Chapter Eighty: Pang Invincible Has Powerful Backers! The Ten Great Sects!

The blade appeared even longer than the man himself—at least one meter seventy-eight, by the look of it. Both the hilt and the blade gleamed with a silvery, radiant luster, cold and dazzling beneath the sunlight.

Thud, thud, thud.

Although he was not particularly heavy—if anything, he seemed rather thin—with each step he took, it sounded as if an elephant were stamping the earth, leaving deep imprints wherever his feet landed. These were not soft, yielding soils, but solid concrete, and in some places, even the hardened surfaces paved with bricks and stones. Yet, this man’s footsteps shattered them all, one after another. His shoes appeared to be nothing more than ordinary canvas sneakers, but the force behind them left everyone speechless.

No one had noticed when such a figure had appeared on the sports field.

“My goodness, how powerful must those legs be? I get it now, I get it! He must be a master from one of the top ten sects, there’s no doubt about it.”

“This guy is ruthless! Could he be even stronger than Lin Yi? I get that feeling—tsk, tsk, tsk! A cultivator, for sure! Look, more people are coming from the back.”

…

Laughter rang out from behind as another young man approached. He was tall and burly, with a prominent black mole on the left side of his face. But the most striking feature was his completely bald head, which gleamed under the sunlight with a radiant luster—proving that the more bald, the shinier, as the ancients claimed.

Some eyed his shining head but dared not laugh. The man bore six large ritual scars atop his scalp. Still laughing heartily, he pressed his palms together in a gesture of Buddhist greeting, his body draped in tattered monastic robes full of holes. A string of prayer beads lay across his forearms, each bead exuding a delicate fragrance—though some beads were tinged red or black, their scent was sweet, a mingling of orchid and musk.

Though this young monk made no heavy noise as he walked, it seemed as if he floated above the ground, his legs skimming the earth with the lightness of a water-strider, as if performing a feat of lightness skill. He moved swiftly—overtaking the short, ugly man who had arrived first.

The monk’s display clearly unsettled the short man, but he simply glanced over, said nothing, and continued toward Li Chunfeng. Yet the monk was even faster.

In the blink of an eye, the young monk stood before Li Chunfeng. As if competing for the initiative, he bumped into the short man's shoulder with a resounding thud, shoving him aside. The short man’s face darkened with fury—such was the monk’s natural strength that, with a single bump, he sent him staggering three or four steps back before he regained his balance. The monk, meanwhile, remained unmoved, expression unchanged.

The short man now realized he was outmatched. He stood there, stricken, his complexion paling and flushing by turns, looking thoroughly miserable.

This single move left many students awestruck.

“This is interesting. The corpse in the abandoned village—I, Xuan Ku, will take this task.”

…

Another arrival appeared at the edge of the sports field. This one, too, was bald, prompting a ripple of laughter. He looked particularly comical, his arm in a plaster cast. It was none other than Pang Wudi.

But Pang Wudi’s face was alight with joy. He and five or six others gathered around two figures in their midst. One was a young man in a tattered, mud-stained Taoist robe, his face obscured by a mask. The other was an elderly man, his garments embroidered with sun, moon, and stars, exuding a sage-like air.

The two were surrounded, with several people conversing animatedly.

“That young master Liu Changfeng from the Long Blade Sect is impressive—leaving footprints with both feet! Surely he’s a first-rate martial artist.”

“Look at Xuan Ku, the young monk from Little Thunder Monastery—he walks with such lightness, almost floating. His skill is formidable, his magic arts accomplished.”

“Still, no matter how powerful those two are, they can’t compare to you, the Young Patriarch. Neither Little Thunder’s Xuan Ku nor Long Blade’s Liu Changfeng can hold a candle to you.”

“Exactly! That goes without saying. The name of Zhang Ruofeng, Daozi of Dragon-Tiger Mountain, is known to all. How dare anyone else vie with us for this job? Come on, let’s go have a look.”

