Chapter 117: Spatial Distortion

Night had fallen.

The starlight and moonlight, while illuminating the earth, also spilled into the vast ocean, transforming the entire sea into a sea of stars—immensely vast, breathtakingly beautiful, and soul-stirring.

The sound of crashing waves echoed from the nearby shore, but Fang Junmei’s mind had already drifted into another world; he remained completely oblivious to his surroundings.

"Tell me, in your eyes, what is this world like? Or rather, what is it composed of?"

Lightning, having let him ponder for a moment, asked again.

Fang Junmei snapped back to reality, thought for a moment, and said, "Naturally, it is composed of mountains, rivers, the earth, houses, and all manner of living creatures."

"Wrong!"

Lightning retorted, "Beyond those, there is the infinitely vast void. They are just as real as the mountains and rivers, and they occupy far, far more space than everything you mentioned, yet almost everyone ignores their existence."

Fang Junmei’s mind was shaken once more. No one had ever interpreted the composition of the world to him in such a way. Compared to the average person, he was considered well-traveled and knowledgeable, but at this moment, he could find no words to refute it.

"If you cannot even see through this, if you remain forever confined to the physical objects perceived by your six senses, you will never find those points, nor will you ever grasp the way of spatial distortion."

Lightning’s demeanor as a grandmaster grew increasingly pronounced. Fang Junmei, who had previously doubted whether it would be a good master, was now filled with shame. This guidance was a profound shock to his soul.

"I understand. But what exactly must I do to find those points and strike them?"

Fang Junmei asked slowly, as if weighing every word, his voice filled with sincere humility. Seeing this, Lightning appeared quite pleased.

"Simple!"

Lightning chuckled and said, "From today on, draw your sword and strike at the same point in the void ahead. Do not allow the slightest deviation until you create a ripple in space. The moment you produce a spatial ripple is the moment you perceive the existence of that point."

"That is the method?"

Fang Junmei was stunned, half-doubting. Was this horse teasing him again?

"Believe it or not, that's up to you!"

Lightning said with a hint of annoyance, then added, "This young master is going to rest. I don't want to say another word today."

With that, it curled up on the beach and closed its eyes. Fang Junmei was left speechless, staring into the empty space before him.

If Fang Junmei were tasked with striking a specific point on a solid object, he could easily do so, no matter how many times he tried. However, striking the exact same point in the void countless times was a different matter entirely. Without a reference point, the slightest tremor of the eye would cause the strike to deviate.

Yet, if he could truly succeed through endless practice, then surely, the void around him would eventually appear not as emptiness, but as a collection of countless points.

Thinking of this, Fang Junmei suddenly felt that this method might actually be useful. He glanced at the sleeping Lightning, remembered the expectations of Daoist Cuotuo, Long Jinyi, and others, and gritted his teeth. He walked to the water's edge, drew his "Bugu" sword, and began to thrust it forward, one stroke at a time.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The sounds continued, one after another, without pause.

This simplest act of drawing and thrusting a sword soon became, in Fang Junmei's eyes, an incredibly tedious ordeal—so tedious that he began to doubt if he was truly a genius of the sword. There were no reference points. Any deviation in his eyes, any deviation in his movements—even the slightest shift meant he was no longer hitting the same point. Sometimes, even when he felt he had hit the mark, he couldn't be certain.

Fang Junmei did not notice that the seemingly sleeping Lightning had quietly opened its eyes, watched for a few moments, shook its head, and closed them again.

Time ticked away.

After only an hour or two, Fang Junmei suddenly stopped. As if struck by an idea, his eyes lit up. He reached into his storage bag and pulled out a spear-like low-grade magic treasure—he couldn't even remember from which unlucky soul he had looted it—and drove it straight into the sand. Then, he resumed his practice.

The tip of his sword now aimed exactly one inch above the tip of the spear—still in the void. With this spear as a reference, Fang Junmei immediately found his focus. Almost every thrust landed perfectly one inch above the spearhead.

Even Fang Junmei felt a bit proud of himself for coming up with this, and a smile appeared on his face.

"Do not practice like this! When you are fighting someone, where will you find a reference point? Do you intend to spend your life thrusting your sword at that spear?"

At that exact moment, Lightning’s majestic and stern roar echoed in Fang Junmei’s mind, filled with fury. It was a harsh wake-up call.

"You have quite the knack for cutting corners!"

Lightning snorted again, shook its head, and truly ignored him, falling back asleep with a heavy, disgruntled sigh. Fang Junmei smiled bitterly and stopped his hand.

