Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Wing of Death

Gao Wu had long made up his mind—he could use more potions to make up for his shortcomings. After all, he had a martial artist as an enemy, which instilled a sense of urgency in him. As for his family, there were no pressing financial needs for now, so he didn’t need to worry too much on that front.

“You’ve already used a lot of potions these past two months. These medicines all need time to be fully absorbed. Your physical foundation is solid enough now—in my opinion, you should focus on martial training for the time being…” Song Mingyue shook her head slightly, feeling that Gao Wu had injected too many potions and needed time to let them settle.

Especially since Gao Wu’s strength and physical durability had already reached the minimum threshold for a warrior, and his mental strength had also grown substantially of late. Now was the right time to delve into the cultivation methods, to grasp the true essence of martial arts and condense a source energy node.

Injecting more potions wouldn’t help Gao Wu sense source energy; in fact, the stronger potions would only hinder this process. Gao Wu considered her words seriously and realized she was right. Boosting his agility likely wouldn’t help him sense source energy.

As for the foundational trait of root aptitude, he’d never quite figured it out. Judging by how things had developed, he suspected it was a measure of innate talent and potential. His own root aptitude was low, which explained why he struggled to sense source energy.

Crucially, there were no potions that could improve root aptitude. In this case, Song Mingyue’s plan seemed even more reasonable.

Gao Wu asked, “Which main discipline do you think I should choose?”

“The Nine Forms of the Dragon is the foundation, the true martial path. The Soaring Dragon Sword and Palm Techniques are derived from it—they’re methods transformed from the Dao. As for the Warrior’s Fist, while powerful, it has no connection to the Nine Forms of the Dragon; it’s merely a technique in application,” Song Mingyue replied without hesitation, being thoroughly familiar with Gao Wu’s situation.

“That’s what I think too. Looks like we’re really of one mind!” Gao Wu chuckled.

The next day, Aunt Lan drove Song Mingyue to school, and Gao Wu hitched a ride with them.

Upon entering the school gates, Gao Wu and Song Mingyue parted ways. Still, just that short stretch of walking together drew plenty of attention. Song Mingyue wore a high-end, deep blue woolen coat—stylish and refined, with an exquisite cut and luxurious fabric. With her tall, lithe figure, she stood out starkly among the other students.

She wore sunglasses and walked with eyes fixed ahead, speaking to no one—a rare bearing on campus.

Few students at First High didn’t know who Song Mingyue was. With her striking beauty and cool, aloof demeanor, she was quite the celebrity at school, and her consistently elegant attire made her especially recognizable.

Now, the famously aloof Song Mingyue was walking with a boy—a newsworthy event.

That day, Gao Wu wore the school’s athletic-style uniform. Though First High was a prestigious school, their uniforms were simple sportswear. Gao Wu wore an oversized set, making his figure look even more upright and tall, and he still towered half a head above Song Mingyue. The contrast between his loose, casual outfit and her tailored wool coat was striking, making their presence together particularly eye-catching.

What’s more, Gao Wu carried a long sword slung across his back with a special belt—a rare sight for a student at school. Walking alongside Song Mingyue, he drew even more attention.

Before long, someone recognized Gao Wu. Ever since his victory at the Xuetao Cup, he had become something of a spiritual leader for the passionate youth of Dongjiang. You might not like Gao Wu, but you couldn’t not know him.

“Wow, it’s Gao Sheng!”

“Holy— that’s Gao Sheng…”

“Oh my god, it’s Gao Sheng in the flesh!”

Excited murmurs rippled through the students. Some even plucked up the courage to edge closer for a better look.

First High enforced strict rules—almost no students had their phones on them. So, despite the excitement, they could only stare. Those few bold enough to bring phones hurriedly snapped pictures from afar…

Some students, especially eager, saluted him. “Greetings, Captain!”

These were self-proclaimed members of the Passionate Youth Corps, who liked to call Gao Wu “Captain” to signal their identity and set themselves apart.