“Oh, don’t flatter me. Besides, it’s not just me—right here is Master Jin Huishan of the Starry Sky Sect. With him present, I may stand out among the young, but among all cultivators, where do I even rank?”

“You’re too modest, truly too modest.”

Their conversation startled all within earshot. Students, teachers, and even the few passersby who had entered unnoticed were wide-eyed in astonishment.

Xuan Ku of Little Thunder Monastery, Liu Changfeng of the Long Blade Sect, Zhang Ruofeng the Daozi of Dragon-Tiger Mountain, and Master Jin Huishan of the Starry Sky Sect—these names carried immense weight.

Everyone’s gaze lit up. Now it was clear: representatives of the great sects had truly arrived, and those who came were of considerable caliber. The title “Daozi” alone spoke volumes of strength.

Earlier, both Xuan Ku and Liu Changfeng had already stunned the crowd with their displays. Yet these newcomers seemed to dismiss them lightly, implying even greater prowess. Clearly, only those with true skill would dare such arrogance.

Some gasped, some looked on with fervor, and those who had scoffed at Pang Wudi fell silent. No wonder he looked so elated—he had managed to mingle with the likes of these figures.

A sense of shock and feverish excitement swept over the crowd.

Before anyone could recover their wits, figures strode swiftly from the main building of Shengjing Academy. At their head was the old dean himself.

The old dean now served as president of the Shengjing City Mentalist Guild—a master hiding his true prowess. He marched forward with a formidable air, exuding an aura of invincibility, his bearing dignified and unyielding.

Aside from the dean, the other school leaders maintained composed expressions, appearing calm. But the rest of the staff and officials beamed with fawning smiles, their faces wrinkled with sycophantic delight, hurrying along as quickly as they dared. If not for Gu Leiming leading the way and a few other senior leaders holding them back, they would have rushed ahead to curry favor with Zhang Ruofeng, Jin Huishan, and their peers.

The scene confirmed for all that this was indeed real—these truly were representatives of the Ten Grand Sects. It was clear, too, that there were differences in rank among the sects, just as there were between Pang Wudi and Lin Yi.

The words of Zhang Ruofeng and his companions were heard by many students. The young master of the Long Blade Sect, Liu Changfeng, looked deeply displeased. Even Xuan Ku, who had just bested him, was grim-faced. Liu Changfeng, who had intended to question Li Chunfeng, paused, veins bulging on his bald forehead.

“They’re really here! The Ten Grand Sects have come to select new disciples. My god, this time I must succeed!”

“Incredible! Breaking stone with bare feet, gliding across water—these are feats beyond belief! Cultivators truly are powerful; no wonder they can drive away monsters and spirits. I have to become a cultivator, no matter what!”

“Even Pang Wudi was chosen! That means anyone has a chance. He’s weaker than Lin Yi, yet he became a cultivator—why not me?”

…

The crowd erupted into a frenzy. The excitement reached a fever pitch as people surged forward, eager to forge connections with Zhang Ruofeng, Jin Huishan, and the other illustrious figures.

Just then, a female student cried out, her voice ringing clear above the din.

“Zhang Ruofeng! I remember now—he’s the one from Dragon-Tiger Mountain who conjured the apple tree out of thin air! On Antique Street, he grew an apple tree from a single seed on solid pavement. He’s truly a supernatural being!”

“Right, right! I remember now as well—he’s practically a celestial! He grew an apple tree from a seed on hard ground—unbelievable! My mother always said he must be of divine heritage. It’s true! I must join Dragon-Tiger Mountain and become his disciple—bring honor to my family!”

The crowd was on the verge of exploding.

Indeed, Zhang Ruofeng’s previous feat had already spread far and wide, with short video clips circulating and reinforcing his status as a legendary figure. More and more people regarded him as a being of myth.

Of course, the latter half of those videos never made it out—the latter part was too humiliating. Zhang Ruofeng wore a mask because his face was still marred and bloody; even sacred healing medicines hadn’t fully erased the scars. Fortunately, those who circulated the videos were all his devoted admirers.