Chapter Seventy-Seven: Initiation

This fight seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, and it appeared there were quite a few who wanted to take him on.

However, upon noticing the faint smiles on the faces of Li Jinglong and Ke Wenlong, Feng Xiaobao began to understand.

It turned out that after having sparred with Feng Xiaobao, Li Jinglong remained impressed. Upon returning, he exclaimed, “Such exceptional talent and foundation—I haven’t encountered its like in a hundred years. I must accept him as my final disciple!”

No sooner had he spoken than his close disciples reacted as if their tails had been stepped on, leaping up in protest.

Li Jinglong had nine direct disciples. The eldest had died of illness, the third and seventh had fallen in battle. Of the remaining six, three had become generals, one had taken a civil post, and two, who had not entered official service, remained by his side managing affairs. Even the youngest, Ninth Disciple Tian Yaoquan, was already in his thirties.

He had not accepted a new disciple in a long time; all recent initiates were his grand-disciples, the eldest of whom was also over thirty.

No one had expected that a young man of barely twenty could become his tenth disciple—their junior uncle!

Unthinkable!

Rumors began to swirl among the inner circle: if Feng Xiaobao came, anyone who could defeat him would replace him as Lord Jinglong’s tenth disciple!

Consequently, Li Jinglong was pleased to see a sudden surge of diligence among his upper disciples, each sharpening their skills and preparing for Feng Xiaobao’s arrival.

Now that he had arrived, a challenger immediately stepped forward—Han Jie, an outstanding member of the second generation.

Han Jie strode out confidently, wielding a shield and a curved blade.

He had given careful thought to countering Feng Xiaobao’s renowned spear technique. Not only was he quick to step forth, but his choice of weapons was deliberate.

Shield in hand, he could protect himself against even the most exquisite spearwork. He had no intention of engaging head-on; the spear could not penetrate the shield, and with his own blade, he planned to close in. Even if he couldn’t win, he could at least make things difficult for the upstart, perhaps even embarrass him.

His plan, however, collapsed in less than three minutes, as Feng Xiaobao promptly shattered his illusions like a soap bubble.

Taking a gleaming silver spear from A Yi, Feng Xiaobao exchanged a courteous salute with Han Jie before launching a fierce assault.

A shield—did he think he was Captain America?

Advancing directly, shield at the ready, aiming to drive him back?

Feng Xiaobao decided to teach him the art of attacking from the flank.

He did not retreat; instead, he circled his opponent.

Feng Xiaobao’s lateral attacks demonstrated his exceptional agility, proving to all that his reputed sensitivity and quickness were no empty boasts. Ordinarily, a defender can spin in place faster than someone circling him, but Feng Xiaobao’s movements were as nimble as a monkey’s, outpacing Han Jie with ease. Once he struck, Han Jie was immediately in jeopardy.

After weathering a few thrusts with great difficulty, Han Jie found himself unable to defend both high and low, and Feng Xiaobao struck his ankle. Losing his balance, he tumbled to the ground.

Feng Xiaobao’s easy victory only further ignited the fighting spirit among the elite of Li Jinglong’s second-generation disciples.

As excitement surged, a man with a bristling beard and the bearing of a seasoned soldier stepped forward, instantly silencing all debate over who would go next.

Tian Yaohan, eldest of the second generation.

His prowess nearly matched that of the first generation. If he were to lose, the entire second generation would concede defeat.

Tian Yaohan wielded a massive guandao—a hallmark of Li Jinglong’s orthodox lineage. The blade shimmered with cold menace, his strikes fierce and merciless, leaving no room for error.

Some disciples cried out in alarm, hearts pounding as they imagined the terrible fate that would befall anyone struck by that blade.

Feng Xiaobao’s spear moved as swiftly as lightning, its tip blossoming into deadly petals.

The clangor of weapon against weapon rang out, deafening.

Finding himself unable to overpower Feng Xiaobao, Tian Yaohan was secretly astonished.

