Chapter 58: Breaking the Heavenly Gate

“You’re hurt.”

Pushing open the door, Ye Qingshi stared in surprise at the four deep purple bruise marks on Fang Can’s chest.

“Just a minor wound, it’ll heal in no time,” Fang Can replied, settling into a cross-legged posture.

Indeed, under the combined effect of the Tiger Subduing Dragon Subduing Golden Body’s loose, springy, circular force and force-dissipating technique, most of the impact had been deflected and neutralized.

The punch that should have shattered his sternum had left only four blackened fist impressions; after half a day of self-repair, the skin had turned from black to purplish-blue, and by morning it would return to its fair complexion.

“Should I apply medicine?” Ye Qingshi couldn’t help asking, then immediately regretted it, feeling she’d been too soft.

“No need,” Fang Can said coolly. “It’s late. Just light a few candles.”

As Ye Qingshi lit the candles, Fang Can felt how, under the candlelight, his cells slowly consumed excess heat, converting it into pure life energy to heal his injuries.

Watching the dimly lit, handsome profile in the flickering light, the girl took a quiet breath and leaned closer to Fang Can. “I’m going to sleep. You rest and cultivate in peace.”

After saying this, she slipped off her small embroidered slippers and curled up obediently under the covers, leaving only her back turned to Fang Can—a motion so natural she found it strange herself.

Once familiar, twice routine. That entire night, Ye Qingshi no longer felt the earlier panic and unease; she treated the man beside her like a handsome statue, drifted into idle thoughts, and fell into deep sleep.

The night passed without incident. At dawn, Ye Qingshi awoke to find the figure beside the bed gone.

‘Where is he? Has this guy changed?’ She reached out from the warm blankets, rubbed her eyes, and frowned in confusion.

Meanwhile, over three hundred li west of the city, atop a towering peak piercing the clouds, Fang Can walked along a narrow mountain path.

This was the gathering point for several martial schools. He hadn’t walked far before a loud laugh rang out, drawing nearer.

“Hahahaha! You must be Fang Can, the exiled disciple of the Tiger Demon Sect,” said a bald man in loose martial attire, leaping before him. “I’ve heard a prodigy has appeared nearby—bold enough to come here on his own.”

“Including me, over thirty heart-phase martial artists from the Tiger Demon Sect have gathered here. I got lucky in a dice roll and drew the task of stopping you.”

“If you can’t even pass me, you’ll wait for me to break your limbs and drag you back to the Tiger Demon Sect to report.”

‘It’s just like a side-scrolling level-clearing game.’

Fang Can muttered inwardly, locking eyes with the bald man. “Since our gazes have met, let’s begin.”

Three minutes later, Fang Can stepped over the unconscious bald man and continued upward—only to find a middle-aged man with a sharp nose and monkey-like face blocking his path.

“Beating ‘Wuji Hand’ Zhao Liansheng does show some ability, but luck won’t save you this time.”

The middle-aged man introduced himself: “I am Li Guanfei, Heart-Phase Eighth Layer. I’ve heard you have strong stamina—should I wait for you to restore your heart-phase? Otherwise, I fear winning would seem unsportsmanlike.”

“Enough,” Fang Can cut him off. “If you want to fight, just fight. Stop wasting time.”

One minute later, Fang Can stepped over Li Guanfei’s body, gasped twice, and kept climbing.

He still had to face at least thirty more heart-phase martial artists—even one-on-one, this would drain him dry.

True enough, after defeating the fifth martial artist, Fang Can’s heart-phase energy was completely depleted, forcing him to rely purely on raw combat.

Though each attack was physically blocked, within the illusory space Fang Can experienced countless visions of his own annihilation, inflicting massive mental strain.

Fang Can felt no fear, no dread—he endured the intense mental assaults head-on.

After dying seventy-five times in the heart-phase illusions, his brain had grown utterly numb to pain.

Mental fatigue made his punches weak, his steps loose, his thoughts slack.

But with it came a complete detachment from the boundary of life and death—he let the false illusions churn freely within his mind.

In truth, these illusions were false. At least, a cultivation of the Mortal Body stage could not erase the will and destroy the flesh.

So long as he ignored the terror the body sent to his brain, he could still move—even amid illusions of flaying, decapitation, severed limbs.

After being killed over seven hundred times in the heart-phase illusions, Fang Can threw a punch that crushed the martial artist’s sternum, embedding his entire body into the mountain wall.

“Puh…” Spitting blood, the martial artist gasped in disbelief: “How… how can you resist my heart-phase?”

“First lesson in cultivation: martial arts come from the heart. Nothing is impossible. You’ve trained yourself into a fool—a rigid old relic,” Fang Can said coldly, giving his right arm a slight shake to rejoin the dislocated joint.

After defeating the sixth heart-phase martial artist, Fang Can pressed onward—but his steps were now unsteady.

There were still over twenty martial artists left… so…

Fuck it—misery turns to fortune!!

Where the hell is my supreme talent and foundation?! Come out, all of it, NOW!!

With this inner roar, Fang Can climbed upward—slow, but unwavering.

Night fell, the sun slanted westward. Ye Yonglie and others stood guard at the martial school’s gate, their faces filled with worry.

Fang Can had not returned since morning.

‘Could the Master…?’ The thought rose in Ye Yonglie’s mind—he immediately crushed it.

For the Divine is omniscient, omnipotent, and wholly good. He could never fail.

Fang Can must have already defeated all thirty-odd martial artists.

But beyond Ye Yonglie, the others wore anxious expressions—they lacked the fanatical faith that sustained him.

As they waited patiently, four figures approached from afar.

No—five figures!

For one man carried a bloodstained white-robed youth across his arms.

With keen eyesight, Ye Yonglie spotted from hundreds of meters away that the four figures were heart-phase martial artists—and the boy they carried was Fang Can.

Yet all five were in terrible shape—clothes torn, bloodied, bones broken, tendons severed.

In an instant, Ye Yonglie sprinted forward, disregarding the risk of revealing his disciple status, snatching Fang Can from the martial artists’ arms.

Seeing Fang Can’s body broken in dozens of places but breathing evenly in deep sleep, Ye Yonglie exhaled in relief.

Raising his head, he eyed them with guarded hostility. “What is your purpose in coming here?”

“Naturally, to return our Master to his chamber for rest,” replied one school master, his expression reverent.

“Your Master?” Ye Yonglie asked, puzzled.

“Yes. We have all taken Fang Tian Di as our deity,” the martial artists declared in unison.

"Yes, we have already revered Fang Tian Di as a deity," several martial artists said in unison.

(End of chapter)