Gao Wu nodded lightly to the students, whether or not they were fans—they were at least his peers.

He returned their salutes casually, but he knew in his heart that most weren’t friendly out of genuine goodwill; he was more a curiosity, a spectacle. Still, there was no malice in it.

“He’s so handsome…”

“Why is he wearing our school uniform?”

“For real! That’s the First High uniform!”

The students were surprised and excited to see Gao Wu in the First High uniform. He was the number one martial artist in Dongjiang—if he could join First High, it would be a tremendous boon for the school.

At the administrative office, the director was already waiting for Gao Wu. He led him to the senior class teachers, first introducing him to the homeroom teacher of Class One, a solemn middle-aged woman with glasses.

Then he introduced the martial arts coach, Song Yunhui, a tall, striking woman clad in a loose, Ming Dynasty–style embroidered wool coat with a high collar and wide sleeves—dignified and elegant.

She smiled and said, “Welcome to the First High martial arts team, Gao Wu. I’m the coach. If you have any questions, you can always come to me.”

Song Yunhui had kept a close eye on this suddenly-rising youth. With Gao Wu’s abilities, he could help the team achieve better results at the Qilin Cup. On a personal level, she admired him. As a collateral member of the Song family, she knew how difficult it was for an ordinary youth to make it this far.

Up close, her martial instincts told her that Gao Wu’s tall, upright frame radiated strength—so much so that she felt a hint of intimidation.

Song Yunhui was even more satisfied: Gao Wu’s physical strength and toughness had reached the limit for a martial artist. Even if his techniques were a little lacking, his physical prowess made up for any shortcomings.

Gao Wu said warmly, “I’m young and inexperienced. I’ll be counting on your guidance.”

That morning was devoted to academic classes. After a few words with Gao Wu about the martial team’s training regimen, Song Yunhui left him in the care of the stern homeroom teacher, who led him to Class One.

Their entrance caused a stir among the students.

The homeroom teacher rapped the podium with her pointer: “Quiet. This is your new classmate, Gao Wu.”

She commanded enough authority that the students quickly settled down.

She pointed to the empty seat beside Song Mingyue. “You’ll sit there.”

Gao Wu had intended to introduce himself, but the teacher skipped that part. He took his seat beside Song Mingyue, beginning his first day at First High.

During the break, classmates looked at Gao Wu, wanting to speak to him but too intimidated—mainly by Song Mingyue’s presence, he thought.

Eventually, a boy couldn’t resist and struck up a conversation. Gao Wu responded politely, his approachable manner quickly drawing in more classmates.

That afternoon, Gao Wu went to the school’s martial arts gym.

The gym had a transparent dome; winter sunlight streamed in, filling the hall with light. The space was divided into equipment, rest, training, and sparring zones. The seats in the stands were all plush leather—quite luxurious.

Han Yang and Yang Ru were already there; seeing Gao Wu arrive, they smiled and applauded him in welcome.

They had all seen the Xuetao Cup finals and, as martial artists themselves, knew just how formidable and fierce Gao Wu had been. He was a tier above them—a fact they recognized. To put it bluntly, none of them were qualified to compete with him.

The martial arts team hierarchy was simple: might made right.

Han Yang and Yang Ru had already told everyone to welcome Gao Wu warmly, so the atmosphere was especially friendly.

They introduced Gao Wu to the other team members one by one. First High was well-funded; the team had twelve members, with five elite martial artists—a force unrivaled in all Dongjiang.

There were six more interschool matches in the next two months, but as First High was already at the top of the rankings, these would be little more than formalities—mainly a chance to give backup members experience, in preparation for when seniors like Han Yang and Yang Ru graduated next term.

Song Yunhui soon arrived, formally introduced Gao Wu to the team, and training began.

Wanting to gauge his abilities, she asked about Gao Wu’s background, then had him test his punching power.

