"You... just wait!" Qin Wanrou spat through gritted teeth, her beautiful face twisted with rage. Her right hand clenched into a fist so tightly that her knuckles turned white, while her body leaned slightly forward, as if trying to channel her fury through her posture toward Liu Yichen. As she spoke, her left foot unconsciously took a small step forward, her toes pressing hard into the ground—a subconscious gesture she made when angry, as if it gave her threats more weight.
Liu Yichen had escaped from her, a fourth-level Qi Condensation expert, which made her feel utterly humiliated. In her eyes, Liu Yichen, a mere first-level Qi Condensation trash, should have been easily subdued. Yet, he had made her lose face in front of everyone.
Liu Yichen, meanwhile, was secretly reveling in the miraculous effects of the Lingbo Microsteps. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his back, as if needles were pricking him. His hair stood on end, and he turned around to see six icy-blue sword lights chasing him like relentless parasites. He could even hear the "hiss" of the blades cutting through the air, their tips aimed directly at his heart. The cold sword energy seemed to brush against his back, sending a chill through his skin.
"Not good!" Liu Yichen's heart raced. His hands instinctively flailed in front of him, trying to disrupt the swords' tracking, while he shouted in panic, "How can they be so fast?!" His voice trembled with fear, and his body swayed left and right to dodge the swords' deadly edges. As he dodged, his right foot unconsciously took a small step back—a protective reflex.
His internal energy surged wildly, coursing through his meridians like a raging river. He pushed the Lingbo Microsteps to its limit, his figure darting through the air like a ghost, leaving behind a blur of afterimages. The wind whistled past his ears, and the scenery around him became a blur.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!" The six sword lights grazed past Liu Yichen's body. He clearly heard the sound of the blades slicing through his clothes, and the cold sword energy left shallow cuts on his skin. A searing pain spread across his body, as if he had been branded by a hot iron. He sucked in a sharp breath, his arms instinctively wrapping around his torso as his body curled slightly. His steps faltered, but he quickly steadied himself and continued to flee.
As he held his arms, his fingers unconsciously gripped his clothes tighter—a subconscious reaction to the pain.
After narrowly escaping, Liu Yichen dared not linger. He pressed on, his eyes locking onto an ancient structure ahead. The plaque above its entrance bore three majestic characters: Chang Jin Ge (Scripture Pavilion). The aura it exuded was both ancient and awe-inspiring.
As he approached, he noticed a faint spiritual barrier shimmering at the pavilion's entrance. The barrier emitted a subtle energy that tingled against his skin. When the flying swords closed in, Liu Yichen deftly used the Lingbo Microsteps to guide them into the barrier.
CLANG! The swords collided with the barrier, sparks flying in all directions. The impact disrupted their tracking, and they fell limply back into Qin Wanrou's hand.
While maneuvering the swords, Liu Yichen's eyes remained locked on their trajectory, his arms making subtle adjustments as if conducting their path. His body instinctively leaned away from the swords—a natural evasion reflex.
Liu Yichen plunged into the Scripture Pavilion.
Qin Wanrou arrived moments later, only to find Liu Yichen had vanished. She stood before the pavilion, her beautiful face a mix of shock and fury. She stomped her foot, the ground trembling slightly beneath her. "Damn it! How did he escape?!" she shouted, her chest heaving with rage. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but her icy voice still carried through the air. "Liu Yichen, you'd better pray I never see you again, or else..." Her eyes bore into the pavilion's doors, her right hand slashing through the air as if to vent her anger.
As she swung her arm, her left hand unconsciously rose, fingers curling slightly as though grasping at something—a subconscious gesture of her extreme frustration.
Three yellow-robed youths stood nearby, their eyes glued to Qin Wanrou. They ogled her shamelessly, their throats bobbing as they swallowed hard.
Qin Wanrou, still seething, noticed their lecherous gazes. Her anger reignited. With a flick of her wrist, six spirit swords materialized before her, their sharp tips aimed directly at the youths. Her arm extended, fingers gripping the sword hilts tightly, her body leaning forward in a ready-to-strike stance. "You... looking to die?!" she barked, her voice dripping with venom. Her shoulders rose slightly—a telltale sign of her rising temper.
The three youths snapped out of their daze, their faces paling as they realized their mistake. They exchanged nervous glances and took a few steps back.
