Chapter Forty: The Phoenix Spear Greets the Dawn

Lin Hao gripped the spear about three inches from its butt, the muscles in his arm rippling like waves. With a slight flick, the alloy steel spear—nearly three meters long from hilt to tip—shimmered, its shaft vibrating so rapidly it conjured faint afterimages.

A resonant hum filled the air.

The spear tip quivered. With a twist of his wrist, Lin Hao drew the weapon in, spinning it rapidly around his body. On either side of him, densely packed projections of the spear shot forth, spreading wide like a pair of wings.

Each feather-like blade gleamed coldly, sharp as knives, dazzling to behold.

Magnificent. Exquisite.

“What incredible spearwork!” gasps of astonishment rose from the surrounding students.

Though this was a serious subject-sorting exam, Lin Hao’s display ignited the atmosphere, turning the formality into a spectacle.

“What is that?” In the crowd of Class Five seniors, Dong Cheng blurted out, “Isn’t our class president supposed to practice the ‘Ten Crimson Swords’ from the Crimson Blood Martial Hall? When did he learn such a breathtaking spear technique?”

“That’s the ‘Phoenix Greets the Sun Spear’—the signature technique of the Zhao Family’s Sun Martial Hall,” someone replied. “I looked into it; their tuition is exorbitant, and even if they accept you, they only teach the Phoenix Spear, not the Sun Heart Method. Unless you’re an exception, you have to become a direct disciple to learn the real skills.”

Wei Yunyun, though talented and determined in martial arts, could do little about these schools that required certain prerequisites to impart true knowledge.

Her family was poor; she couldn’t afford the tuition.

So, while she was the class’s academic monitor, the only technique she practiced was the school’s basic Thirteen Sword Forms. She hadn’t learned a single advanced technique from any martial hall.

Seeing Lin Hao not only master the Crimson Blood Sword but also display the Phoenix Greets the Sun Spear during the duel, her heart ached, and her words were heavy with resentment.

“Phoenix Greets the Sun Spear? Just yesterday he was praising the Crimson Blood Sword as the best for novices like us, perfect for practical duels, and today he’s…” grumbled Nie Dongyun, who practiced the Crimson Blood Sword.

Among the three major martial halls of Yuanjiang, the “Four Seasons Sword” was widely regarded as flashy but weak, while the Crimson Blood Sword was notorious for its lethality and practicality, though it lacked elegance—every move was loud, forceful, and brash, often criticized for its lack of refinement.

As for the Zhao Family’s Sun Spear Hall, rumor had it the old master was a retired military officer. The Phoenix Greets the Sun Spear he taught was refined through years of combat, its subtleties perfected. It was formidable both in group battles and single combat.

Most importantly, the spearwork was beautiful.

When in motion, it resembled a phoenix spreading its wings, the very picture of mastery.

Of course, it had its downsides—the old master was greedy, keeping his true techniques secret. Ordinary members learned only the Phoenix Spear, not the Sun Heart Method, and once mastered, the technique was not as powerful as expected.

But Lin Hao in the arena clearly wasn’t just wielding the Phoenix Spear. His confident demeanor suggested he had hidden aces up his sleeve, intent on making a splash during this official, public examination.

...

Lin Anguo sat on the dais, lightly stroking the sparse black whiskers on his chin, unable to suppress a smile in his eyes.

He had gone to great lengths to ensure his son received the true transmission of the Sun Heart Method from the Zhao Family.

Beside him, a martial arts instructor nodded repeatedly in praise. “His strength and technique are both excellent. Judging by the overall ability, aside from Li Shaohua, none of the other students come close.”

“Congratulations, Principal Lin. With another two months of focused training, your son could easily apply to a top university,” another instructor chimed in.

“You flatter me,” Lin Anguo replied modestly, though joy was evident in his tone.

He suddenly turned to Tang Zhixuan. Seeing the young female teacher’s eyes still misty, as if half-asleep, he frowned and asked, “Teacher Tang, what do you think of this spearwork?”

“Nothing special,” Tang Zhixuan replied lazily.

“Uh…”

...

Xiao Nan stood dumbfounded, longsword in hand, watching Lin Hao’s spear dance from across the arena, his mind in a daze.

Who am I? Where am I? What am I supposed to be doing?

At first, he’d thought Lin Hao was about to attack, only to realize the latter was putting on a performance.

Why are you so impressive?

He couldn’t deny it—Lin Hao’s flourish was mesmerizing to watch.

The gleaming spear blade became a pair of wings in his hands, flashes of sharpness flaring like a great bird shaking its feathers.

But battles are never about who looks better.

True strength is proven in combat.

...

Lin Hao spun his spear for over a minute, feeling exhilarated as if the weapon had come alive, whistling through the air with unstoppable force.

Finally, he halted, still relishing the sensation, and stared at his opponent, puzzled. “Why are you still standing there?”

“Are you stupid?” Xiao Nan nearly rolled his eyes.

