Chapter 569: Unharmed!

Just as Zhang Chulan’s fist was about to strike Zhang Jie’s forehead, a white radiance suddenly emerged from Zhang Jie’s body.

This radiance was negligible beside Zhang Chulan’s fist, which glowed like a lightbulb, but the moment it made contact,

the golden light on Zhang Chulan’s fist flickered out like a faulty bulb.

His fist instantly lost all strength—not even enough to attack Zhang Jie,

let alone elicit any reaction from his roommate in Room 404.

“What is this?”

Zhang Chulan’s fist froze mid-air, his expression filled with shock and doubt.

“Keep going.”

Zhang Jie didn’t lift his eyelids, speaking softly.

“I still don’t believe it!”

Zhang Chulan’s stubborn streak flared up.

He accepted that Jiege’s cultivation was profound and unfathomable—he was no match in combat.

But now Zhang Jie was merely defending passively; could it be that he couldn’t even get close to Zhang Jie’s body?

If so, what was the point of cultivating the Dao at all? He might as well go home, till the soil,

marry a wife, and raise a fat little boy, living the life of a warm hearth, wife, and child.

After all, what hope was there in such a life?

Better to place hope in the next generation.

“Hah!”

Zhang Chulan roared, the golden light on his fist nearly solidifying into substance.

He poured every ounce of his Golden Light Spell into this punch—before him, even a boulder,

he was certain he could shatter into pieces with a single strike!

Hss.

This punch, fueled by Zhang Chulan’s determination, upon touching the radiance surrounding Zhang Jie,

vanished—unexpected, yet somehow expected.

Zhang Jie, unharmed!

“This… this…”

Two failed attempts left Zhang Chulan’s eyes red.

At that moment, Zhang Jie, seated cross-legged, spoke: “Chulan, I heard your grandfather had other techniques besides the Golden Light Spell—

didn’t he teach you any of them?”

“Then, Jiege, I’ll dare to offend!”

Zhang Chulan gritted his teeth—he knew he had to reveal his last resort.

Though he admitted he was far inferior to Zhang Jie, he refused to accept that he lacked even the merit to force Zhang Jie into defense.

If that were true, how could he ever face Zhang Jie again?

Isn’t it said that dragons do not associate with snakes?

Thump-thump!

Zhang Chulan’s heart began pounding violently, as if a divine being were striking heavenly drums,

his explosive, fiery heart-qi surged forth, then slammed into his lungs,

unleashing a piercing, blinding, unbearable lung-gold qi.

Heart-fire and lung-gold qi intertwined, merged, clashed,

finally coalescing in his palm into a bolt of red-and-white intertwined thunderfire.

“Palmar Thunder!”

Zhang Chulan slapped his palms together—the thunderfire shot toward Zhang Jie with lightning speed.

Sizzle.

The thunderfire cut through the air, filling it with the ozone scent of ionized atmosphere.

“Thunder Art? This kid Zhang Chulan actually knows Thunder Art?”

Even Feng Baobao couldn’t help but glance over.

All Longhu Mountain’s Tian Shi Fu disciples rigorously cultivate the Golden Light Spell,

a famed secret art in the transcendent world, focused on nurturing life and nature in unison.

But what truly cemented the Tian Shi Fu’s unshakable status

was the Thunder Art held only by the high masters and the Tian Shi himself.

Legend says the Five Thunder Orthodoxy mastered by the Tian Shi can subdue demons and exorcise evil without effort!

The Palmar Thunder Zhang Chulan just unleashed may not rival the Five Thunder Orthodoxy, but it rivals that of any high master.

“Hehehe.”

Zhang Chulan, having unleashed this Palmar Thunder, felt utterly exhilarated.

He already imagined Zhang Jie hopping around in agony from the thunder strike.

It filled him with pure joy!

‘Hehehe?’

Hearing that classic villainous laugh, Zhang Jie couldn’t help but sneer.

How many Soul Palace elders and guardians must this kid have devoured to make such a sound?

Zhang Jie had the leisure to mock even while under attack,

precisely because Zhang Chulan’s assault posed zero threat to him.

The Palmar Thunder Zhang Chulan had pinned all hope on vanished three feet from Zhang Jie.

Zhang Jie, still unharmed!

Vanished… vanished…

Along with it vanished the half-formed smile on Zhang Chulan’s face.

“I’m such a fool… really…”

Zhang Chulan suddenly resembled Xiang Linshao: “Jiege let me attack him—he must’ve prepared perfectly all along,

and I fell right into his trap. I’m such a fool… really…”

According to the Law of Smile Conservation, smiles are neither created nor destroyed—they merely transfer.

Now that Zhang Chulan’s smile had vanished, it naturally transferred to Zhang Jie’s face,

who wore a satisfied smile: “Not bad. It lives up to its great reputation.”

Yet seeing Zhang Chulan slumped in despair, looking utterly defeated,

Zhang Jie decided to comfort him—he was his little brother and his own scapegoat.

If all the scapegoats lay dead in the field, refusing to grow, how could he harvest them?

How could he ever enjoy grilled scapegoats, scapegoat dumplings, or scapegoat pancakes again?

“Chulan, don’t lose heart. If you keep cultivating hard,

one day you’ll reach my level too.”

“Me too?”

Hearing this, Zhang Chulan instantly snapped out of his despair… well, stopped being despondent.

If he could ever wield the same power as Zhang Jie—rendering all attacks meaningless—he could walk the transcendent world with impunity.

“Jiege, I really want to learn this technique.”

Zhang Chulan turned into a sycophant, rushing to Zhang Jie’s side to massage his back and legs, his flattery unmistakable.

Zhang Jie was utterly unfazed by Zhang Chulan’s rapid role-switching.

Being shameless was one of Zhang Chulan’s defining traits.

For this guy, clinging to a powerful ally was as natural as eating and drinking—pure instinct,

requiring no teaching whatsoever, entirely self-taught.

“Chulan, you don’t need to learn this—you already know it.”

“I already know it?”

Zhang Chulan paused mid-massage, utterly baffled.

He knew such a powerful technique? How could he not know?

“It’s the Old Farmer Art! Jiege just used the Old Farmer Art!”

Feng Baobao replied, blankly clueless.

“The Old Farmer Art is this powerful?”

Zhang Chulan expressed skepticism.

He’d practiced the Old Farmer Art for days and felt no transformation whatsoever.

“You’ve practiced too briefly—no change is normal,”

Feng Baobao, seeing his confusion, explained.

“But Jiege only got the Old Farmer Art less than a few hours ago!”

The more she explained, the more Zhang Chulan collapsed inward.

Compared to Zhang Jie, he wasn’t even trash.

He suddenly wondered if he was just worthless mud that couldn’t be stuck to a wall.

“Cough, cough, my situation is special, Chulan—don’t compare yourself to me.”

Seeing Zhang Chulan slipping toward utter despair, Zhang Jie had to explain.

“Yeah, why would I compare myself to someone like Jiege?”

Zhang Chulan suddenly recalled his recent battles against supernatural allies from the North China Region.

Though not invincible, he had won more than he had lost.

In short, it wasn’t that he was weak or worthless mud—it was that Zhang Jie was too monstrous.

The moment he accepted defeat, Zhang Chulan felt the heavens and earth open wide.

As long as he didn’t compare himself to Zhang Jie, Zhang Chulan was still a young elite of the supernatural world.

As for Zhang Jie, let the older generation deal with him.