It had been many years since he had been scolded like this. Even in his childhood, when he first began practicing the sword, the Old Man Carrying the Sword could find no fault in his comprehension or diligence. He never expected that upon embarking on the path of cultivation, he would be scolded for the most basic of movements—and by a horse he considered a bit of a character, no less.

But upon reflection, he knew Lightning had his best interests at heart, and its words were indeed true.

He put away the spear and cleared his mind. He turned toward the empty void, devoid of any reference, and began to draw his sword once more. The process was monotonous and required his mind and eyes to be intensely focused. Most people would have likely given up after a short time.

Lightning remained in a deep slumber. Beneath the starry sky, by the seaside, only Fang Junmei remained, repeating those dull and repetitive motions.

The next morning, Lightning yawned, lifted its hooves, and gave a long stretch of its horse-back—a truly long back—as it woke from its sleep.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

Still bleary-eyed, it heard the sound of sword thrusts coming from the beach.

"This guy is quite diligent," Lightning thought with a hint of praise. It assumed Fang Junmei had been practicing all night. For a mortal, such stamina would be impossible, but for a cultivator at the late stage of the Floating Dust realm, Fang Junmei could certainly handle it.

Lightning looked up. Over the ocean, the red sun had already leaped into the sky, illuminating the world. By now, the tide had come in. Fang Junmei, who had been practicing on the dry sand the night before, was now standing in knee-deep water. Yet, in reality, he had not moved an inch; his feet seemed rooted to the spot.

Lightning remembered his position from the night before and nodded with a smile. But soon, a look of shock appeared in its eyes.

If Fang Junmei had landed ten out of a hundred thrusts on the same point the night before, this morning, out of a hundred thrusts, at least seventy landed on the exact same spot, and the other thirty were off by only a hair's breadth.

"How is this possible? How can this kid improve so quickly?"

Lightning’s large horse-jaw nearly hit the ground. Fang Junmei’s terrifying speed of progress left it feeling bewildered. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before Fang Junmei unleashed a ripple in space. Lightning raised a hoof to rub its eyes, thinking Fang Junmei must have found some other reference point, but after watching for a long time, it found none.

"This fellow... he might become a remarkable figure in the future... those spatial divine abilities of our clan..."

Lightning sighed inwardly, but left the sentence unfinished.

Clang!

After practicing for another hour, Fang Junmei finally finished. He jammed his Bugu sword into the sand, sat down in the water, and began to rest, his eyes filled with exhaustion. Repeating the most monotonous motion while maintaining intense mental focus for an entire night was enough to break anyone's spirit.

"Hey, have you reached your limit? Or have you given up already?"

Lightning sauntered over, speaking with a touch of mockery.

Fang Junmei didn't look back; he splashed some seawater on his face and said, "No, I'm just taking a break. It's time to set off soon."

Hearing this, Lightning’s gaze softened slightly.

After washing up and using his magic power to dry his clothes, Fang Junmei summoned a white cloud to carry himself and the white horse toward the Pan Kingdom.

The Pan Kingdom had seemed immense to Fang Junmei in the past, but after obtaining a map of the Great River Kingdom, he realized it was merely a slightly larger island. After orienting himself, Fang Junmei drew his sword once more and began thrusting it into the void ahead.

"Is there any need to be so diligent?" Lightning teased. "You are on the move now; there are no stationary points."

"When I fight, will my opponent just stand there and wait?" Fang Junmei laughed.

This response was identical to the one Lightning had used to scold him the day before.

"Then what is the goal of practicing like this?" Lightning asked after a moment of thought.

Fang Junmei continued to thrust his sword and said, "You were right yesterday. When fighting, I cannot have a reference point, and I cannot control my opponent, but I can control myself. I don't need to use my eyes to search for that point. As long as I maintain complete control over my body and power—ensuring my torso doesn't move and my arm and sword swing without the slightest deviation—I can always strike that point! The internal awareness of the body is far more important than the searching of the naked eye."

His gaze was piercing, like a tiger, like a god.

"One can play it this way?" Lightning was stunned, its eyes widening.

Fang Junmei nodded. "One can!"

Others might not be able to, but I can!

Fang Junmei kept the second half of this thought to himself. Only he knew that throughout the night, he had kept the "Three-Breath Divine Stone" active, observing his every movement, the operation of every muscle, and the expenditure of every ounce of power. Through countless thrusts, he had been constantly adjusting.

He wasn't just thrusting at a point; he was strengthening his control over his own body. Sooner or later, he would reach the level of a precision machine.