Moonlight filtered through vermilion-carved wooden lattice windows, casting a luminous sheen upon the rice paper spread across the desk. The bed curtains hung low, and amidst the faint shadows, Lu Fan sat cross-legged in silent meditation.
With a flicker of thought, his system interface emerged.
Host: Lu FanTitle: Qi Refiner (Permanent)Qi Refinement Level: 2 (Progress to Level 3: 100/1000 threads)Soul Strength: 11 (Convertible: 2)Body Strength: 1 (Convertible: 1)Spiritual Energy: 92 threadsModification Reward:The Primordial Qi Refining CodexWorld Grade: Five Phoenix Continent [Low Martial]Access Privileges: [Quests], [Dao Platform], [Spiritual Energy Deployment]Branch Authority: [Myriad Laws Furnace (LV1)]Spiritual Tool: Spirit Pressure Chessboard (Mystic Grade, Lower)Distributable Attribute Points: 10
Lu Fan's lips curled ever so slightly. The unexpected bonus of ten attribute points brought him no small measure of satisfaction.
He stroked his chin, deep in contemplation, before distributing the points—nine into Soul Strength, and one into Body Strength.
With this, his Soul Strength officially surpassed twenty, leaving eleven remaining convertible points.
Boom!
As the allocation concluded, Lu Fan felt his soul undergo another profound baptism. A sensation akin to sudden enlightenment surged through him, causing his eyes to gleam with piercing clarity in the dark.
Every ten-point leap in Soul Strength ushered in a transformative experience.
His senses grew keener; he could now distinctly feel the flow of blood within his veins. His ability to control objects had strengthened too—what once only allowed him to steer his wheelchair's direction might now grant him fluid, unhurried movement.
This—was growth.
A thought stirred in his heart. Perhaps, as his Soul Strength continued to ascend, he would one day reach the legendary threshold of Divine Sense—to perceive all beneath heaven with but a single strand of consciousness.
Suppressing his surging emotions, Lu Fan reminded himself that personal strength alone would not suffice to elevate this Low Martial realm into one of high fantasy.
He shifted his attention toward the Dao Platform section. Just as he was about to immerse his mind into its depths, a flicker of curiosity made him lift his gaze toward the moonlit window.
Atop the roof of the Lu Manor stood a figure, wine gourd in hand, stepping lightly across the tiles with the grace of a swallow.
His scholar's robe fluttered, chest exposed, long hair billowing wildly in the wind.
Who is this madman?
Lu Fan narrowed his eyes. After his bloodbath in Northern Luo City, fear had gripped the hearts of many—yet here was someone trespassing the Lu Estate at night. Was this courage born of supreme skill, or sheer disregard for death?
...
On the rooftop, Ning Zhao stood in a white gown, her silhouette elegant and poised, eyes cold and radiant beneath the moon.
In her hand, a cicada-wing sword shimmered with an icy glow—nearly translucent under the silver light.
"Who goes there?"
"To trespass the Lu Estate at this hour is a capital offense."
Her waist-length hair danced in the breeze, and her frosty voice lingered through the dark.
Within the courtyard, Jing Yue slid two fingers along the pearwood sword case—clang! A sword shot out, landing firmly in his grasp.
This was his first public display as Lu Fan's servant. Though reluctant, he was determined to make a strong impression.
From above, Mo Tianyu approached, stepping lightly, moon overhead, robes fluttering—without so much as a sound.
Such skill in movement was nothing short of extraordinary.
"With a single stroke, I paint a madman's empire. One line of hexagram mocks the proudest of heroes."
"Disciple of the Confucian Sect—Mo Tianyu!"
As one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Sword Sect, Jing Yue immediately recognized the disheveled man with the gourd and bare chest.
The famed gatekeeper of the Imperial Scholar Pavilion, the Confucian Sect's First Disciple—his name echoed throughout the Hundred Schools.
Mo Tianyu took a swig of wine, scattering droplets into the night with a carefree chuckle.
"Fair lady, I apologize for the late intrusion. I come by order of the Grand Preceptor, to seek audience with your young master."
Ning Zhao's eyes narrowed, her gaze frosty.
"This is trespass, not visitation... Leave, or die."
Her voice was cool and low, as though not to disturb Lu Fan's slumber.
Mo Tianyu drank again, his laughter growing louder.
"I cast two divinations, both concerning your master—and both were wrong. Tonight, I must meet him in person and cast a reading before him."
He tread upon the tiles, his tone unbridled and fearless, Confucian robes flowing in the wind.
Ning Zhao's brows drew together.
Below, Jing Yue struck the sword case thrice more—clang clang clang! Three more swords leapt forth.
"Legend tells of Mo Tianyu, the so-called Madman of the Confucian Sect—one who defies heaven and earth, respects none but his teacher. Now that I see him, the tales were not exaggerated."
Jing Yue spun, kicked backward, launching the swords in midair with perfect precision—Flying Sword Technique of the Sword Sect.
Mo Tianyu scoffed, gourd in hand.
"No wonder the Sword Sect fell—traitors like you abound."
He took another swig, then exhaled.
Wine mist billowed outward like a divine dragon, colliding with the flying swords. Each droplet carried crushing force, knocking the blades aside with ease.
"Such petty tricks... how dull."
Jing Yue's expression twitched. This man truly was formidable.
He felt the urge to flee—yet his current status no longer allowed such freedom.
Gone were the carefree days of the past.
Still, the thought of Lu Fan's mysterious, unfathomable power steadied him.
Confidence surged. Gripping his sword tightly, he dashed across rooftops to strike once more.
Mo Tianyu crushed a tile underfoot, descending gracefully.
He landed on the tip of Jing Yue's sword, forcing it downward, while laughter echoed throughout the courtyard.
Above his head, a vortex of air formed, swirling like a coiling rainbow—Confucian Sect's Righteous Qi.
Boom!
Mo Tianyu's eloquence struck like thunder, every word landing with the weight of gold.
Jing Yue faltered. His sword slipped from his grasp.
Pfft!
Blood spewed from his mouth as he was flung back, crashing to the ground, feet cracking the earth beneath.
"Send all seven Sword Sects, and maybe you'll stand a chance. You alone? Pathetic."
Mo Tianyu landed with grace, raising his gourd once more, wine spilling down his chin as he chuckled softly.
On the rooftop, Ning Zhao raised her blade. Her eyes grew grim.
This lone Mo Tianyu was enough to overpower the hundreds of Confucian scholars who once stood at North Luo Lake.
Perhaps only if she and Nie Changqing joined forces could they mount a challenge.
But why had Nie Changqing remained silent, even amid such commotion?
Suddenly, her furrowed brows relaxed slightly.
Her gaze turned toward Lu Fan's room.
With a deafening crash, the crimson-carved wooden doors were flung open.
From within, a cold, indifferent voice echoed.
"Who dares disturb my slumber in the dead of night?"
A tempest swept forth from the darkness.
Mo Tianyu remained still, his robes billowing, hair flying wildly.
"Young Master Lu, I am Mo Tianyu, First Disciple of the Confucian Sect under the Grand Preceptor's command, sent to escort you to the capital."
"Moreover, my divinations—usually flawless—have failed twice when concerning you..."
"Hence, I wish to offer a reading, free of charge."
Squinting, wine gourd in hand, Mo Tianyu stood like a storm unchained—The Madman of the Imperial Capital.A man who feared no one.