Chapter Twelve: The Limit of Vital Energy

As time slipped by, the discussions about Chen Fan within the sect gradually faded away. Only his master, Dong Guzhi, lamented that Chen Fan was too independent—never once had he come to seek advice during this period. Yet, knowing that Chen Fan was still accumulating his vital energy, Dong Guzhi did not press him for more. As the saying goes, a master can only lead you to the threshold; cultivation depends on the individual.

Chen Fan’s tranquility, however, did not last long. Xiao Chunkong, Mu Lei, and their crowd, after nearly a month of silence, resumed their antics. Nearly every day, they waited outside Chen Fan’s door, pestering him relentlessly to continue their wagered duels. Chen Fan, of course, refused. These people had no shame, their words brimming with taunts and jibes. At last, Chen Fan understood why Feng Yuancheng had agreed to the so-called wagered battles in the past.

He grew increasingly irritated and annoyed by their behavior, but the more they provoked him, the less he was willing to indulge their schemes. By his own calculations, in a three-month wager, he would almost certainly lose, and he had never cared much for a few energy pills. But now, he refused to let these shameless fellows profit from him—not a single pill would he relinquish!

So, Chen Fan made a decisive move: taking some cultivation resources, he temporarily left the Baiyun Main Hall. He found lodging in a hotel within Yan Capital, unconcerned about the place of cultivation and needing no guidance from renowned masters—he welcomed the peace and quiet. With a pocketful of silver and money, a few days abroad would be refreshing.

Had he gone to Dong Guzhi, Li Linliu, or even Yun Wei, a word from any of them would have been enough to ensure Xiao Chunkong and his ilk dared not harass him further. Unfortunately, Chen Fan still lacked a clear sense of his own status.

...

In a quiet chamber at the Baiyun Main Hall, Feng Yuancheng pushed open the door, cupping his hands in greeting.

“Master!”

Dong Guzhi sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, smiling at his visitor.

“Yuancheng, here you are again!”

Over the past month, Chen Fan had scarcely sought him out, but Feng Yuancheng came frequently, always with questions. Dong Guzhi frowned as he looked at Feng Yuancheng.

“I’ve been helping you refine your True Essence Seed for a month now, haven’t I? Why haven’t you broken through to the second stage of Martial Dao yet? Are you distracted by other matters?”

Feng Yuancheng replied awkwardly, “Recently, I’ve chosen a True Essence martial skill to practice diligently...”

Dong Guzhi shook his head. “True Essence skills are important, but if they hinder your own cultivation, it’s not worth it. At your stage, focus on elevating your level—training will come easier then. Don’t get stuck in a rut; allocate your time wisely!”

As a personal disciple, Feng Yuancheng received energy pills daily, yet he still let his True Essence skill practice delay his cultivation, showing his dissatisfaction at losing to Mu Lei.

Feng Yuancheng listened respectfully to his master’s advice. Dong Guzhi, long since surpassing the sixth stage of Martial Dao, possessed wisdom far beyond ordinary people. Then, with a hint of confusion on his face, Feng Yuancheng asked, “Master, I’ve encountered some doubts in my cultivation lately...”

Dong Guzhi patiently listened and answered each question in turn. When all doubts had been resolved, Dong Guzhi’s expression grew subtle.

“I’ve heard your junior brother has left the hall recently. Do you know where he’s gone?”

Feng Yuancheng nodded slightly, his feelings complicated. “Perhaps he’s gone home. After all, he’s young, never left before, so some homesickness is natural.”

Dong Guzhi sighed. “It’s only been a month, and he couldn’t endure... I’ve seen him several times, and thought his mind was not like ordinary youths—so sensible and well-behaved, yet his actions...”

He shook his head and turned to Feng Yuancheng. “Wherever you go in the future, it depends on yourselves, not your master. On the path of martial arts, you must learn to withstand loneliness—remember this, always.”

Feng Yuancheng cupped his hands. “I will remember, Master.”

...

A month later, as winter approached, Chen Fan returned to Baiyun Hall. By then, his three first-class strength-training manuals were all perfected, his vital energy had surged again, yet still he had not reached his limit. The expected boost from mastering three first-class manuals was diminishing, and Chen Fan realized he was not far from his maximum.

He began running through the final two first-class strength-training manuals, and then casually selected another second-class manual. His return to the hall was because he needed real combat to break through in his new practice.

...

During Chen Fan’s absence, Mu Lei and the others had long since stopped loitering outside his door. Chen Fan enjoyed a rare few days of peace, but soon took the initiative to visit several core-level senior brothers—all at least second-stage Martial Dao, and somewhat renowned.

He issued challenges. Out of five, three accepted: two were second-stage, one third-stage, all proficient in True Essence martial skills, with the weakest at advanced foundational level—each stronger than the last.

All three had heard of Chen Fan’s talent and status, and did not refuse. Of the three matches, Chen Fan won the first easily; the other two, he lost.

He had thought that with his current vital energy, he could contend with third-stage experts, and none below that would pose a threat. Yet, he was defeated by a second-stage senior named Chi Liuguang, who was just a hair’s breadth from entering the third stage, barely twenty years old.

