One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Nie Lingfeng moved a rattan chair, sat calmly in the middle of the courtyard, crossed his legs, and played with a Rubik's Cube he had previously swiped from Zhang Chulan.

"Chu Lan," he said, turning the Rubik's Cube without looking up, "after watching your performance these past few days, I've noticed a major flaw in your fighting style—or rather, your use of superpowers in combat."

"What's wrong?" Zhang Chulan asked, wiping his sweat.

"Too honest, too rigid." Nie Lingfeng stopped turning the Rubik's Cube, looked up at him, and said, "You only treat the Golden Light Spell as a hard tortoise shell, standing still and taking the hits head-on. You only treat the Thunder Spell as a high-voltage wire, discharging electricity straight through. That won't do. Real combat, especially the life-or-death struggle between supernatural beings, is about adapting to changing circumstances, seizing opportunities, using your strengths to attack the enemy's weaknesses, and using every means possible."

He stood up and casually tossed the Rubik's Cube to Zhang Chulan: "Here, over the next few days, I'll simulate several typical opponent types you might encounter at the Luo Tian Grand Ceremony. Don't think about beating me, just think about how to last longer against me, how to find an opportunity to counterattack—even if it's just once."

On the first day, Nie Lingfeng only used about 30% of his power in the Wind God Leg technique.

Without warning, his figure suddenly blurred, and in the next instant he appeared to Zhang Chulan's left! A simple and direct side kick, so fast that it left only a blur!

Zhang Chulan was horrified. He instinctively used the Golden Light Mantra to cover his entire body and crossed his arms to block.

"Bang!"

He felt as if he had been hit from the side by a speeding motorcycle, and his whole body flew sideways for three or four meters before crashing heavily into the courtyard wall and sliding down. His arms went numb, and the golden light rippled violently, almost dissipating.

Before he could catch his breath, Nie Lingfeng's figure reappeared behind him like a ghost, his legs whistling through the air!

"Too fast! My eyes can't keep up!" Zhang Chulan was shocked and could only rely on his senses to concentrate the Golden Light Mantra on his back.

"Thump!"

Another muffled thud. Zhang Chulan was kicked forward and fell face-first into the dirt, his front teeth almost hitting the bluestone slab.

For a full hour, Zhang Chulan was like a human punching bag, relentlessly attacked by Nie Lingfeng in the courtyard at all sorts of tricky angles and unbelievable speeds. He tried to anticipate the attacks, tried to counterattack, but his opponent's movements were always a hair's breadth faster than his. His Golden Light Mantra could only passively endure the blows, collapsing, coalescing, and collapsing again...

When it was over, Zhang Chulan was bruised and swollen, his whole body ached, and he collapsed on the ground, too tired to even move a finger. He cried out, "Brother Feng! Slow down! Please! My eyes are practically cramping, I still can't keep up!"

The next day, Nie Lingfeng switched to the Cloud-Dispelling Palm technique, controlling his power to about 20%.

This time, his speed returned to normal. But when he struck with his palm, seemingly ordinary, the force of the blow was as heavy as a collapsing mountain!

Zhang Chulan gritted his teeth, unleashing the Golden Light Mantra to its fullest extent, and struck with both palms to meet the attack head-on!

"boom--!"

The moment their palms clashed, Zhang Chulan felt an irresistible, immense force surge towards him like a tidal wave! His arms trembled violently, and the golden light was instantly shattered! He was thrown backward seven or eight meters as if by a catapult, crashing into a stone bench in the corner of the courtyard with a loud bang before finally coming to a stop in a sorry state.

His tiger's mouth was split open, blood was flowing freely, his arms were limp and he couldn't lift them, his chest was churning with blood and qi, and his vision was going black.

"The difference in strength is too great... I can't take it head-on..." Zhang Chulan coughed a few times, struggling to change his strategy, trying to maneuver and deflect the force.

However, Nie Lingfeng's palm strike covered an extremely wide area, and the palm wind was thick and dense, like a moving city wall. No matter how he moved, there was always a palm strike that would send him and his golden light flying in the simplest and most brutal way.

An hour later, Zhang Chulan felt like all the bones in his body were about to fall apart. He lay on the ground staring blankly at the gray sky.

