Chapter Nineteen: Failure at the Barrier?

However, just as Jiang Feng summoned his indomitable will, something unexpected occurred—contrary to his intentions, the immense medicinal power refused to heed his command, surging not toward his dantian but instead dispersing of its own accord, spreading along every major and minor meridian, expanding ceaselessly.

Had Jiang Feng been able to look within at that moment, he would have realized he was in a wondrous state. Within only a few breaths, the medicinal energy had been swiftly exhausted, yet his bloodlines hungered like a primordial beast, greedily absorbing the surrounding spiritual energy, circulating it throughout his body, so much so that an ethereal aura seemed to emanate from him, forming a mist around his figure.

The spiritual energy of heaven and earth began to condense into vapor. For Jiang Feng, this was an opportunity—a chance to ascend.

In those few breaths, his Nether Acupuncture Points gathered abundant spiritual energy, compressing and refining it in hopes of transforming it into Nether Force and nurturing a seed of Nether Force, thus breaking through to become a Nether Warrior.

Such powerful absorption had, in that brief instant, drained the spiritual energy from several kilometers around, leaving behind a "vacuum zone"—a terrifying intensity of extraction!

Yet the operation of Jiang Feng's Nether Points did not cease, still spinning wildly, but with spiritual energy falling short, a sharp, anguished cry sounded within him, as if an ancient demon beast, about to feast, had its meal snatched away—furious beyond measure.

His internal circulation grew sluggish; the meager, refined Nether Force could no longer sate the ravenous hunger of the primordial beast within him. A strange heat began to build, a restless, maddening warmth that in an instant flared up, like gasoline poured onto flames.

Heartfire consumed him.

This was the sensation that overwhelmed Jiang Feng.

Just as he was about to collapse, a calming summons arose from some unknown place within his bloodline. A refreshing energy began to flow through him.

This energy appeared as if from nowhere, like a man dying of thirst, despairing, suddenly finding the spring of life. That miraculous feeling of salvation, the exhilaration of surviving from the brink, was utterly intoxicating.

In that desperate moment, many thoughts flashed through Jiang Feng's mind, but most unforgettable was his father's regret at not living to see his son become a capable, useful man—a grief and sorrow etched forever in his heart.

Next, he recalled that senseless, unexplainable incident where he was killed for another’s advancement—the moment when his head was severed, still alive, and he glimpsed the mysterious figure, helpless and filled with endless remorse.

Why, having just been reborn, must he face the trial of death again? Why was fate so cruel? Why?

If at that moment Jiang Feng could have spoken, he would have howled at the heavens.

He could never forget those frozen instants, nor the memories that lost their color and remained forever black and white.

But just then, boundless vitality erupted from his bloodline. The energy swiftly repaired his shattered, destroyed meridians, making them broader and tougher than before.

That moment, the power born from defiance and survival inspired clarity within Jiang Feng. Previously, he had always feared his rebirth, striving for obscurity, but in a world where martial strength reigns, dominance is the true path.

He’d already died once—what was death but a scar the size of a bowl? What was there to fear?

Constant caution and humility, avoiding trouble with care—did that really prevent disaster? Did it avert future tragedy?

In this world, even if you wish for peace, trouble hunts you down.

Some people, ignorant of their limits, won’t learn unless their offending claws are struck and made to ache.

So, even if gods block the way, he would slay gods. If kings obstructed him, he would destroy kings.

With this realization, Jiang Feng shed his post-rebirth reservations. Now, he devoted himself wholeheartedly to cultivation; everything else was illusion, unworthy of concern.

With his mind unshackled, cultivation became twice as effective. Jiang Feng felt his strength had grown significantly in this new life—yet…he had not broken through to Nether Warrior!

Failed to cross the threshold?

Jiang Feng was a touch disappointed, but considering the gains, his future potential was surely enhanced.

He composed himself and resumed his cultivation.

He continued for an indeterminate time, until he sensed his first bottleneck. Knowing it wouldn’t be overcome quickly, he decided to venture out—perhaps some chance encounter would bring breakthrough.

With that thought, Jiang Feng emerged from meditation, but felt somewhat unsettled. He rose, opened the window for fresh air. Suddenly, Lan’er’s voice called out, “Young Master Feng, Young Master Jiang Wen has returned!” Clearly she’d run all the way, her voice breathless, words broken.

Jiang Feng hurried to open the door, grasping Lan’er’s arms, trembling with excitement, “My brother’s back! Where? Where? Tell me quickly! Hurry!”

“Young Master Feng, Young Master Wen has brought guests, right now they’re speaking with the master in the hall!” Lan’er, panting hard, her cheeks aglow with a blush that seemed alluring—not just from the run, but perhaps from Jiang Wen’s return, she was uncharacteristically excited.

“Good, good, good!” Jiang Feng repeated, not noticing Lan’er’s unusual state, only seeing her exhaustion and helping her to a seat. “Rest here awhile. Later, prepare some dishes—I want to talk all night with my brother!”

With that, Jiang Feng rushed off to the hall in high spirits.

Lan’er watched his retreating figure, her right hand reaching forward, lips moving as if to speak, but after a long moment, nothing came out. She sighed softly, lowered her hand, and walked to the kitchen.

...

In the sitting room of Jiang Xian’s small courtyard.

The room was not overly spacious, but its decor and arrangement exuded grandeur and harmony, radiating a reclusive aura.

Jiang Feng entered to find two people deep in conversation, both seemingly regretting not having met sooner. On the left sat his father, Jiang Xian. On the right was a strangely attired man, wearing a dark robe reminiscent of the hermit’s garb from the previous age.

“Greetings, Father,” Jiang Feng knelt on one knee before Jiang Xian.

“Oh, Feng’er, you’re quick! Come, greet Master Wu Cheng, your brother’s teacher.” Jiang Xian beckoned Jiang Feng, then turned to the master, “This is my son Jiang Feng, second in the family.”

“Greetings, Master. I offer my respects.” Jiang Feng turned to pay homage to Master Wu Cheng, and in a casual glance, noticed something. The master sat with ease, dressed as a hermit, yet his manner hinted at worldly experience, the lazy gaze occasionally flashing with a sharp, heroic light.

Having lived two lifetimes, Jiang Feng had met all kinds—tyrants, warlords, hermits, sages. He could discern the extraordinary in Jiang Wen’s master.

His gaze shifted to Jiang Xian, then back to his original purpose. “Father, I heard my brother has returned. Where is he?”

“Haha, I knew you missed your brother! I wondered why you came to pay respects today. Your brother has gone to arrange Master’s lodging in the back hall—you haven’t seen each other in a long time! Go quickly!”

“Yes, Father!” Jiang Feng beamed with joy, thanked him, and withdrew.