a crimson glow.

The Overlord Spear’s seventeenth form—Desperate Struggle.

Steward Fei burst into hearty laughter.

Feng Muyun’s face remained calm, his gaze steady, but his hands hidden in his sleeves trembled ever so slightly.

His blood energy trembled with them.

Steward Fei stopped laughing, thinking, Could he possibly use the final form?

Feng Muyun could no longer restrain his smile.

Suddenly Feng Qi said, “Invincible Selflessness is extremely draining of domineering spirit. With the Wind and Sand Festival approaching, there’s no need for this.”

Steward Fei and Feng Muyun understood.

Invincible Selflessness was not something one could halt at will.

Steward Fei appeared before Feng Yang, his palm pressing down gently.

Whatever radiance of blood or growing golden aura of domination—all of it calmed.

Feng Yang collapsed to the floor, gasping heavily, his face pale.

Steward Fei patted his shoulder, sending a surge of pure Yuan energy into him.

Feng Yang’s complexion immediately grew rosy.

“Now, is that enough?” Feng Muyun took a deep breath and said, “At the Wind and Sand Festival, you must challenge Feng Ling by name.”