On the third day, Nie Lingfeng switched to the Heavenly Frost Fist, but his power remained at 20%.

This time, he possessed neither ferocious power nor ghostly speed. His fist techniques unfolded like drifting snowflakes or flowing frost, their trajectories unpredictable and chilling.

The moment Zhang Chulan made contact, he sensed something was wrong. The opponent's fists weren't aimed at striking his golden light, but rather at the weak points connecting the golden light spells, the nodes of joint movement, and the vital points where acupoints were concentrated. The chilling, bone-piercing force of the fists, like maggots clinging to bones, pierced through the golden light, seeping into his meridians and joints thread by thread.

He felt his movements becoming increasingly sluggish, like a rusty machine. His arms were half a beat slower to rise, his steps became stiff, and even circulating the Golden Light Mantra felt like being pricked by needles and chilled through his meridians.

He tried to dispel the cold with the ferocity of lightning, but the silvery lightning was guided, dispersed, and vanished into nothingness by a more subtle and gentle cold force as soon as it appeared.

He was like a flying insect caught in a spider's web; the more he struggled, the tighter the web became, and the deeper the chill ran.

When it was over, Zhang Chulan's lips were purple, his whole body was trembling, and a thin layer of white frost covered his joints, with white steam rising with every breath. He slumped in his chair, wrapped himself up in a blanket like a dumpling, his eyes filled with awe and fear of the word "skill".

On the fourth day, Zhang Chulan said, "I'm not training anymore! I really'm not training anymore!" He immediately lay down on the grass in the yard and started throwing a tantrum, "If I keep training like this, I definitely won't see the sun tomorrow! Brother Feng, is that special training? That's murder! That's bullying! That's one-sided torture!"

Nie Lingfeng squatted down and poked his cheek with a blade of grass, a half-smile on his face: "Can't even handle this? Chu Lan, at the Luo Tian Grand Ceremony, your opponents won't show you any mercy just because I went easy on you today. They'll only be more ruthless, more vicious, and more eager to crush you."

Zhang Chulan buried his head deep in the earthy, pungent grass, and his voice came muffled: "Let me die... If I die, I won't have to suffer like this anymore..."

Feng Baobao walked over at some point and lightly kicked Zhang Chulan's calf with the tip of her faded canvas shoes.

"I'll train until I die." Her tone was as calm as if she were saying, "I'll finish my meal too."

Zhang Chulan: "..." He despairingly discovered that in this "special training hell," he didn't even have the freedom to "die."

On the afternoon of the seventh day of the special training, an unexpected incident, like a stone thrown into calm water, suddenly broke the monotonous and painful training rhythm.

That afternoon was unusually hot and humid. Lead-gray clouds hung low over the horizon, and the air was so thick it felt like you could wring water out of it. A downpour was brewing.

After the intense sparring session, Feng Baobao was drenched in sweat. Her old white T-shirt clung to her body, outlining her slender yet powerful waist. She brushed aside her wet bangs, revealing a smooth forehead. She looked at her clothes, which were covered in dust and sweat, then at Nie Lingfeng, who was meditating with his eyes closed in the courtyard, and Zhang Chulan, who was slumped in the shade of a tree like a dead dog, panting heavily.

She tilted her head, as if thinking for a moment.

Then, she raised her hand and began to unbutton the front of her T-shirt.

The first button came undone.

The second button came undone.

A fair, porcelain-like neck and delicate collarbone were exposed to the sweltering air, and below that, a breathtakingly curved shadow...

Nie Lingfeng was immersed in circulating his inner energy, the Ice Heart Technique cleansing his mind, yet his five senses remained sharp. Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound, the soft rustling of fabric rubbing together, mixed with the sound of a metal zipper sliding.

He opened his eyes in confusion.

The moment his gaze focused, his pupils suddenly contracted, and his mind went completely blank, as if struck by an invisible lightning bolt!

Feng Baobao had already taken off her soaking wet T-shirt and casually tossed it onto the clothes rack next to her. Underneath, she was only wearing a simple white sports vest, and she was now looking down, her fingers hooking the hem of the vest, preparing to lift it up!

A fair and flat stomach, a slender and supple waist, and that fleeting glimpse of alluring curves outlined by sweat...

"Sister Bao'er! Stop!!!"