Martial Arts Secret Realm: Only I Can Know the Plot?

Chapter 121 Good Fortune

Li Wei stood there, sweat beading on his forehead, his fingers trembling slightly. He stared at the sword tip so close to his face, then at Sun Fan's face. That face was expressionless, as calm as a stagnant pool.

"I—" Li Wei opened his mouth, his throat as dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper, "I admit defeat."

The referee raised his hand: "Sun Fan wins."

The stands were silent for a moment, then erupted into a deafening roar. Some gasped, some slapped their thighs in approval, and some whispered amongst themselves.

"One sword strike! And another!"

"Li Wei didn't even have a chance to make a move!"

"He's too strong—Sun Fan is too strong—"

Sun Fan sheathed his sword, nodded to Li Wei, and turned to walk off the stage. His pace remained unhurried, and his expression was as calm as ever, as if nothing had happened.

The first round of competition lasted all day. Sixty-four matches were played from morning till night. Some advanced easily, some fought until they were exhausted, and some were carried off the field bleeding from their heads. But all the matches combined were as memorable as Sun Fan's sword strike.

It wasn't because the sword strike was particularly flashy, but because it was so simple. Drawing the sword, extending it, sheathing it. Three movements, executed in one fluid motion, without any unnecessary elements. As natural as breathing, as ordinary as eating and drinking.

Zhang Guangcheng sat in the stands, watching Sun Fan's departing figure, remaining silent for a long time. Then he turned to look at Feng Congyun, who was sitting not far away. Feng Congyun leaned back in his chair, holding a wine jug in his hand, tilted his head back and took a swig, then winked at him.

Zhang Guangcheng withdrew his gaze, a slight smile curving his lips.

The second round of drawing lots took place on the morning of the following day.

The minister reached into the lottery box, stirred it, took out a ball, and read out the name on it: "Class 5, Grade 1, Sun Fan."

The stands fell silent again. All eyes were fixed on the transparent lottery box, waiting for the minister to read out Sun Fan's opponent's name.

The minister took out another ball, glanced at it, and read aloud, "Class 1, Grade 3, Ah Le."

There was a moment of silence in the stands, then a commotion erupted, even louder than yesterday.

"Ah Lok? Which Ah Lok?"

"That Ah Le, one of Yan Gaotian's henchmen! Yan Gaotian's right-hand man!"

"I heard that Ah Le was the person that Fierce Tiger trusted the most. After Fierce Tiger died, he always wanted to avenge Fierce Tiger."

"This is going to be interesting."

Ah Le, who was sitting in the third-grade formation, slowly stood up. His expression was calm, so calm that he didn't seem like someone who was going to avenge his older brother. He was dressed in a black outfit, with a short knife hanging at his waist. His hair was cut very short, revealing a face with distinct features. He wasn't handsome, but he was very clean-cut, and his eyes were as clear as mountain streams.

He had watched Sun Fan's first-round match. One sword strike. Just one strike. That third-year student leader named Li Wei didn't even have a chance to make a move.

Ah Le lowered his head, looking at his hands. These hands had served Fierce Tiger Yan Gaotian for three years, killing for him, taking knives for him, and doing many shady things for him. He wasn't unaware that those things were wrong, but he had no choice. Fierce Tiger had saved his life; his life belonged to Fierce Tiger. He did whatever Fierce Tiger told him to do. Now Fierce Tiger was dead, but he was still alive.

He didn't know how to live.

"Ah Le." Someone tugged at him, "If you don't want to fight, you can forfeit."

Ah Le shook his head, pulled his hand away from the man's, and strode towards the arena. His steps were steady, each stride the same length, as if measured with a ruler.

On the arena, Sun Fan was already waiting.

He changed into a clean white training uniform, his hair was tied up with a wooden hairpin, and the ordinary longsword hung at his waist. The nick on the blade was still there, gleaming dimly under the lamplight. His expression remained calm, as if he were waiting for someone to have tea and conversation, rather than waiting for a life-or-death duel.

Ah Le jumped onto the ring and stood opposite Sun Fan.

The two men stared at each other. A gust of wind blew across the arena, swirling a few fallen leaves that seemed to have drifted from nowhere. The leaves twirled between them before settling to the ground.

Ah Le spoke first.

"Sun Fan." His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear, each word seeming to be squeezed out from the depths of his throat. "My older brother was very good to me when he was alive. He promised me that after he left the dark martial arts school, he would take me to a regular martial arts school. He said the sunlight there was better than here, and he wouldn't have to fight every day, wouldn't have to live in constant fear. He said he wanted to live under the sun."

Sun Fan remained silent.

"Now he's dead." Ah Le's voice began to tremble, not from fear, but from restraint. "He died at your hands. I don't hate you. I know he went to kill you, and it was right for you to kill him. But I don't believe it."

He looked up and met Sun Fan's eyes.

"I don't believe you can kill him. My elder brother is a Qi Gathering Realm expert, how could you, a Meridian Opening Realm cultivator, possibly kill someone at the Qi Gathering Realm? You say you killed him, but how? With a sword? With a scheme? Or with luck?"

He took two steps forward.

I don't believe it.

His voice echoed through the arena, and the murmurs in the stands gradually subsided as everyone focused on the two people on the stage.

"So," Ah Le placed his hand on the hilt of the short sword at his waist, "I want to see it with my own eyes. To see how you kill someone. To see what your sword strike really looks like."

He looked into Sun Fan's eyes and said, word by word, "Use the same sword you used to kill your elder brother to kill me. Then I'll believe you."

Someone in the stands gasped.

This is seeking death.

Ah Le wasn't fighting; he was seeking death.

Sun Fan looked at A-Le without saying a word for a long time. He had seen many kinds of eyes—hatred, fear, greed, despair. But A-Le's eyes were different.

His eyes were crystal clear, without any impurities, as if they were the only thing left after he had disregarded life and death.

belief.

Or rather, obsession.

"Okay," Sun Fan said.

There was only one word. But Ah Le heard it. A slight smile curved his lips, not a smile, but a sense of relief, as if the heart that had been hanging in suspense had finally been put down.

He drew his dagger.

The knife was short, only a little over a foot long, with a narrow and thin blade, like a silver snake. He held the knife horizontally in front of him, the tip slightly raised, pointing at Sun Fan's throat. This was his starting stance, combining offense and defense, without any weaknesses.

Sun Fan also drew his sword.

This time, he wasn't as casual as he was in the first round. His right hand gripped the hilt of the sword, his index and middle fingers resting on the guard, his thumb pressing against the end of the hilt—a tight grip, but a relaxed wrist. This was a technique he had mastered after two months of learning from Feng Congyun—tight but not stiff, relaxed but not loose.

The heavy mass of internal energy in his dantian began to release its power. This energy traveled upwards along the meridians, merging with the warm current flowing from his heart meridian. The two forces combined, becoming more solid and substantial. As the energy flowed through his wrist, Sun Fan felt a slight swelling, as if something was surging outwards. He didn't suppress it, letting it flow naturally.

Then he drew his sword.