Chapter Forty-One: Using Her Foot

Xiao Nan cared little for what was running through the minds of others. He simply borrowed Lin Hao’s Dawn Phoenix Spear technique to fully display the results of his own blood-forged strength. After all, this was not a true life-or-death battle, but an assessment in front of the instructors.

Lin Hao had gotten one thing right: it didn’t matter how strong you were, nor did it matter whether you won quickly or slowly. What mattered most was ensuring the instructors recognized your abilities. Passing was enough; excelling was, of course, even better. These scores would be entered into your record and could affect educational subsidies—it was not something to be taken lightly.

So, why not exchange a few more moves? Let everyone enjoy the spectacle.

…

There were indeed those in the crowd who were excited by the match, their cheers and shouts resounding throughout the arena. Xiao Nan recognized the voice at once—Zhang Xiaorou had clearly rallied a good number of classmates to support him.

Of course, not everyone watched with pleasure. Vice Principal Lin Anguo, for instance, looked as though his eyes might spit fire at any moment. The two martial arts instructors were also taken aback; Xiao Nan’s performance was far beyond their expectations.

Especially Tang Zhixuan—she had her palms pressed on the long table, body leaning forward, eyes unblinking. There was not a trace left of her earlier drowsiness.

…

In truth, Lin Hao’s spear technique was intricate and refined, his movements deft, the spear’s tip trailing illusory wings with each thrust—an impressive feat. It was a union of strength and beauty. Clearly, he had poured a great deal of effort into perfecting his technique.

But so what? Impressive was still only impressive. Every weapon is an extension of the body, and the ultimate goal is to wield it as naturally as one’s own limb. Not only must you strike wherever you point, but you must also channel your strength to the very tip.

From Xiao Nan’s perspective, though Lin Hao’s spear was clever and powerful, he failed to concentrate all his gathered strength into the razor edge of the weapon. In the parlance of traditional martial arts, Lin Hao’s spear tip lacked the ability to “listen to energy”—it could not sense the flow of force in the air. He could release power, but not retract it, and there was no harmony to his movements.

The force he concentrated through his blood and sinews dissipated before reaching the final three feet of the spear’s tip, leaving it scattered and uncontrolled.

In the past, even if Xiao Nan could spot such weaknesses, the gap in raw strength would have prevented him from exploiting them. At best, he could have avoided Lin Hao’s strengths and struck at his weaknesses, eking out a draw.

But ever since he inherited his sister’s talent, the sword felt as alive as his own fingers—warm, breathing, a part of him. He could sense the weak points in Lin Hao’s spear thrusts even with his eyes closed, and could always strike first, whether to disrupt or to redirect.

To onlookers, his relentless advance seemed pressing and aggressive, but in truth he was still maneuvering, attacking indirectly. His swordwork was so deft and fluent that it seemed effortlessly smooth. No one realized that, from the first move to the last, he never once met force with force.

…

Lin Hao felt utterly constrained, his earlier confidence evaporating. The heroic vigor on his face twisted into frustration.

He was stifled. This wasn’t how the script was supposed to go. Wasn’t Xiao Nan supposed to be the weakling, defeated and left writhing in agony after just a few moves? Then he, Lin Hao, would not only pass with flying colors but also collect his reward and, after breaking through to a higher state, his future would be bright and limitless. As for being used as someone else’s tool—once he achieved martial mastery in university, who would remember these trivialities?

He had never imagined he would be on the back foot, unable to unleash his full strength, every attack falling short.

It felt like fighting an invisible foe. That long sword, as persistent as a shadow, always found the most uncomfortable spot to appear.

No, this wouldn’t do. At that thought, Lin Hao’s eyes flickered. He shifted his hands, spun on his heel, and retreated rapidly—the spear dragging behind him like a lifeless serpent.

“Is he about to lose? Or has he given up on the match altogether?”

“No, that’s ‘Turning to Gaze at the Moon,’ a killing move from the Dawn Phoenix Spear.”

“Don’t pursue him!”

Amid the commotion, countless voices rose and mingled, indistinguishable from one another.

Those watching from the sidelines saw more clearly, especially Xiong Bing, Wei Yunyun, and others from Class Five, who knew Lin Hao’s character well. They could not believe he would flee in defeat before the outcome was certain. As class monitor, to lose to a classmate who wasn’t even considered outstanding—what pride would he have left? How could he ever hold his head high again?

With such thoughts in mind, and seeing the cold gleam in Lin Hao’s eyes, they realized it was a trap.

Wei Yunyun watched with a mix of shock and worry; on the one hand, she was amazed by the depth of Xiao Nan’s sword technique, which had completely upended her understanding of the art. On the other, she was anxious—“Turning to Gaze at the Moon” was a killing stroke in the Dawn Phoenix Spear style, and very difficult to hold back. With Lin Hao’s blood and physical power, any hit could seriously injure Xiao Nan, perhaps even fatally.

