"How could I possibly not understand?" Chen Fan scoffed inwardly.
The True Martial Immortal Sect was hailed as the foremost combat sect of the entire cultivation realm. From the most elementary body-tempering arts to the swordplay of celestial assassins, they had mastered it all. As the sect's top disciple, what form of combat hadn't he seen? The girl's punches were, to him, no more sophisticated than the flailing of a toddler.
Even the Thirty-Six True Martial Hand Techniques practiced by the lowest-tier disciples—those not even formally admitted to the sect—were leagues beyond her so-called martial arts.
That particular technique was used only by servants and unranked followers for basic physical combat. Real cultivators had long abandoned such primitive fighting styles.
Still, Chen Fan had no interest in argument, nor any intention of revealing his true identity. Instead, he offered a simple, clean apology:
"You're right—I don't understand. I was shaking my head for another reason. My apologies."
"If you don't understand, then stop shaking your head like you do…" the girl muttered, ready to press the issue further—until the elderly man in the Tang suit interjected.
"Ziqing, that's enough. He's apologized."
"Yes, Grandfather," she replied curtly, shooting Chen Fan a fierce glare before returning to the old man's side.
Chen Fan gave a helpless shake of the head. What a senseless encounter.
His gaze shifted briefly toward the elderly man, only to realize—surprisingly—that he, too, possessed internal energy. What's more, it was significantly more refined than that of the ponytailed girl.
Purely in terms of volume, the old man's cultivation could be likened to the mid-Foundation Stage, even slightly above Chen Fan's current level. As for Ziqing, she had merely scratched the surface, not yet reaching the threshold of Foundation Establishment.
Of course, one couldn't compare martial artists and cultivators purely by volume.
The difference in quality was like that between tofu and a steel blade—no matter how large the tofu, it would still be sliced cleanly in half. Chen Fan could effortlessly defeat ten of the old man with a single hand.
Once he understood the situation, his curiosity faded. No longer interested in watching Ziqing's practice, he found a willow tree nearby and sat cross-legged beneath it to resume his own cultivation.
Before long, he slipped into deep meditation. As the Void Body-Tempering Technique circulated through him, the space around him seemed to fall into stillness.
His odd posture quickly drew attention from the elderly man and the girl. After all, who comes to the park at dawn to sit under a tree and nap?
"Hmm?"
After observing for a while, the old man let out a low sound of surprise.
"What is it, Grandpa?" Ziqing asked, puzzled.
"Look closely at him. Do you notice anything unusual?" The elder's expression grew increasingly grave.
"Unusual?" Ziqing frowned, inspecting him carefully. Nothing seems odd...
"Watch his breathing," the old man said softly.
With that hint, Ziqing finally noticed—this infuriating boy who had disrupted her training was breathing in a manner most bizarre. Each inhale caused his chest to swell dramatically, then sink slowly with each exhale, as though he were a living bellows. Two faint streams of white mist curled from his nostrils, dancing like playful serpents—impossible to see without close scrutiny.
"What… is that?" she asked, brows knit.
"That," the old man said solemnly, "is a profound internal cultivation method. It's said that only masters from ancient martial lineages possess such skills. To breathe like that requires extraordinary lung strength—just one breath could sustain a person underwater for hours. I never thought I'd live to witness such mastery… and in someone so young."
"Hmph." Ziqing crossed her arms with a scoff. "He's just breathing hard. What's so impressive? Grandpa, you're overestimating him."
"Ah, my headstrong girl…" The old man chuckled and shook his head affectionately. "You don't understand. What he's doing can't be achieved without decades of cultivation. I've only heard of such technique in legend. Someone like you wouldn't even require him to lift a finger—his breath alone could knock you flat."
"Really?" A flicker of disbelief crossed Ziqing's face.
Suddenly, her expression changed. "Wait a minute… if he truly is some great master, then that shake of the head earlier wasn't out of confusion—it was disdain for my technique?"
"Fine then, Grandpa. You've talked him up so much—I want to test him myself." A flame of indignation surged within her as realization dawned.
"Ah…" The old man sighed, watching his granddaughter brimming with combative spirit.
Still, he made no move to stop her. True, this young man might be a martial arts master. But the old man had seen countless dangers in his life, had survived both blades and bullets—he was no stranger to risk. And besides, it was only a friendly spar.
They didn't have to wait long. About thirty minutes later, the boy beneath the tree exhaled a long stream of white breath. It shot out like a blade, cutting through the air for several meters—noticeably farther than the previous day.
"He's the real deal," the old man murmured, eyes narrowing.
