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

Chapter 127 Shen Wuxiu's Gun

The stands erupted in cheers.

"Admit defeat? Luo Qingshan admitted defeat?!"

"What exactly was Sun Fan's sword strike?! Even Luo Qingshan couldn't block it!"

"A Qi Gathering Realm cultivator defeated a Qi Opening Realm cultivator? They really won?!"

The referee paused for a moment, then raised his hand: "Sun Fan wins!"

Sun Fan sheathed his sword. As he did so, his hand trembled slightly—not from injury, but a reaction to excessive internal energy depletion. He had only used half his strength in that strike, not unleashing his full power, so the backlash was much milder than before, but it still left him feeling dizzy. The bloodshot in his eyes had intensified, but it hadn't spread to his entire eyeball, indicating it was still within a controllable range.

Luo Qingshan turned and walked off the stage. After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped and looked back at Sun Fan.

"The Queen is right." His voice wasn't loud, but the stands were so quiet that everyone heard him clearly. "You are the most talented swordsman in the Dark Martial Arts Academy in the last ten years."

He paused.

"But not because you are highly talented."

"It's because you dare to fight harder than anyone else."

After saying that, he strode off the stage without looking back.

Sun Fan stood on the arena, watching Luo Qingshan's figure disappear into the third-grade formation, a slight smile curving his lips.

It wasn't a laugh, but a helpless, slightly bitter sense of relief.

He used it again.

Although he only used half his strength, he still used it. The bloodstains thickened, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, impossible to disperse no matter how much he stirred.

In the stands, Feng Congyun leaned back in his chair, his wine jug empty, but he didn't refill it. He watched Sun Fan's retreating figure as he walked off the stage, his eyes slightly red.

Zhang Guangcheng sat next to him, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest, the rhythm quick, as if something was urging him on.

"That thing—" Zhang Guangcheng lowered his voice, "is it sword intent?"

Feng Congyun nodded.

"A student at the Opening Meridian Realm used the swordplay of a seventh-realm swordsman." Zhang Guangcheng's voice trembled. "This is fucking—this is fucking genius among geniuses. Ye Liuxing is far inferior to him."

Feng Congyun remained silent for a long time before saying, "He's not a genius."

Zhang Guangcheng was stunned.

"He's a madman." Feng Congyun's voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself, "A madman who would risk his life for a sword."

At the highest point of the stands, a man in a black trench coat stood with his hat pulled low, obscuring most of his face. He had watched the entire match, from Sun Fan standing up to Luo Qingshan conceding defeat, not missing a single detail.

As Sun Fan stepped off the stage, the man turned around and walked out through the side door of the stands.

The hem of the trench coat fluttered in the night wind, like a black flag.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, each step precise as if measured with a ruler.

As he walked down the steps, he took out a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"it's me."

"Luo Qingshan lost."

"Faster than expected."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then a hoarse voice came through: "How much of his sword was used?"

"have no idea."

"I don't know?" The voice fell silent, as if deep in thought. "Shall we continue?"

"Continue. In the next round, Shen Wuxiu will teach him what a gap is. If he can't even beat Shen Wuxiu, then it's not worth all this effort from us."

"clear."

The man in the trench coat hung up the phone, put it in his pocket, and looked up at the sky. The moon was round and bright, like a silver mirror. He gazed at it for a moment, then lowered his head and walked into the night.

The results of the lottery were announced on the third night.

The third round of the competition, from 32 to 16, has concluded, and the list of the top 16 is posted on the bulletin board. Sun Fan's name is on it, next to which is written his opponent—"Fourth grade, Shen Wuxiu."

The news spread faster than the wind.

In less than half an hour, the entire Dark Martial Arts School knew that in the next round, Sun Fan would face off against the Gun King, Shen Wuxiu.

Everyone was talking about this topic—in the canteen, on the training field, and in the dormitory.

"Shen Wuxiu? Isn't that one of the strongest students in the fourth grade?"

"Gun King Shen Wuxiu is said to be the strongest of the Four Kings."

"A saying circulated among the third-graders: 'Swords are fierce, guns are fast, Shen is invincible.'"

"Some even say that if he hadn't been a former executive of the Heavenly Queen, he might have already challenged her. Apart from that person, Shen Wuxiu is the strongest."

"Sun Fan even defeated Luo Qingshan, so he should have a chance against Shen Wuxiu, right?"

"A chance? What do you know! How can Luo Qingshan compare to Shen Wuxiu?"

"But Sun Fan defeated Luo Qingshan! He won against a Qi Gathering Realm cultivator while being in the Opening Meridian Realm!"

"Winning against Luo Qingshan doesn't mean you can beat Shen Wuxiu. Shen Wuxiu did fight Luo Qingshan before, and the two were evenly matched within fifty moves, but that was when they were in their second year."

"Shen Wuxiu is a late bloomer. When he first entered the martial arts school, he was just an ordinary cadre. By his second year, he had become the number one cadre under the Empress."

"And now, he has become a legendary gun player."

"He hasn't used his full strength in a long time, but the other four kings all speak highly of him."

"Does that mean Sun Fan is doomed?"

"Whether we live or die is unknown, but we're definitely going to lose."

The moment the results of the fourth round of drawing were posted on the bulletin board, the entire Dark Martial Arts School thought that this was not a martial arts competition, but an execution.

Many people lined the roadside to salute Sun Fan.

It wasn't to cheer him on, but to applaud his courage—or rather, his courage to die. Shen Wuxiu was already on the arena.

He was dressed in a black, close-fitting outfit, holding a long, gleaming black spear in his hand, its tip gleaming coldly under the lamplight. He stood ramrod straight, like a javelin planted firmly in the ring, completely still. A gust of wind swept across the ring, swirling a few fallen leaves that seemed to have drifted from nowhere, between him and Sun Fan, before settling to the ground.

Sun Fan jumped onto the ring. Unlike his usual calm demeanor, he wore a strange expression on his face—not tension, not fear, but curiosity.

Like a traveler who has finally reached his destination, eager to see what lies behind the door. The two stood facing each other, about three zhang apart. Shen Wuxiu spoke first; his voice was not loud, but very clear, each word as if sliced ​​from the tip of a spear.

"What did Luo Qingshan say when he fought you?"

Sun Fan hadn't expected him to ask that, and paused for a moment before answering, "He advised me to admit defeat."

Shen Wuxiu nodded, then asked, "So, what do you think is the difference between him and me?"

Sun Fan thought for a moment and said, "He's afraid of hurting me. Aren't you afraid?" Shen Wuxiu's lips curled up slightly, not in a smile, but in something colder, like the gleam of a blade.

"More than that," he said. "Luo Qingshan is talented, but he has spent too much of his energy on things he shouldn't have."

""

"The Empress Chao Qingwu was indeed very beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful. Even I dared not look at her for too long."

"But a martial artist should always exercise self-control."