Gao Wu’s turn at the punching target drew everyone’s attention. They all knew he was formidable, but not how formidable.

“2511, 2503, 2523…” Without holding back, Gao Wu let fly thirty heavy punches in half a minute, each exceeding 2,500 kilograms of force.

After several days’ rest, his heart had fully recovered and he could exert his strength normally. The battle in the Void Realm against Wan Cangsong, along with the activation of the Vermilion Bird Divine Light, had greatly increased his mental attribute.

To Gao Wu, “spirit” encompassed memory, perception, willpower, emotion, and what Song Mingyue called telekinesis—a complex concept. The most direct improvement was that his senses had sharpened, his will had grown firmer, he could better control his emotions, and his memory had indeed improved.

In martial arts, this meant he could comprehend techniques at a finer level and unleash his power more effectively. That was why he could now easily punch with over 2,500 kilograms of force.

The red numbers flashing on the target left the team members in shock.

They knew this figure surpassed the human martial artist’s limit. More frightening still, Gao Wu wore no protective gloves, yet his hands were unscathed after unleashing such power, revealing astonishing physical resilience.

Even Song Yunhui, herself a senior martial artist, was stunned. Without channeling source energy, relying only on her body, she barely reached Gao Wu’s level—and perhaps not even that.

She thought to herself, “This young man is terrifyingly strong…”

Han Yang and Yang Ru, by contrast, were more composed. Gao Wu had slain Wan Cangsong—such strength was only to be expected.

With this simple show of strength, Gao Wu earned the team’s respect and established himself as their leader.

That evening at six, Gao Wu rode home to Yunhu Villa with Song Mingyue. Han Yang and the other team members saw it happen, but no one dared gossip. If someone snitched to Gao Wu, they’d be in for trouble.

Meanwhile, at apartment 903, building seven of Yun Song Community, the door was knocked.

Huang Long opened the door lazily. “Who is it?”

Before he could see clearly, a figure in black slipped inside, closing the door behind them.

Huang Long, a tall and burly man, had no time to react. He was shocked, about to fight back, when the newcomer pulled back their hood, revealing a face he knew all too well.

“Uncle Three?” Huang Long was terrified. The public security bureau had labeled Huang Hai a cultist and placed him on the wanted list, instructing Huang Long to report him immediately if he appeared.

Because of Huang Hai, Huang Long had been expelled from the martial arts team.

He never expected his uncle would dare show his face, let alone come to his home.

He stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.

After more than a month, Huang Hai was noticeably thinner, his face darker, his gaze sinister and frightening.

Huang Long’s father came out of the kitchen at the noise, and was also shocked to see Huang Hai. “Third Brother, the security bureau is hunting you. Why did you come back?”

“I’m hungry,” Huang Hai said hoarsely. As he spoke, pain twisted his face and his pupils turned blood red.

Suddenly, a pair of snow-white wings unfurled from his back, filling the apartment with a cold, ominous aura—turning the three-room flat into a glacial tomb.

Huang Long and his father were petrified, unable even to scream. The wings beat once, a gleaming arc of icy light flashed—

In that instant, Huang Long, his father, and his mother at the kitchen door were all shredded into bloody fragments.

When Huang Hai regained his senses, he found himself covered head to toe in blood, surrounded by carnage.

He fought down the urge to vomit. Only the flesh and blood of kin could temporarily calm the Angel of Death’s rampage; he’d been left with no choice.

Over the past month, to stabilize the Death Wings, he’d killed many—mostly fellow cultists. Even so, he’d left many traces.

But the Death Wings grew ever more restless; he was running out of time.

Now, he couldn’t let his second brother’s family die in vain.

Standing at the window, Huang Hai gazed eastward at the dark mass of Yun Song Mountain. Somewhere there, he sensed a presence resonating with the Angel of Death. If he could find that person, perhaps he could transfer the Angel to them…

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