Chapter Forty-Two: My Fiery Temper

“My temper really is something else.”

Watching as Lin Hao’s spear shook the very air, scattering a blossom of force the size of a washbasin, his entire body’s blood and energy surging and burning, the spear tip pointed straight at his vital chest and abdomen, Xiao Nan’s eyes grew cold.

He felt a real sense of danger.

Earlier, during the spar, the lively atmosphere of friendly competition among classmates—especially with a few loyal fans cheering him on from the sidelines—had softened him unexpectedly. He had treated the match like child’s play.

Even when he had the upper hand, he’d only knocked Lin Hao down as a gesture, using skill rather than lethal intent. Though the class monitor had taken a fall, he wasn’t truly hurt.

But now, the situation had changed.

Xiao Nan was genuinely angry.

To lose and still refuse to admit defeat—what are you after? Such utter lack of self-awareness.

He sensed clearly that if he failed to block this move, internal injury would be the least of his worries. He might well end up with a gaping wound, damaging his very source of vitality and the most crucial meridians of his torso.

After that, forget martial arts—even walking would be a struggle. There was even the chance of taking a mortal blow and dying on the spot.

In recent days, he’d read enough news to know that in universities nationwide, there were always students who, in matches like this, went too far—sometimes fatally.

Judging by Lin Hao’s bloodshot eyes, he clearly intended to follow such an example.

Xiao Nan felt a throbbing at his temples. His smile grew gentler, but his gaze was ice-cold.

The spear blade was upon him in an instant. The gust it whipped up set his clothes flapping violently.

As his sleeves fluttered, to all watching, Xiao Nan himself seemed to sway and drift, like a willow in the wind.

“A waist like a willow, a sword like silk, feet dancing with the breeze.”

Amidst the blazing, sun-like force of that spear, a sudden trace of misty wetness appeared—like a spring breeze bringing gentle rain.

A muffled, peculiar thud sounded; the spear’s razor edge suddenly stagnated, as if it had stabbed into thick mud or tough leather.

There was no clear ring of weapons clashing, only countless flashes of silver sword light weaving silken threads—twisting and winding—forming a dense web before the spear tip.

Twining, coiling, wrapping, cleansing, lifting, pulling, flicking...

In a single instant, even Wei Yunyun couldn’t clearly see how many techniques Xiao Nan’s sword had just unleashed, offensive and defensive. His wrist turned with the dexterity of a serpent; his fingers danced and plucked, full of an inexpressible grace.

It didn’t end there. The silk-like sword shadows, once they locked onto the spear’s momentum, transformed from utmost softness into explosive force.

The slender sword edge cracked with a thunderclap, jolting the spear high into the air.

In the blink of an eye, a line of cold sword light—silent as midnight rain—flashed forward and tapped gently at Lin Hao’s lower abdomen.

A touch, and then it was gone.

When everyone came to, the two stood facing each other. Xiao Nan had already sheathed his sword and stood quietly.

Lin Hao, meanwhile, still held his spear, his eyes wild with terror.

“You—” he managed only a word before his spear clattered to the ground and he spat a mouthful of blood. His knees buckled and he collapsed, utterly defeated.

The fierce vigor from before seemed no more than an illusion; now Lin Hao was limp as mud.

“Thank you for letting me win,” Xiao Nan said, face expressionless, eyes indifferent.

Only now had he released his pent-up rage. Since he’d been forced to strike hard, he no longer bothered to put on a show.

These days, returning to the life of a dutiful high schooler, he’d nearly played the part of a pushover, always having to swallow his pride.

The truth was, this world was full of the strong. Without sufficient power, he’d had to endure and bide his time in secret.

It was safer that way, but never truly satisfying.

Now, at last, he felt ease in his chest, as if the sky had opened up above him.

If you dare strike hard, then so will I.

“Xiao Nan, Xiao Nan—!”

Cheers erupted all around.

Zhang Xiaorou trembled with excitement, shouting herself hoarse, and a whole crowd of girls joined in.

They cared little for the consequences—being young, none worried about offending Vice Principal Lin or future retaliation.

