Chapter Fifteen: Where the Sword Points (Part Two)

To those illustrious figures seated beneath the corridor—especially the distinguished guests from the Divine Strategy Command—Wang Wei’s talent was truly astonishing. That he had refined the Thunderclap Fist to such a level left them in awe. Even more surprising was that Wang Wei’s aura had already reached the Upper Heaven Origin stage.

It was Li Fu who now stood to face dozens of strikes from the Thunderclap Fist.

Most of the spectators had already concluded in their hearts that Li Fu would soon be eliminated. This particular fist technique boasted a unique quality: the fists struck with the force of thunder and exploded like lightning. If struck, the powerful currents attached to the punching shadows would erupt in an instant—even a cultivator superior by a minor realm would not dare take it head-on. True energy surged like a storm, enveloping the space around the enemy; a single punch could overcome dozens, making it an ideal technique for the battlefield. It was first created by the God General Qin and later adopted by the Divine Strategy Army.

In the last chaotic match within the hall, Li Fu had knocked out the third son of the Wang family with a single sword strike. Yet this time, the Thunderclap Fist left him no room to dodge. On such a confined stage, it was clear to all that evading the Thunderclap Fist was a great challenge. Besides, Wang Wei had already locked onto Li Fu with his technique.

The next instant, there was a ripple of astonished murmurs from the onlookers.

Yang Ning’s eyes narrowed, the clarity in his gaze turning sharp as he caught Li Fu’s subtle movement.

Several among the crowd furrowed their brows, watching the scene on the stage with surprise and confusion.

Li Fu had shifted his footwork ever so lightly, somehow finding a sliver of an opening amidst the encircling Thunderclap Fist and broke free.

More accurately, it seemed as if he had stepped casually to the side and simply avoided it.

Dozens of fist shadows exploded where Li Fu had just stood, a violent gust blowing his long hair into disarray.

“Did you see that footwork…?” Old Master Yang addressed the Divine Plume General beside him.

“Azure Lotus Nine Steps,” the Divine Plume General replied coldly, his chiseled face flashing with a hint of murderous intent.

“Grand Tutor…” Old Master Yang spoke quietly, then sighed as he looked at the Divine Plume General. “After all these years, it’s time to let go. The return of the Azure Lotus is a good thing. I used to be like you, but in the end, both sides suffered. If he returns, let’s sit down and talk.”

The Divine Plume General remained silent.

…

Time pressed on quickly. Li Fu had little room to consider his next move. Wang Wei’s fists came one after another, like a relentless storm. The shadows of the Thunderclap Fist filled every corner of the stage.

Yet Li Fu still did not move. Since the match began, he had shifted only twice. Those below the stage—Yang Ning and the others, as well as the dignitaries in the corridor—were all baffled. What was Li Fu planning? Was he simply waiting to be struck down? Taking even a single hit from such a technique, if not deadly, would surely shatter several bones.

When Wang Wei closed to within ten paces, Li Fu finally acted.

He did not dodge, nor did he meet the attack with his body. Instead, the “Cleansing Lotus” sword in his hand shimmered with the luster of autumn water and struck straight downward!

A fierce sound echoed across the stage, followed by a rush of wind.

Several powerful sword auras slashed through the arena, leaving traces of azure light. After a few muffled crashes, the silver fist shadows shattered and dispersed.

True essence met true essence, evenly matched. Sword broke shadow.

Some of the notable figures in the corridor showed subtle changes in expression. On the surface, Li Fu had neutralized the Thunderclap Fist with a sword energy of equal measure, but in truth, it was not so simple. The path of each sword beam seemed preordained, lying in wait along the trajectory of the fist shadows, striking precisely at their weakest points, bursting them like fragile bubbles—all resolved in the blink of an eye.

“How did he know the weakness of the Thunderclap Fist?”

A middle-aged man among the spectators recalled the path Li Fu’s sword had just traced.

Wang Wei paused, surprised that Li Fu had so easily broken his fist shadows, his expression darkening. He extended his right hand, causing the long spear on the stage to quiver violently before flying into his grasp with a metallic ring.

A series of rapid, slicing sounds split the air.