The guandao was heavy, its blows carrying tremendous force. Yet the opponent handled the onslaught with perfect composure, parrying with ease and counterattacking relentlessly, each thrust aimed at a vital point.

Summoning all his focus, Tian Yaohan let out a thunderous roar and brought his blade crashing down.

Feng Xiaobao did not flinch or yield, meeting the strike head-on, spear to guandao.

A thunderous crash echoed across the arena, a gust of wind sweeping outward and causing the onlookers to duck their heads involuntarily.

Feng Xiaobao’s spear moved like the wind, the tip never leaving Tian Yaohan’s head, throat, or abdomen.

The same techniques produced vastly different results—Tian Yaohan could not match the mastery of the old Sword King, nor his far-reaching vision or preemptive positioning.

Unable to suppress Feng Xiaobao, his spearwork naturally dominated, each thrust targeting the throat, forcing Tian Yaohan to retreat step by step. Though he roared in frustration, once Feng Xiaobao seized the advantage, there was little hope of regaining control.

Seeing their eldest brother so thoroughly beaten, silence descended upon the training hall, all former dissent evaporating.

Ke Wenlong let out a soft sigh. “Enough!”

Everyone halted, the outcome clear. Tian Yaohan was gasping for breath, clearly exhausted, while Feng Xiaobao soon regained his calm composure.

“Bring the guandao!”

Ke Wenlong took Tian Yaohan’s great blade and called out, “Come!”

The blade’s momentum surged like a dragon, awe-inspiring and unmatched in its ferocity.

Ke Wenlong’s technique differed little from Tian Yaohan’s, but his strength was greater and his movements quicker. In his hands, the blade danced like a sea-dragon, the cuts fluid and unimpeded, as if a nimble antelope’s horns traced invisible arcs—each stroke smooth and powerful, slicing through the air as naturally as flowing water, every blow meant to cleave flesh.

Tian Yaohan watched, heart soaring, reaping great benefit.

He had often seen his grandmaster and uncles demonstrate their blade techniques, but fighting a match himself and then watching his uncle immediately afterward, he gained a deeper appreciation. Only then did he realize how the same moves, when executed correctly, could produce the greatest killing power.

Ke Wenlong fought with the prowess of a general, yet Feng Xiaobao managed to hold his own, for after his defeat by Li Jinglong, he had reflected deeply. Having come from the future, he possessed a wealth of knowledge: how does one contend with a superior master?

There were countless examples from history; the most obvious being the “asymmetric tactics” used by the five-thousand-year-old dragon against the foolish White Eagle. “You fight your way, I fight mine. I need not dance to your tune—I need only unleash my own striking power.”

Thus, Feng Xiaobao did not attempt to match him move for move, but instead focused on his signature throat-locking spear technique. If ever the pressure grew too great, he leapt away and regrouped his assault.

Blade and spear clashed, both exerting their utmost. Feng Xiaobao, by sheer effort, managed to fight Ke Wenlong to a draw.

Yet judging by the smile at the corner of Ke Wenlong’s mouth, it was clear he was holding back. Indeed, being more than twice Feng Xiaobao’s age and a general at that, it was not in his nature—unlike his master Li Jinglong—to shamelessly bully the young before an audience.

“Enough!” Li Jinglong called out.

Both Ke Wenlong and Feng Xiaobao stopped at once. Feng Xiaobao bowed respectfully. “Thank you, General Ke, for your instruction!”

“You’re impressive,” Ke Wenlong praised. “If you walked out to battle the Tibetans now, you’d kill them; at your age, I was the one being killed by them.”

“I dare not accept such praise!” Feng Xiaobao hurried to reply.

Li Jinglong stood up, casting a tigerish gaze over his disciples. “I wish to take him as my tenth disciple—does anyone object?”

No one answered.

Li Jinglong smiled with satisfaction. “Very well. Xiaobao, from this day forth, you are my tenth disciple!”

Feng Xiaobao knelt deeply and called out, “Master!”