Chapter 161: Is This Even a Level-One Transformation

The next morning, Fang Can ended his cultivation.

The Wang Fu servants had been waiting at the gate since early, informing him that the Level-One sparring partner was ready and inviting him back into the mansion.

Feeling the triggered state of "misery reaching its peak, fortune follows," Fang Can silently thought that many people must have secretly coveted his golden rooster yesterday.

In his perception, last night his talent effect had surged to its peak, then plummeted immediately afterward, and now it had nearly returned to the level of the day before.

"This talent's fluctuation is crazier than stock prices," Fang Can remarked.

"Young Master Fang, please follow this old servant to Wang Fu for a discussion," said the same chief steward he'd met yesterday, bowing respectfully.

"Of course not a problem," Fang Can nodded slowly. Why fear anything when the danger radar had dropped?

Leaving Wang Fu, to avoid drawing attention, the two took a back alley toward Wang Fu.

Halfway there, Fang Can casually asked: "Was there anything major happen yesterday?"

"Aside from you ascending the Dragon's Potential List, there was indeed another matter," the steward chuckled. "Yesterday, the Lord of Jie Jian Mountain arrived in the capital."

"Huh?" Fang Can paused. "There was that too?"

"Indeed. Level-Four transformations are never trivial—last night, the entire court rose from their beds and rushed to the imperial palace to talk, mainly about the next Emperor's selection."

"After the meeting, every official in court praised Young Master Fang, but Lord Liu said you still need more training."

The steward smiled, though he didn't say it outright—everyone knew Lord Liu held Fang Can in high regard; he'd come straight to the palace the moment the Dragon's Potential List opened.

Was his purpose the Emperor's selection? No—it was to back Fang Can.

Hearing this, Fang Can's heart warmed slightly. No wonder his talent had dropped so sharply last night—Lord Liu had intervened.

Following the steward into Wang Fu, their destination this time wasn't the reception hall, but a secluded training room.

Upon entering, they saw an elderly man with a weathered face, slightly bent over, dressed in plain robes, his expression calm.

"Are you the warrior who will spar with me?" Fang Can asked, his expression solemn.

A Level-One warrior lives two hundred years; before nearing death, they show no signs of aging.

That meant this man was an ancient who'd lived nearly two centuries, with barely a decade left.

"Correct. Before the grand contest, you'll spar with me," the old man grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.

"Young Master Fang has been delivered. I leave his training to you, Elder Yang," the steward said, his eyes showing a trace of reverence.

"Thank you. Leave the rest to me," the old man stretched his limbs. "It's been years since I last fought—perfect chance to warm up."

"Elder Yang, please take this seriously," Fang Can said earnestly.

"Relax," the old man grinned. "Experience, strength, lineage, technique, martial Dao—I'm the strongest Level-One there is."

No sooner had he finished speaking than an abrupt change occurred.

In Fang Can's narrowed pupils, a withered hand swept down like a sky-covering net, reaching for him.

Fast. Utterly, impossibly fast.

His mind had no time to process—he dodged purely by instinct.

But it seemed all space had been drawn inward, a colossal suction force emanating from the old man's palm.

By the time Fang Can realized it, his throat was already gripped, immobile.

"Is this what a veteran Level-One is like?" Fang Can was utterly convinced—Wang Peng looked like a street dog beside him.

"Good kid," the old man thought inwardly. "If I hadn't used true qi just in time, I'd have missed—what a humiliation that would've been."

If those army brats found out their old commander couldn't even grab a mere Tuifan-body kid, they'd laugh at him for a year.

Feeling his body locked stiff, Fang Can asked: "Elder Yang, why can't I move?"

"Because your entire body's acupoints have been sealed by my internal force," the old man gave a light push—only then did Fang Can realize he could move again.

"What acupoints do I even have?" Fang Can wondered.

He'd abandoned the Tiger Demon's Eighty-Eight Dantian system—where were his acupoints?

"My martial Dao contains the acupoints of the Heavenly Circles," the old man resumed his stance. "Whether you have them doesn't matter—I have them, that's enough."

"OK, OK, mind-over-matter martial arts—you believe it, fine," Fang Can's lip twitched. "Please, Elder Yang, continue instructing me."

"Good. Then I'll continue," the old man said. "This time, I won't use true qi—let's start with pure physical combat."

As he spoke, Fang Can felt a wave of ferocious, malevolent aura rushing toward him—he couldn't imagine how many men this old man had killed in his youth.

…

The steward emerged and walked straight to the study to report to the Prince of Wang Fu.

"I've brought Young Master Fang before Elder General Yang," the steward said, bowing deeply.

"Excellent," the Prince smiled. "With Elder General Yang's instruction, Fang Can's skills will surely surge within this month."

The so-called Elder Yang was in fact the former Level-Three general from the Golden Throne Hall.

Considering Fang Can's past victory over a Level-One, the Prince judged this wasn't an ordinary Tuifan-body—he needed a heavy-handed approach.

Originally, after the midnight meeting, the Prince feared a Level-One might fail, and planned to borrow a Level-Two from the army as a sparring partner.

But when he mentioned it to Elder General Yang, the old man—bored and idle—decided to suppress his own realm to Level-One and spar with Fang Can for a month.

A Level-Three martial artist suppressing his power to Level-One meant his strength, speed, defense, technique, energy, and lineage were all perfectly balanced—the strongest possible Level-One.

Under these conditions, ordinary Level-Twos couldn't win, and even Level-Threes with obvious weaknesses would be humiliated.

…

"So strong! Too strong! Insanely strong!"

With a thunderous crash, Fang Can's abdomen arched like a shrimp, his body launched like a cannonball into the wall behind him.

The special bricks absorbed the terrifying kinetic force, preventing any ripple from escaping the training room.

"Is this what a normal Level-One can do? Then what the hell was Wang Peng? Did he even deserve the title Level-One?"

Clutching his abdomen, Fang Can watched the bruise—once dark and swollen—rapidly fade under the sunlight, his eyes filled with shock.

Even without true yuan, without lineage techniques, this near-dead warrior's raw physical power was dozens of times his own—so this was the true upper limit of Level-One?

If the opponent struck with full force, he would probably explode like fireworks in an instant.

"I'm done for." Fang Can felt a sinking premonition in his heart.

If this was the level of a first-revolution cultivator, then Xiang Longtao's strength was likely far beyond his expectations.

"Hehe, kid, can you still hold on?" The old man laughed with ill intent.

Although he had suppressed his power to the first revolution, every stat he now displayed was the strongest a typical first-revolution cultivator could achieve in a single category.

Other first-revolution cultivators who abandoned balanced stat allocation and instead poured all their points into one stat to the limit would, at best, roughly match his current single-stat performance.

Hmm, how could this not count as first revolution?

"I'm fine, continue." Fang Can's expression was solemn; he had gotten completely serious.

(End of chapter)