One of them stammered, "S-Senior Sister Qin, we... we were just passing by..." His hands waved frantically in front of him, as if pleading for mercy. His eyes darted around, never meeting hers. As he spoke, his right foot unconsciously scraped against the ground—a nervous habit.
"Passing by?" Qin Wanrou sneered, her voice laced with disdain. "Your eyes were practically glued to me, and you dare say you were just passing by? Do you want to taste my spirit swords?" She tightened her grip on the hilts, her arm swaying slightly, the blades glinting ominously. Her body leaned forward, her eyes locked onto the youths with a warning glare.
As she moved her arm, her wrist twisted slightly, causing the swords to trace a small arc in the air—a subconscious gesture to intimidate.
The youths were terrified. They had witnessed Qin Wanrou's swords in action, their deadly precision. If those blades turned on them, they wouldn't survive unscathed.
One of them suddenly remembered something and blurted out, "Senior Sister Qin, your swords can track aura, right? We... we need to run!" He turned and bolted, his movements clumsy and panicked. As he spun around, his arms flailed to keep his balance—a reflexive response to his hasty retreat.
"Right, run!" The other two followed suit, scrambling away in a pitiful display, their earlier bravado completely gone.
Liu Yichen leaned against an ancient pillar, its rough surface pressing into his wounded back. He gasped for air, each breath tugging at the cuts on his back, sending sharp jolts of pain through him. His left hand clutched his injury, while his right braced against the pillar. His body trembled slightly.
As he leaned against the pillar, he unconsciously pressed his weight more firmly into it, as if seeking comfort from its solidity—a subconscious reaction to his injuries.
His mind raced, replaying the events that had just unfolded. The name Zhu Xiaotian stuck in his mind like a thorn. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was all Zhu Xiaotian's doing—a plot to use Qin Wanrou to eliminate him.
Liu Yichen's hatred burned. Zhu Xiaotian had always seen him as a rival, constantly scheming against him. This time, he had gone too far.
Frustrated, Liu Yichen slammed his fist against the pillar, the dull thud echoing through the pavilion. "Zhu Xiaotian, you despicable coward!" he muttered under his breath. As he struck the pillar, his eyes widened with anger, and his body leaned forward slightly—a subconscious expression of his fury.
"Zhu Xiaotian, just you wait!" Liu Yichen's gaze shifted to the grand structure before him. The plaque above the entrance bore the characters Chang Jin Ge, their strokes bold and commanding. A spark of hope ignited within him.
His eyes hardened with determination, and he straightened his posture, fists clenched at his sides. As he tightened his grip, his knuckles whitened—a subconscious gesture of resolve.
The Scripture Pavilion was said to house countless cultivation techniques and martial arts. If he could find the right one, he could rapidly increase his strength. Only by becoming stronger could he break free from others' control and protect those he cared about.
Taking a deep breath, Liu Yichen pushed down his anger and fear. He stepped toward the pavilion's entrance, his fists clenched tightly, each step filled with purpose. As he walked, his strides unconsciously lengthened—a subconscious reflection of his determination.
He silently prayed that he would find a technique within that could help him grow stronger.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out from inside the pavilion, "Another disciple here to transcribe the Yi Jin Secret Manual? Which branch sent you this time?" The voice carried a hint of curiosity.
Liu Yichen pushed open the heavy doors, and the scent of aged paper and a faint mustiness greeted him. The interior was dimly lit, with towering shelves filled with yellowed scrolls and ancient texts.
A group of young disciples in green robes stood in the center of the hall, their heads hung low. The atmosphere was oppressive, heavy with failure. Scattered on the floor were sheets of paper, their contents scribbled messily—failed attempts at transcribing the manual.
"Useless! All of you!" bellowed an elderly man in a blue robe, his white beard trembling with anger. His voice boomed like a bell, making Liu Yichen's ears ring. The man's arms swung wildly as he berated the disciples, his body leaning forward as if to emphasize his fury.
As he gestured, his body unconsciously moved closer to the disciples—a subconscious attempt to intimidate.
"The Yi Jin Secret Manual is a priceless treasure! And you dare defile it with this garbage?!" The elder pointed at the scattered papers, his finger almost stabbing through them. His other hand clenched into a fist—a subconscious expression of his rage.