What mattered was that their friend had spoken up, so naturally they would support Xiao Nan with all their might.

Besides, to them, this was just the outcome of a match.

It looked as though Lin Hao had been hurt and could no longer fight—so what? Xiao Nan was so handsome, so gentle! He’d merely tapped with his sword tip, not even breaking the skin.

That last mouthful of blood Lin Hao coughed up must have been from the trauma of defeat, not any true injury.

...

“What sword technique was that? Incredible,” Wei Yunyun’s eyes were wide; the more one knew of swordsmanship, the more breathtaking the scene appeared.

The sword’s edge had first been supple as silk, then transformed into tempered steel, shifting from spring breeze to night rain—defeating his foe without a sound.

“I’ve never heard of any school or style with such effects,” someone murmured.

“It’s the Four Seasons Sword, the spring form they teach every Friday at the sword hall. Last week’s lesson was just on ‘Slanting Rain,’” Dong Cheng said, his face shaken. He was a fellow member of the sword hall but had never imagined the Four Seasons Sword could be wielded like this.

Even their instructor hadn’t shown such skill in class.

Though his own swordsmanship was lacking, Dong Cheng could still see the technique’s brilliance, having studied it himself.

“It’s the Four Seasons Sword’s true intent.”

“So it’s that powerful? If I’d known, I would’ve joined the Four Seasons Sword Hall too. My own style pales in comparison,” Nie Dongyun said, bewildered and regretful.

“Oh, please—you think everyone can grasp the form’s true intent?” Dong Cheng couldn’t help retorting. “If I’m not mistaken, the class monitor is in trouble; the ‘Slanting Rain’ form isn’t so simple.”

...

“What a move—Cyan Silk Entwined, Slanting Rain. He’s grasped the very essence of the Spring Sword,” Tang Zhixuan had already risen to her feet during the exchange, her former indolence gone.

Her gaze was bright with discovery, fixed intently on Xiao Nan.

“Incredible, truly. To convert softness and strength so naturally with so little vitality, and to capture the spirit of the form… To bring forth thunderous force from the gentlest spring breeze... And that ‘Slanting Rain’—exquisite! If only I weren’t too old and lacking in talent, I’d want to go to the capital and beg a master to take me as a student again.”

Tang Zhixuan muttered to herself, lost in admiration.

The two martial arts teachers beside her were equally stunned.

They weren’t sure why this heiress from the Tang family had come to Yuangjiang First High to teach this year, but they’d heard rumors of her being a top student at Qingning Academy in the capital.

If even she held Xiao Nan’s swordsmanship in such esteem, could there be more to it than met the eye?

Before they could puzzle it out, a thunderous shout erupted nearby.

“A student sparring and you dare strike so ruthlessly? Destroying his blood and meridians—this is outrageous!”

Lin Anguo reached out and grasped his son’s wrist. At the slightest touch, he sensed Lin Hao’s body was ice-cold, his once-mighty vitality dissipating throughout his body, fading into the air.

Seeing Lin Hao’s lips dark and breath faint, his heart twisted in pain and fury.

He’d invested so much into his son—currying favor, pulling strings, doing who knew what behind the scenes—all in hopes his son would get into a prestigious university and bring honor to the family.

Now, was it all ruined?

That sword strike—it was vicious.

A soft tap that penetrated the organs, then exploded into a violent shock, wreaking havoc inside. Where had that boy learned such a cruel technique? Certainly not from the Four Seasons Sword Hall.

Earlier, standing farther away, Lin Anguo hadn’t noticed, but now, examining his son, he realized the extent of the damage.

At this moment, he didn’t even recall that it was his own son who had first struck with lethal intent.

And even if he did, he wouldn’t care.

Most people, after all, are lenient with themselves and harsh toward others.

With righteous indignation he shouted, and without pause, his right hand lashed out.

His palm struck the air with a thunderous crack.

Grass swirled and flew; the force of his strike was as heavy as a mountain.

All around, people could hear the bowstring-like twang and trembling—

That was every tendon and sinew in Lin Anguo’s body contracting at once, generating immense power.

One could even see faint white scars in the air where his palm had compressed it.