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

Chapter 133 Unbearable

"You said Ye Liuxing was crippled because he used a sword technique that was inappropriate for his level too early."

"Yes."

"What kind of sword did he use?"

Feng Congyun was silent for a moment, then said, "Meteor Sword. It's a sword technique he created himself, renowned for its speed. A single strike is like a meteor streaking across the night sky, so fast that the human eye can't keep up. He created this sword technique in his third year and used it to defeat all his opponents in the year-end competition, winning the championship. Everyone says he's a genius, a once-in-a-decade swordsmanship genius from the Dark Martial Arts School."

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He took a swig of wine, his voice lowering. "Only I know that he's a genius, but also a madman. That sword technique is simply not something a Qi Gathering Realm cultivator can control. Every time he uses it, his meridians rupture. When they rupture, he forcibly repairs them with his internal energy. After it's repaired, he uses it again, and they rupture again. After four years of university, his meridians are riddled with holes and can no longer be repaired."

He put down the wine jug and looked at Sun Fan. "I'm not telling you this to scare you. I just want you to know that if you continue like this, in three years, you'll be the next Ye Liuxing."

Sun Fan fell silent.

He thought of Yan Shisan. He thought of that sword—the ultimate duel between Xie Xiaofeng and Yan Shisan, the Fifteen Deadly Swords, a sword that even Yan Shisan himself feared. He had only observed that sword in the secret realm, yet he had comprehended the deadly sword technique. He had spent twenty years practicing the basics, comprehended the sword in an instant, and then risked his life to master it.

He wasn't unaware of the risks, the backlash, or his inner demons. He knew. But he had no choice. Yan Gaojiang wanted to kill him, so he could only use his sword. Blood Saber Ancestor wanted to kill him, so he could only use his sword. Shen Wuxiu wanted to kill him, so he could only use his sword again. Each time, it was a life-or-death situation; each time, he had no way out.

But things are different now. Yan Gaotian is dead, Blood Saber Ancestor is dead, and Shen Wuxiu has admitted defeat. He withdrew from the year-end competition, and those in the Dark Martial Arts School who wanted to see him make a fool of himself will no longer bother him for the time being.

He had a month to recover from his injury, a month to practice his skills, and a month to figure out what path to take in the future.

"Teacher Feng," Sun Fan looked up at Feng Congyun, "I promise you. I will never use my full strength to deliver a fatal blow unless it is a matter of life and death."

Feng Congyun stared at him for a long time, then nodded. "Okay. Remember what you said."

He stood up, picked up the wine jug, and walked towards the door. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and said without turning his head, "Sun Fan, your sword is for protecting people, not for risking your life. Don't get it backwards."

After saying that, he pushed open the door and went out.

The ward fell silent again. Dong Dahai sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the Dragon Roar Spear in his hand. The bloodstains on the shaft had dried, turning into dark red mottled marks. He lowered his head, looked at the bloodstains, and remained silent for a long time.

"Class monitor."

"Um.

""

"Teacher Feng is right. Your sword is for protecting people, not for risking your life."

Sun Fan smiled. "I know."

"Then you will—"

'

"We'll talk about that later," Sun Fan interrupted him. "Let's focus on the present. Heal my injuries, improve my internal strength, and refine my swordsmanship. When my internal strength is sufficient for that one strike, I won't have to risk my life anymore."

Dong Dahai looked at him, and there was an indescribable light in his eyes, which were surrounded by scars. "Squad leader, that day will come."

Sun Fan leaned against the pillows, staring at the fluorescent light tube on the ceiling. The fluorescent light hummed, its white light blinding. He squinted for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He recalled those twenty years in the secret realm. Day after day, he wielded his sword, year after year, practicing the basics, without asking why, without seeking any reward, just practicing. Back then, he thought that if he mastered the sword, he could protect the people he wanted to protect, do the things he wanted to do, and live a simpler life.

Now he understood. His swordsmanship was perfected, but so was the trouble. Yan Gaojiang, Yan Gaotian, Shen Wuxiu, and the "boss" lurking in the shadows—one after another, they appeared, as if an endless stream of people were waiting for him.

But he doesn't regret it. If he could do it all over again, he would still practice swordsmanship, still use that sword, and still stand on the arena, facing Shen Wuxiu's spear.

Because that was his path. Not Feng Congyun's path, not Zhang Guangcheng's path, not Ye Liuxing's path. It was his own path—to challenge the world with the long sword in his hand.

Even if his sword isn't fast enough or ruthless enough, even if every strike drains his life force, even if his inner demons gradually erode his character.

He wasn't afraid. Because he was Sun Fan.

Dong Dahai leaned the Dragon Roar Spear against the corner of the wall, picked up the bowl of now-cold porridge, and placed it on the bedside table. "Squad leader, the porridge is cold, I'll go heat it up."

"No need." Sun Fan opened his eyes. "It's fine to drink it cold."

Dong Dahai hesitated for a moment, then handed over the bowl. Sun Fan took the bowl with his right hand and slowly took a sip. The porridge had cooled down completely, the rice grains clumped together, and it tasted a bit sticky.

He drank very slowly, swallowing each sip as if savoring something precious. Dong Dahai sat beside him, watching him drink the porridge without saying a word. The light outside the window gradually dimmed, and the night seeped in through the windowpanes, turning the ward into a gray-blue hue.

Sun Fan finished the last mouthful of porridge, placed the bowl on the bedside table, and looked out the window at the gradually darkening sky. "The sea."

"Um.

"

"Shen Wuxiu said something that I found very interesting."

"What did you say?"

"He said—there are no coincidences in the Dark Martial Arts Academy." Sun Fan paused. "Every step we take is being pushed from behind. From entering the Dark Martial Arts Academy, to the Yan Gaojiang and Yan Gaotian brothers, to Shen Wuxiu, every step seems to be following someone's script."

Dong Dahai frowned. "You mean, that 'boss'?"

Sun Fan nodded. "He knew my past, my martial arts skills, and my weaknesses. He had Yan Gaojiang kill me, Yan Gaotian kill me, and Shen Wuxiu kill me. Each time, the plan was flawless, and each time he had a plausible excuse."

He turned to look at Dong Dahai. "But he miscalculated one thing."

"What is it?"

"He miscalculated me. He didn't expect me to be able to defeat Yan Gaojiang, he didn't expect me to be able to defeat Yan Gaotian, he didn't expect me to be able to defeat Shen Wuxiu. He thought his script was flawless, but there was one variable in his script—me."

He paused, his voice softening. "Variables are uncontrollable. Variables can get out of control. And I am that variable."

It was completely dark outside the window. The streetlights came on, and the orange light shone through the window, falling on the floor in front of the hospital bed, creating a warm, hazy glow.

Dong Dahai sat in the halo of light, his scarred face softened considerably, no longer appearing so menacing. "Squad leader, how do you plan to investigate that boss?"

Sun Fan didn't answer immediately. He looked out at the lit windows, counting them one by one, stopping at the seventh. "Check the traces he left behind. There are screenshots of chat logs on Yan Gaotian's phone. Although the profile picture and nickname are blank, the account format is an internal account of the Dark Martial Arts School. Old Zhang said that account belongs to the principal's assistant."

"Chen Mo?" Dong Dahai's voice was very low.