"Don't worry—Qi-ge is here," Ziqing replied, boldly.
Unlike her grandfather, she had grown up adored and admired, never having encountered a true master. She still bore that fearless spirit of the inexperienced.
The sharp-eyed young man leaning against the black SUV had already approached. His eyes were cold and blade-like, his build powerful and poised for combat.
Chen Fan rose to his feet, slightly dissatisfied.
This training ground was certainly better than most, but it couldn't compare to yesterday's herb-fueled session.
Turning around, he was surprised to see the ponytailed girl and the old man still standing there, watching him intently.
As he stirred, the elder stepped forward with a cupped-fist salute. "I didn't realize young friend was also a fellow martial artist. I am Wei Fu. May I ask where you hail from, and who your master is?"
"Wei Fu?" The name seemed vaguely familiar, but Chen Fan didn't dwell on it. In five hundred years of his past life, he had met too many to remember them all.
Judging by their posture, they had likely witnessed the anomalies during his cultivation and misunderstood.
Chen Fan gave a faint shake of the head. "I'm not a martial artist. If anything, you could call me a Daoist cultivator."
He couldn't speak of cultivation outright—they wouldn't understand. The closest analogy would be the ancient Daoist mystics from legends—sorcerers and spiritual adepts.
"A Daoist cultivator? From the Daoist tradition?" Wei Fu looked puzzled. Since when did Daoists practice martial arts?
"Grandpa, stop wasting words with him." Ziqing stepped forward coldly. "Earlier, I asked why you shook your head—you said you didn't understand. That was a lie, wasn't it? Come on then, let's see what you've got."
So she really wants a duel?
Chen Fan felt a faint amusement rise in his chest. It's been years since anyone dared openly challenge the North Profound Immortal Sovereign of the True Martial Sect—let alone a pretty, hot-blooded girl.
"Should I indulge her? Or… indulge her?"
Still, it felt beneath him to bully a young girl.
Facing the fiery Ziqing, Chen Fan raised his hands innocently. "I'm just a Daoist who knows a little about Qi cultivation. I don't know a thing about fists or swords—you've misunderstood."
"Hah. You mocked my techniques earlier, and now you play dumb? Do you take me for a child?" she sneered, utterly unconvinced.
"Young man, there's no harm in exchanging a few moves," Wei Fu added. "My granddaughter's skills are far from perfect, but her family's boxing art has some merit. Perhaps you can offer a pointer or two."
Though he said this lightly, Wei Fu was watching Chen Fan closely.
When the youth had shown no reaction to his name, Wei Fu felt a pang of disappointment—yet also relief. Most would treat him with utmost respect, but this boy hadn't even flinched.
"Ah…"
Chen Fan sighed. Seeing Ziqing already in her stance, stern-faced and poised, he knew there was no avoiding it.
With a flick of his fingers, he plucked a leaf from the willow above, gathered a trace of true essence, and flicked it outward.
Whoosh!
A dark blur shot through the air like lightning, slicing past the girl's cheek and embedding itself into a tree more than ten meters away.
Thud! The sound was like a bullet slamming into wood. The willow shuddered, leaves cascading like rain.
"Careful!"
Wei Fu's face twisted in alarm, but he was already too late.
"What…?" Ziqing stood frozen. A lock of hair on her right side had been cleanly severed, her crystal earring fallen to the ground.
She touched her cheek and felt a fine line of blood. Turning, she saw the leaf buried deep in the tree, as if it were a dagger forged of steel.
"To harm with a single leaf…?"
Wei Fu's heart leapt into his throat. Seeing that Ziqing was unharmed, he finally exhaled in relief.
He gave a wry smile. "Never in my life did I expect to witness such mastery. Incredible. Truly incredible. Even I wouldn't last a single exchange."
He bowed deeply with hands clasped. "I was blind to your eminence. My granddaughter and I have been most presumptuous."
His heart churned with emotion. He had thought he'd overestimated the boy—yet the truth exceeded even his wildest guess. Chen Fan was no ordinary prodigy—he was a martial grandmaster, one of those rare giants who stood at the peak of the martial world.
Ziqing forgot all about her injury. She rushed to the tree, pulled out the embedded leaf, and stared at Chen Fan in disbelief.
"You used… this soft leaf to cut my hair, break my earring, and pierce a tree? How is that even possible?"
Even the sharp-eyed young man stood frozen. He had followed Wei Fu for years and never seen such skill.
If someone like Chen Fan were an enemy… even a casual flick of a leaf or slip of paper could kill you—without giving you the slightest chance to react.
Terrifying.
Cold sweat trickled down his back.