The steel-forged spear seemed to come alive in his hands, writhing like a coiled dragon, its tip whistling sharply as it thrust toward Li Fu.

Breaking his Thunderclap Fist did nothing to disturb Wang Wei; if anything, it made him all the more composed as he unleashed an even deadlier attack.

The audience watched with rapt attention. They had all seen or heard of Wang Wei—one of the Eastern Capital’s prodigies. Even among the great clans, he could rank in the top ten, and his military achievements were rivaled only by Yang Ning, the city’s foremost youth. The young man before them, however, was not of the Eastern Capital, and was unknown among the younger generation. Their curiosity grew—how would he respond?

Sword and spear met, then parted, then clashed again. No matter how cunning Wang Wei’s spearwork, Li Fu’s sword blocked every strike. Yet Li Fu’s own attacks could not pierce Wang Wei’s defense. In an instant, spear and sword met over a hundred times.

A deafening cacophony filled the ring.

Spheres of true essence formed and exploded around them in quick succession.

Suddenly, Li Fu ceased his sword forms. Gripping his sword tightly, he brought it crashing down upon Wang Wei’s spear!

The strike was clean and forceful, direct and unadorned.

It was not swordsmanship, nor did it appear to contain any subtlety—just a simple, powerful blow. It looked ordinary, yet as the sword fell, a crisp, ringing note sounded. Where the blade passed, a thin red line appeared along Wang Wei’s spear.

And then Li Fu did something even more unexpected—he abandoned his earlier subtle style for one that was bold, unrestrained, full of strength and dominance.

At least five or six of the dignitaries in the corridor cried out in astonishment.

“Impossible!”

“That’s the Imperial Ruler’s Ruler!”

“How did he learn that?!”

Li Fu wasn’t using swordsmanship at all—he was wielding the technique of the measuring ruler, as taught by the Master of Discipline.

Since childhood, he had recited scriptures and classics, devouring countless books. From his earliest memories, the humble cottage in Daoxiang Village and its stacks of books were his constant companions. The Master had relentlessly forced him to memorize over nine thousand different tomes, and whenever Li Fu’s mind wandered, the Master’s discipline ruler would strike from any angle—stinging, awakening. Over time, Li Fu had learned the technique of the ruler himself.

The Imperial Ruler’s Ruler.

Those exclamations erupted almost simultaneously from several princes and royal scions.

They recognized the technique because they had tasted its sting.

At the beginning of Emperor Taizong’s reign, Lord Wei served as Grand Tutor, responsible for instructing the princes in their studies and cultivation. The discipline ruler in his hand became the instrument of punishment for errant princes and grandsons. Later, Lord Wei developed it into a ruler technique, reserved for chastising royal scions. Aside from the current Lord Toastmaster, only the successive Grand Tutors had mastered it.

Yet the Grand Tutor had vanished more than a decade ago, and in these intervening years, only the great scholars of the Academy had instructed the princes. Thus, the ruler technique had lain dormant for over ten years.

Those princes and royal scions had been taught by the Grand Tutor or his predecessor more than a decade ago. Naturally, they recognized the Imperial Ruler’s Ruler. Yet, even after so many years, seeing this technique—once the terror of the royal children—brought shock and complex emotions to their faces.

Other elders among the onlookers, who had either seen or heard of the technique, recognized it a moment later, their expressions shifting as well.

The Imperial Ruler’s Rod was created exclusively as a disciplinary tool for the royal family—wielded against both emperors and princes. It was said that Lord Wei had once struck Emperor Taizong himself with the Imperial Ruler in open court.

This technique was forceful and domineering, seemingly unsophisticated, yet concealing a straightforward path—a path of benevolence, meant to awaken and pain the one being punished.

Wang Wei’s expression grew grave, but his spear did not slow.

Li Fu’s downward strike was so direct it scarcely qualified as a technique. In theory, Wang Wei’s spear should have had ample opportunity to pierce Li Fu’s body first, yet the force of Li Fu’s sword left him with the impression that if he tried, Li Fu’s sword would still land upon him, no matter the injury he suffered himself.

To resist head-on seemed pointless; to evade, impossible. There was nothing for it but to block.

Wang Wei’s true essence surged without end, spear gleaming as it rose to meet Li Fu’s descending sword.