One disciple coughed and quickly cupped his fists, backing away.
“I… have other matters to attend to. Sorry, Head Disciple!”
“Come to think of it, my friend asked me to help him with practising his technique.”
Another followed. Then another.
Soon, everyone was already moving down the steps of the Cloud Pavilion, glancing back over their shoulders, both fearful and curious.
They consoled themselves with the thought that it was Fang Jinyan who had provoked this great disaster—they had no part in it.
Finally, only Bai Zihan, Fang Jinyan, and Kong Zhanhong remained.
Kong Zhanhong wanted nothing more than to run away, but doing so would mean offending Fang Jinyan.
So, despite his instincts screaming at him to flee, he forced himself to stay.
By then, Fang Jinyan was fuming with anger.
His authority as Head Disciple had been trampled by Bai Zihan, and he had lost a great deal of face.
In the future, it would be difficult for him to command the same respect he once held.
“Bai Zihan!”
Fang Jinyan roared, dropping all pretense.
“How dare you overstep your bounds as an Inner Disciple?!”
His expression twisted as the last of the disciples fled the Cloud Pavilion. Their retreat echoed like a chorus of slaps across his face.
He had been thoroughly humiliated.
His reputation and status as Head Disciple were stomped underfoot by Bai Zihan—and the man wasn’t even pretending to be modest.
He stood tall, looking at Fang Jinyan as if he were already beneath him.
That was the final straw.
Fang Jinyan’s hand dropped to his waist as a surge of Qi flared around him.
“You’ve crossed the line, Bai Zihan.”
He said, fuming with anger.
“I won’t allow you to continue disrespecting the peak—or me!”
With a hiss of steel, Whispering Frost left its sheath, the refined spirit weapon gleaming with icy-blue light.
The wind howled through the pavilion as his aura exploded outward.
It was a Profound-Grade weapon gifted to him by Shen Liang—originally meant to be unveiled during the upcoming Core Disciple assessment.
But now, blinded by rage, all he could think about was using it to crush Bai Zihan and reassert his dominance.
Kong Zhanhong flinched from the release of pressure and quickly backed away.
He’d considered running, but seeing Fang Jinyan take the lead brought relief.
(Great! He’s handling it himself. That means I don’t have to do anything.)
He silently moved to the side, far from the center of the coming storm, hands raised as if to show he had no part in this anymore.
Bai Zihan remained still, the wind tugging at his robes, gaze calm as he looked at Fang Jinyan.
Then, with a smooth motion, he reached into his spatial ring and drew his own weapon.
The moment the blade appeared, the atmosphere shifted.
A heavy, suffocating pressure slammed into the pavilion like a tidal wave.
The sword’s design was simple—no ornate embellishments, no garish colors—yet it radiated an oppressive sense of dominance.
Its edge shimmered faintly, as if hungering for battle.
An Earth-Grade Sword!
Kong Zhanhong’s knees nearly buckled.
After all, weapons of that grade were usually only wielded by high-ranking elders within the Heaven Sword Sect.
If Bai Zihan knew this, he would’ve mocked the so-called “poor” elders—after all, not only did he possess an Earth-Grade sword, but he was also fully equipped with Earth-Grade artifacts from head to toe.
It was one of the reasons he had no fear facing Fang Jinyan, even if the latter was a Golden Core cultivator.
Fang Jinyan’s eyes widened.
“You—where did you get that?!”
Bai Zihan didn’t respond. He simply raised the blade, resting it casually on his shoulder.
“Since you’re so eager for a fight,” he said, “let’s not waste time!”
Fang Jinyan gritted his teeth, fury bubbling.
“So, you’re relying on a weapon to make up for your weakness?” he spat.
“Hmph! No matter how strong a weapon is, it’s only as powerful as the one who wields it!”
But even as he said that, he felt unease rise in his chest.
This was his first time facing an Earth-Grade weapon. No matter how he tried to brush it off, the pressure it exuded was real.
He tried to convince himself—and Bai Zihan—that someone at the Core Formation Stage couldn’t possibly handle such a weapon properly.
With a roar, Fang Jinyan moved first, dashing forward, Whispering Frost flashing like a beam of cold light.
A full-force strike from a Golden Core cultivator.
Any ordinary opponent would’ve been crushed in an instant.
But Bai Zihan was no ordinary opponent.
He raised his sword.
Clang!
A single swing.
The impact cracked the tiles of the Cloud Pavilion.
Fang Jinyan was blasted backward mid-strike, skidding across the floor as he struggled to stay upright.
“That sword…”
Fang Jinyan’s arms trembled. His hands had gone numb.
He thought it was just the sword’s power. After all, a Core Formation stage cultivator could never—
But it wasn’t just the sword.
Bai Zihan himself possessed overwhelming strength that defied his cultivation realm.
His body had been refined through the Primordial Chaos Body Refinement Technique—his physique possibly surpassing that of Golden Core cultivators.
Combined with the Myriad Breathing Technique, his Qi was impossibly pure, allowing him to execute techniques with terrifying efficiency.
While Fang Jinyan staggered, Bai Zihan wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover.
He wasn’t some third-rate villain who’d taunt his opponent and let them strike back.
He would end the battle when he had the advantage.
“Nine Shadows Flowing Light Sword!”
“First Form: Flickering Shadow Step!”
He vanished.
Fang Jinyan’s pupils contracted as Bai Zihan reappeared directly in front of him, sword already descending.
BOOM—!
Fang barely raised Whispering Frost in time to block—but the raw power behind Bai Zihan’s strike was too overwhelming for him to block.
Fang Jinyan staggered backward, blood rushing up his throat.
He couldn’t believe what was happening. A Core Formation Stage cultivator was casually overpowering him.
“This can’t be… I refuse to believe he can beat me!”
Desperation overtook Fang Jinyan.
He unleashed a barrage of techniques, his aura blazing with violent intensity—but Bai Zihan met every strike with calm precision.
His swordplay was fluid, elegant, and devastating, parrying each attack like it was child’s play.
“Oh? So this is the strength of the mighty Head Disciple?”
Bai Zihan’s voice dripped with mockery.
“At this rate, I might as well take your place. You’re clearly unworthy of the title.”
Fang Jinyan’s fury spiked.
The taunt stung not because it was cruel—but because it felt true.
If he couldn’t even defeat a Core Formation cultivator, then what was left of his pride?
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bai Zihan! You haven’t won yet!”
He roared, forcing strength into his voice—but the desperation behind it was obvious.
No matter how he tried to spin it, Bai Zihan had already outclassed him in every way.
(It’s time!)
Bai Zihan twisted his blade, disrupting Fang Jinyan’s stance with sudden, precise footwork.
Then—bam!—a brutal kick to the gut.
Fang flew backward, coughing blood as he slammed into a pillar.
“Second Form: Phantom Light Strike!”
This was the end!