We haven’t even started yet. If I just left after watching your spear dance, what’s the point of this exam? Would I pass or fail?

Three years as classmates, and he’d never noticed Lin Hao, the class president, was such a clown.

“Fine, since you insist on being humiliated, don’t blame me,” Lin Hao’s smug smile stiffened, his gaze turning cruel.

He’d promised someone to suppress Xiao Nan and was to be paid two sticks of Mind-Nourishing Incense for it. The Li family really was generous, rewarding so handsomely for such a trivial task.

Of course, the ideal was to win without a fight.

Everyone knew Xiao Nan was timid, rarely arguing with anyone.

People even called him a “sissy,” and he never got angry.

But this was partly because of his circumstances—weak constitution, poor martial skills.

Someone like him, a little intimidation would send his head spinning and have him scurrying off in no time.

That would be considered cowardice.

Once labeled a coward, his reputation would be ruined. Any hope of pursuing martial studies would be lost—he’d have no chance at all.

After all, this wasn’t a life-or-death duel, just a friendly spar between classmates. If he didn’t even dare fight now… how could anyone expect anything of him? Why even bother learning martial arts?

...

“If you won’t step down, I’ll just break your bones and ruin your future. You’ll have no one but yourself to blame,” Lin Hao thought coldly, his eyes turning steely.

He pounced forward, spear flashing like a meteor, lunging with rapid jabs. He showed no mercy—each step tore up the turf, spear carving arcs of afterimages, merging into a blur of wings.

“Phoenix Shakes Its Feathers—Gale Form!”

The lines between real and illusory blurred as the spear’s length shifted unpredictably. The watching students saw only a flurry, unable to track the attack.

They thought that, faced with such a storm of spear thrusts, they’d have no hope of blocking it.

The only option seemed to be retreat.

But the spear, being a long weapon, was designed to hunt down fleeing foes.

No matter how fast you retreated, you wouldn’t outpace a charging opponent with an extended arm and a thrusting blade—that was fatal.

“It’s over. Should’ve just surrendered earlier. If martial studies are hopeless anyway, better to avoid injury,” Wei Yunyun inhaled sharply, feeling a chill run through her body.

Xiong Bing shook his head in silent regret. “Told you to call for backup, but you had to act tough. Now look—he’s aiming to cripple you, to block your future entirely. Those who lack self-awareness always end up miserable.”

No one noticed that Tang Zhixuan, who’d been slouching in her seat, had suddenly tensed ever so slightly.

The steel pen idly twirling between her delicate fingers came to an abrupt halt, a sharp gleam flashing through her half-lidded eyes.

Refusing to let someone through the back door was one thing, but to have a student beaten to serious injury in front of her was unacceptable.

She couldn’t face her junior sister otherwise.

“Oh? There’s more to this than I thought?”

Just as she was about to flick the pen, Tang Zhixuan quietly slipped back into her listless state...

A string of sharp “shh-shh” sounds echoed in the arena, like wind sighing through treetops, carrying a faint melody.

Amid the tempestuous spearwork, one figure wasn’t retreating—instead, he advanced step by step.

A step to the left, a step to the right, half a step back, two steps forward.

Diagonal slash, side swipe, reverse tap, forward thrust…

Each step, a sword strike—each strike, precise.

“What is this?” Wei Yunyun could hardly believe her eyes. Wasn’t this the same basic Thirteen Sword Forms she had practiced endlessly until she never wanted to see them again?

But it was more than just the basics; there was something indescribable woven into it.

A blend of grace and agility—like a breeze through the mountains or a stream flowing over stones.

Effortless—that was the word.

Whether a technique looks good or not, there’s really only one measure: does it win?

At this moment, Xiao Nan not only refused to retreat, he pressed forward with every strike.

Amid the soft “shh-shh” and even the chime of metal on metal, the audience could see clearly: every sword strike intercepted the spear at the precise moment before it could unleash its full force.

Lin Hao’s flurry of spear shadows, once so formidable, was broken—here by a sword, there by a thrust—until the wings were tattered and the technique looked ugly.

“How is he stopping Lin Hao’s eight hundred pounds of force?” Xiong Bing stared in disbelief, rubbing his eyes and watching the clash intently, finally piecing it together.

To him, Xiao Nan wasn’t using much strength—at most four hundred pounds. Against a full-force spear thrust, he shouldn’t have been able to block.

But every sword strike landed at just the right angle, always intercepting the spear at its point of power transition, as if he could predict each move.

A spear is like a fist; a sword, like a finger.

If you throw a punch and someone taps your elbow or raps your wrist before the force is released, the punch loses its power—there’s no force left.

“Is that really the basic sword form?”

...

“Go, Xiao Nan! Go, Xiao Nan!” a shrill, excited female voice called from afar.

Then, dozens more voices joined in.

A crowd of younger girls bounced and shouted, waving pom-poms.

There was even a cheerleading squad?

Xiong Bing looked utterly bewildered.