Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Star-Shattering Blade Technique

He was a man of the mountains. One day, while chopping wood deep in the hills, a fruit suddenly fell from a tree and struck him. At that moment, he was ravenous and parched, so he ate the fruit without a second thought. He didn’t pay attention to what kind it was; it merely resembled a bright red apple, but from what little he remembered, it was certainly no apple.

In the days that followed, he noticed a remarkable change: his strength had grown immensely. An inexhaustible power seemed to surge through his entire body. Yet it wasn’t until one particular day that he truly realized how different he had become.

That day, he encountered a wolf in the mountains. With his bare hands, he pummeled the wolf to death—yes, with his fists alone. Ever since then, he found himself brimming with boundless energy and vigor every day.

...

Shen An reached this part and closed the forum post. Though the comments were full of skepticism, many accusing the poster of fabricating the story for clicks, Shen An knew there was no exaggeration in it. With the changing world, more and more Awakened would emerge, and soon, hiding such truths would be impossible.

“My strength is still not enough. I must find a way to grow stronger. They say Wanyuan Mountain is extremely dangerous.”

Shen An felt a deep sense of foreboding about this journey. With that thought, he took out his phone. On his chat app, “Future” had sent him a compressed file. It contained the manual for a blade technique.

“Starshatter Blade Technique.”

The style emphasized bold, sweeping movements and required the practitioner to possess an indomitable spirit. Shen An studied the manual intently, reading late into the night.

As dawn broke and the sky flushed with violet clouds, Shen An picked up a wooden staff. With the blade forms in his mind, he began to practice, treating the staff as though it were a sword, repeating each movement meticulously. His motions grew more fluid, each form more refined.

An hour slipped by without pause. After two hours, he finally stopped and glanced at the time—it was already eight in the morning. He casually tossed aside the wooden staff.

“It seems I’ll need to get my hands on a real blade,” Shen An mused. Training with a staff simply wasn’t the same. Despite two hours of practice, something felt off, a sense of resistance he couldn’t quite overcome. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, a staff was still just a staff.

Shaking his head and dismissing the thought, Shen An bought a bus ticket. The coach departed at nine. When the time came, he boarded the bus and gazed at the scenery along the way. This route led to Hong City, and Shen An had learned that Wanyuan Village lay just outside its borders. The bus would drop him near the village, though he would still have to walk several dozen miles to reach it.

But with his current abilities, he could outpace the bus simply by running, perhaps even overtake a train if he pushed himself. If not for fear of drawing too much attention, Shen An might have done exactly that.

He remained silent throughout the journey, sitting quietly in his seat, letting his consciousness sink into the space within him, feigning sleep.

Inside the space, Shen An tried to topple an ironwood tree. He focused, attempting to manipulate the power of the space, to melt the ironwood into the shape of a blade. The moment he formed the thought, the ironwood truly transformed into a sword—a blade wrought of black iron.

Shen An ran his fingers over its surface, feeling the cold bite of steel. Was it possible that within this space, his thoughts could shape reality?

He tried again. With a thought, a droplet of water appeared in his palm, drawn from the lake within the space. Delighted, he found himself running across the lake’s surface, his feet skimming the water without sinking.

Then, with another thought, a tree rose from the ground, its countless branches twisting and morphing into swords and blades, which then embedded themselves in the earth at random.

“Am I invincible here?” he wondered, sensing his absolute control within this space.

“Let me conjure a mountain,” he thought, but nothing happened. He tried other things, to no avail. At last, Shen An understood: this space could not create matter from nothing. Instead, anything within it could be reshaped at will—ironwood into swords, water from the lake drawn forth, anything real could be transformed or relocated, but not created from scratch.

Satisfied with his discovery, Shen An stopped experimenting, having realized how taxing it was on his mind. Exiting the space, he soon drifted into actual sleep.

Until—

“Hey, young man, we’ve arrived.”

Shen An groggily opened his eyes to see the elderly ticket lady. He looked around and saw the bus was nearly empty.

“We’re here?” He glanced at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Young people shouldn’t stay up so late,” she chided. “Look at you, always sleeping.”

Self-consciously, Shen An stepped off the bus into a strange landscape. In the distance, he saw a range of undulating mountains, and further still, a vast sea of white mist. With his keen eyesight, he could see nothing beyond the fog, though he sensed countless beasts lurking within, perhaps even more terrifying unknowns.

Though the place was desolate, the scenery was breathtaking—mountains and forests, a riot of blooming flowers, a veritable paradise. Such majestic landscapes were rare in the city.

Seeing no one around, Shen An oriented himself and, with a single step, shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. His movement stirred the air, making the flowers and trees sway in his wake.

To the north, a weathered stone stele stood, its inscription nearly worn away with age, but the words “Wanyuan Village” could still be faintly discerned.

The village itself was old-fashioned, each home a small courtyard, most with their own gate and garden. The village exuded a sense of harmony, and the marketplace bustled with simple, honest folk.

“Uncle, is this Wanyuan Village?” Shen An called out.

A middle-aged man looked up to see a travel-worn youth dressed simply, without a backpack or any belongings.

Shen An had long since stored his things in the space. After all, who needed to carry a bag after discovering such a useful ability?

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the man asked uncertainly.

“That’s right, I’m here to visit a friend,” Shen An replied casually.

The man grinned knowingly. “Oh, young man, I may not be old, but don’t try to fool me.”

“You’re with the archaeology team, aren’t you?” He looked Shen An up and down, his tone scornful. “You lot are always trying to trick honest folks like us. The last one said he was visiting a friend too, but last night, he was out digging with his crew behind the mountain.”