She cried out a warning, but the action in the arena was already moving too swiftly.

…

Drawn by the flow of energy, Xiao Nan pressed the attack relentlessly—pursuing as the enemy retreated.

A faint smile flashed in his eyes. In this life, he might have never tasted blood, his experience shallow, but in his past life, after a decade of struggle and bloodshed, what peril had he not seen? He could see through Lin Hao’s ploy at a glance.

Feigning defeat, gathering strength for a desperate ambush—did Lin Hao really take him for a fool?

…

As the two advanced and retreated, blades of grass and clumps of earth were sent flying. Lin Hao dragged his spear, the tip cutting a shallow furrow in the ground.

Suddenly, a flash of cold light erupted. The spearhead, like a lurking viper, let out a faint whistle.

With a hiss, it shot straight at Xiao Nan’s chest and abdomen—so fast it seemed almost illusory.

A chorus of gasps rose from the crowd. The cheers and applause that had been so exuberant moments before fell abruptly silent. Even those farther away, like Zhang Xiaorou and her group, could see the danger looming.

…

The spearhead glinted coldly; a chill rose in Xiao Nan’s chest and belly as the tip drew near.

Xiao Nan pointed his sword askew, his gaze calm and unruffled. He seemed to see the currents of air, the distribution of force. The sword’s edge moved like ripples across water, drawing delicate arcs. With a flick of his wrist and a surge of strength through his fingers, the blade traced a gentle curve, landing soundlessly three inches up the spear’s blade.

At the same moment, he twisted his body, crossing his feet in a swift step, and his form surged forward with renewed speed.

The spear’s deadly point was deflected by the twisting force of the sword, veering off to graze past his shoulder. A faint trail was left in the air.

Xiao Nan didn’t even glance at the spear’s tip. Using the momentum of his turn, he dropped his stance and launched a spinning back kick from the ground.

A crisp crack rang out, as sharp as a whip.

The kick came with no warning, perfectly timed with his advance.

Lin Hao, just realizing his spear had lost control, had no time to understand how his killing move had been countered, when a shadow flashed at the corner of his eye.

Something struck his head, his body flying backward uncontrollably.

He crashed to the ground, arms and legs flailing, landing five or six meters away.

Dazed, he struggled to his feet, leaning on his spear, his head spinning. The waves of noise from the crowd washed over him, the classmates’ chatter and laughter.

It was only then that he realized what had happened, his face flushing red with shame, unable to find a place to hide.

…

“He actually used his foot?” Vice Principal Lin Anguo, face purple with rage, nearly slammed the table—was this still a sword match?

The two martial arts instructors who had earlier extolled Lin Hao as a candidate for the top martial universities were now deeply embarrassed, wishing they could swallow their words.

Tang Zhixuan’s pen had stopped spinning; she eyed the black footprint on Lin Hao’s face and the green blades of grass stuck to his hair, her gaze sparkling.

“To use the basic sword forms so skillfully—to the point where intercepting, washing, lifting, and twisting become a means to leverage strength and overcome the strong with the weak—such mastery is rare even among first-rank martial artists.”

She realized she had underestimated this student.

…

Laughter erupted all around, the students delighted at the spectacle. They were young and hadn’t learned to spare others’ dignity—a few boys even snorted like pigs with laughter.

With everyone watching, Lin Hao’s face turned purple with rage. He roared, “I haven’t lost yet!”

A flush of blood surged to his eyes, turning them crimson, veins bulging on his arms and neck.

Gritting his teeth, he gripped his spear with both hands, settled into a deep stance, and exuded an aura of ferocity.

“He’s mastered the Dawn Heart Technique,” Wei Yunyun sighed.

“This is a blood-burning attack—is it worth it? It’s just a class assessment; even if he loses, he passes.”

“To use this move, he’ll probably be bedridden for days.”

“The Dawn Phoenix Spear—Dawn Form.” Many who recognized the move fell silent, their expressions turning grave.

This was the ultimate killing technique of the Dawn Phoenix Spear Hall.

Normally, Lin Hao’s skill would not be enough to unleash it. Now, by forcibly burning his blood to drive the technique, it would be difficult to withstand.

The steel spear in Lin Hao’s hands bent into an arc, emitting a shrill, ear-piercing hum.

The spear’s tip vibrated, tracing a basin-sized circle in the air, the sharp whistle setting hearts pounding.

Man and spear moved as one, a fierce wind sweeping across the field.

Blades of grass swirling, Lin Hao charged like a dragon at Xiao Nan.

At the heart of the spinning spearhead, a faint, fiery glow could be seen.

All his strength was focused at the tip—unyielding and fierce.

This was the true Dawn Spear—the spear of the blazing sun.

Judging by this strike alone, Lin Hao’s explosive power had already surpassed the thousand-pound threshold, likely reaching twelve hundred pounds or more.

…

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