In terms of strength, Chi Liuguang couldn’t match Chen Fan. But he triumphed because his movement technique had reached mastery—the subtle, profound level! In battle, Chen Fan could never touch Chi Liuguang, forced always to defend.

After the fight, Lin Shiyu looked at Chen Fan speechlessly. “You really hit a wall. Usually, only fourth or fifth-stage experts comprehend the subtle realm—such insight is extraordinary. For a second-stage expert to achieve this, you’d be hard pressed to find another in all Yan Capital.”

Chen Fan nodded gravely, no longer underestimating anyone.

“Remarkable indeed!”

His strength and vital energy exceeded that of most third-stage core disciples in Baiyun Hall, yet he was soundly beaten by a second-stage practitioner—almost unimaginable.

Fortunately, these challenges had not involved extravagant wagers; the losses were only energy pills, which he could accept. The battles deepened his understanding of martial arts, and in the days that followed, he continued to quietly cultivate.

When Xiao Chunkong and the others heard Chen Fan had resumed wagered battles, they returned the very next day. This time, however, they sent only Xiao Yurong, who approached Chen Fan with polite words.

Their guess was right—Chen Fan responded better to gentleness than force. Yet, having already offended him, reconciliation was little more than a dream.

Xiao Yurong, though attractive, was to Chen Fan merely flesh and bone, nothing more than a glance, never to linger in his heart.

“Why must you resort to these petty tricks? For the sake of a few resources, you offend core and personal disciples—is it really worth it?”

To this, Xiao Yurong could only smile bitterly.

“You are all prodigies. Offending you means that, at worst, you’ll come back stronger and challenge us again—you won’t kill us. But we lack resources, and our martial progress may halt altogether. For the sake of advancement, what does pride matter?”

Chen Fan shook his head, knowing his words would not easily change their mindset or values. With a raised brow, he said,

“Go back and tell Xiao Chunkong: if he wishes, within a year, I, Chen Fan, will challenge him personally. Let him stop these petty maneuvers—the wager will not disappoint him!”

Xiao Yurong’s expression was complex. “You... you must keep your word.”

Chen Fan lifted his chin. “I am the Hall Master’s personal disciple. Some resources, at most, are equal to my monthly or yearly allowance—I can afford it. But you should consider: if you lose, can you afford to pay?”

Their way of acting showed they were not wealthy families. Chen Fan had cultivated for less than a year; in another year, he might reach the third stage of Martial Dao. Given his foundation and vital energy, if he couldn’t win by then, he might as well go home and farm.

Xiao Yurong did not answer, leaving in silence.

Within half a day, word spread throughout Baiyun Hall that Chen Fan had promised to challenge Xiao Chunkong within a year. When Lin Shi came to confirm, he verified the truth.

Chen Fan sneered. “I only told Xiao Yurong, yet so quickly, everyone knows. Clearly, Xiao Chunkong is creating momentum, making sure I can’t back out—”

He saw through this as Xiao Chunkong’s final answer, and felt no further sympathy for him or his group.

...

The news sparked another wave of excitement. As one of the Hall Master’s two new disciples, Chen Fan’s contentiousness surpassed that of Feng Yuancheng. But for Chen Fan, it meant a year free from Xiao Chunkong and his crowd—an undeniable benefit.

The remaining days, Chen Fan continued his rigorous cultivation.

In the blink of an eye, nearly two months passed. During this period of seclusion, he mastered his last two first-class manuals, practiced several second-class ones, and his surging vital energy finally plateaued.

At this moment, he had cultivated over thirty strength-training techniques, five of them first-class.

“At last, I’ve reached my vital energy limit!”

Excitement filled Chen Fan’s heart. Reaching this limit meant he could finally begin practicing True Arts.

After hitting his limit, he did not head straight to the library to borrow True Arts manuals, but went to seek out his master, Dong Guzhi. This was the first time in months as a disciple that he had taken the initiative to see his master.

...

After emerging from seclusion, Chen Fan noticed that the disciples at the main hall were busier than ever, the atmosphere of cultivation unusually diligent, as if preparing for something.

Upon inquiry, he learned that they were getting ready for the annual Demon-Slaying Tournament in Yan Capital. Li Linliu had once told him about this event, held every year to temper martial artists.

As the name suggests, the Demon-Slaying Tournament was a gathering for killing monsters. Martial experts from every family ventured into the wilderness, captured beasts, and used them to hone their disciples.

Yet monsters were not common, and even the weakest were difficult to face—at least third-stage Martial Dao was required to participate!

Talented disciples from neighboring counties under Yan Capital’s jurisdiction would also attend if their abilities qualified.

Over time, the Demon-Slaying Tournament evolved from a means of tempering third-stage disciples into a grand annual gathering.

The tournament would commence in two months.

“Slaying monsters?”

Chen Fan’s curiosity was piqued—he had never seen a monster before. Yet, having not begun True Arts cultivation, this was still a distant prospect. Even if he started now, could he reach the third stage in two months?

He shook his head, cleared his thoughts, and went to seek his master.