"Elder Lingxu, please calm down!" One of the older disciples stepped forward, bowing slightly. His hands were clasped together in a gesture of respect, and his eyes remained fixed on the ground. "The Yi Jin Secret Manual is too profound. We... we simply lack the understanding..." His body trembled slightly as he spoke—a subconscious reaction to the elder's wrath.
"Lack understanding?!" Elder Lingxu's eyes bulged with anger. "Then study harder! Stop making excuses! You lot are lazy, and it shows in your lack of progress!" As he spoke, he absentmindedly stroked his beard, his fingers moving quickly—a subconscious habit.
Elder Lingxu's gaze swept across the room, finally landing on Liu Yichen. The intensity of his stare made Liu Yichen's heart skip a beat.
"Disciple Liu Yichen, reporting for the first time," Liu Yichen said quickly, standing straight but unable to hide the slight tremble in his fingers. His eyes darted nervously, and he swallowed hard—a subconscious sign of his anxiety.
"Liu Yichen?" Elder Lingxu muttered, then his expression cleared. "Ah, you're that young city lord who got struck by lightning. I see you have some talent after all." He strode toward Liu Yichen, his steps firm and commanding. He grabbed Liu Yichen's arm with a grip like iron and dragged him to a wooden table, where brushes, ink, and paper were laid out.
"Since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. Transcribe the Yi Jin Secret Manual! If you do well, I'll personally guide you!" Elder Lingxu pushed Liu Yichen onto a stool, his body leaning forward as he pointed at the writing materials. His tone brooked no argument.
Then he turned to the other disciples and roared, "Get out of here! You're wasting my time!" His arm shot out, pointing toward the door, his body leaning in that direction. As he gestured, his fingers twitched slightly—a subconscious emphasis on his command.
Liu Yichen stared at the blank paper and the brush in his hand, his mind reeling. The Yi Jin Secret Manual? Isn't that the book I got from the system's lottery? Why do I have to transcribe it here?
Despite his confusion, he picked up the brush, his fingers adjusting their grip unconsciously. As the brush touched the paper, his heart skipped a beat. He could almost hear the rush of blood in his ears. Was it nervousness? Excitement? Or... anticipation?
He glanced at Elder Lingxu, then at the paper, and silently called out, "System..." His left hand rested lightly on the table, his fingers tapping it gently—a subconscious gesture of concentration.
With the system's assistance, the contents of the Yi Jin Secret Manual appeared vividly in his mind, each character glowing with golden light. Liu Yichen couldn't help but smirk as he glanced at the messy scribbles of the other disciples. They're so incompetent, he thought, grateful for the system's help.
His wrist moved smoothly, the brush gliding across the paper, forming elegant and powerful strokes. As he wrote, his body leaned forward slightly—a subconscious sign of his focus.
Time passed, and Liu Yichen filled two pages with flawless text. The pavilion was silent except for the soft scratching of his brush and the faint breathing of the other disciples. Some of them stole glances at him, their eyes filled with doubt and envy.
"How can a newbie write so fluently? Does he really understand the Yi Jin Secret Manual?" one disciple whispered to another, nudging him with his elbow. His fingers tightened slightly on the other's arm—a subconscious attempt to emphasize his point.
"Maybe he's just faking it. Elder Lingxu will tear him apart when he sees it," the other replied, his lips moving unconsciously as he spoke—a subconscious habit when deep in thought.
Elder Lingxu, too, noticed Liu Yichen's progress. He had expected the young man to be bluffing, but the fluidity of his writing gave him pause. He walked up behind Liu Yichen, his hands clasped behind his back, his body leaning forward slightly as he peered at the paper. His brows furrowed as he read.
"Boy, what kind of nonsense are you scribbling?" Elder Lingxu suddenly snatched the first page from the table, waving it in the air. "The Yi Jin Secret Manual is profound! How could a beginner like you possibly understand it? You dare defile it with this drivel?!" His arm swung wildly, the paper flapping in his grip. He slammed it down on the table with a loud thud, his body leaning forward as he glared at Liu Yichen.
As he waved the paper, his wrist twisted slightly—a subconscious gesture of his anger.
Liu Yichen set down his brush and looked up calmly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. His eyes met Elder Lingxu's, devoid of fear, and filled with a hint of mockery.