Chapter Sixteen: Transcending Tribulation, Transcending Tribulation, Transcending Tribulation

Boom... The fourth heavenly lightning struck. This bolt was strange—its descent was slow enough to gauge with the naked eye, yet its timing was impossible to predict. From Tang Yi’s vantage point, he watched as Zhang Sanfeng suddenly plunged his sword into the earth, raised both hands high, and then—well, he began to perform Tai Chi. Yet it was nothing like the gentle routines Tang Yi had seen elderly men and women practicing in the park. More accurately, it was the Tai Chi Palm. Zhang Sanfeng, moving with profound intent, drew a circle with both hands and gave a sharp shake. The sword, planted in the ground, sprang up and shot toward the sky. It spun through the air, following the intricate patterns of Zhang Sanfeng’s gestures, drawing ever closer to the uncanny bolt of lightning.

A piercing whistle resounded as the sword neared the lightning, filling the air with the song of steel. With a strange, slicing sound, sword and lightning clashed. Instead of a single collision, the lightning and blade became entangled in midair, weaving back and forth in a relentless duel. As they battled, the chain of lightning shrank smaller and smaller. After nearly half an hour, the fourth heavenly lightning finally dissipated. At that exact moment, the long sword lost its spiritual luster and plummeted to the ground. Zhang Sanfeng himself collapsed, limp on the earth. Forcing himself upright, he retrieved a restorative elixir from his storage ring and shoved it into his mouth.

“Heh, heh, I never imagined the recovery pills I concocted would be this miraculous. Just a minute ago, he was sprawled on the ground, weak as a kitten, and now, after swallowing the pill, he’s brimming with energy. Hm, this stuff might be a match for Viagra—could be a lucrative line, ha…” Tang Yi mused, privately amused at the dramatic change in Zhang Sanfeng after taking the elixir. “But wait, each bottle only contains ten pills. The first time, Zhang Sanfeng used one, this time two, so next he’ll need four, then eight… This is only the fourth bolt! There won’t be enough—could he actually die?” Tang Yi’s mind spiraled into unnecessary worry, a common trap of habitual thinking. In truth, a cultivator’s total energy is fixed; for someone of Zhang Sanfeng’s level, two pills would fully replenish him. The first time, he hadn’t fully recovered—just healed his injuries. So there was no need to double the dose each time. If Zhang Sanfeng failed the tribulation, he’d be dead anyway, and pills wouldn’t matter.

The fifth bolt arrived—a fascinating one. Unlike the others, it didn’t flash but instead formed a half-meter-wide, fifty-meter-long beam, glowing with a constant white radiance. It shot straight down from a thousand meters above, like a special effect from a film, descending at a hundred meters per second, aiming directly for Zhang Sanfeng.

“I wonder what trick Zhang Sanfeng will use this time?” Tang Yi commented from afar, munching on snacks as he watched the spectacle. Yet, the next scene nearly made him fall off his sofa. “Seriously… is that allowed?” he cried in disbelief.

As the lightning descended, Zhang Sanfeng produced an absurdly long iron rod from who knows where—one end forked like the skeleton of an overturned umbrella. He placed several ordinary iron swords across the prongs and plunged the other end into the ground. After setting it up, he merely stood nearby. The lightning came down, struck one of the swords on the fork, which instantly melted and fused with the rod. Astonishingly, the heavenly bolt then traveled down the rod and into the earth. And that was it—the tribulation was over. No wonder Tang Yi was left speechless.

Finally, the sixth bolt came. This one fell slowly at first, then, halfway down, split into six streaks of lightning, accelerating sharply and launching a coordinated assault.

“Damn… The final round of tribulation, and there are so many tricks! Each one more cunning than the last! I’m convinced—either Zhang Sanfeng committed some unforgivable sin, or heaven itself is jealous of true talent,” Tang Yi speculated. In fact, the more profound the cultivation technique, the fiercer the heavenly tribulation.

The six bolts attacked simultaneously from all directions. Zhang Sanfeng’s expression turned grim. Heaven certainly had a cruel sense of humor—never had he heard of such a tribulation, as if fate itself would not rest until he was destroyed. Zhang Sanfeng pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, and began chanting. The sword that had been standing in the ground leapt up and started orbiting around him, spinning faster and faster until, to Tang Yi’s eyes, it seemed to split—two swords, three, more and more. At last, six identical swords hovered motionless around Zhang Sanfeng. The six bolts struck, and the six swords spun in circles, forming a barrier that stopped the lightning five feet from Zhang Sanfeng’s body. The swords whirled relentlessly while sweat poured from Zhang Sanfeng’s brow. After half an hour, his spiritual energy was nearly depleted, and he began to rely on pills. An hour passed—he’d consumed two more. Still, the six bolts showed no sign of weakening. Zhang Sanfeng was growing desperate, and even Tang Yi, watching from afar, felt anxious. Finally, after the fourth pill, the six bolts vanished without warning, leaving Zhang Sanfeng with a sense of strength wasted and frustration unspent.

“What’s next, I wonder?” Tang Yi thought, the consummate spectator. This time, the wait was excruciatingly long. Just as both Zhang Sanfeng and Tang Yi were growing impatient, the seventh bolt descended. Strangely, it didn’t strike immediately but circled in the air above Zhang Sanfeng. After a dozen laps, the eighth bolt fell—this one heading straight for the seventh. The two bolts merged into a twin-helix of lightning, spiraling down at Zhang Sanfeng with blinding speed—so fast that he had no time to react. He barely managed to raise his sword before the lightning tore through it, coursed through his right hand and chest, and exited through both feet into the ground. Instantly, Zhang Sanfeng’s hair stood on end like a porcupine’s quills, smoke rising from his scalp. His flesh was charred outside and tender within. When he opened his mouth, a cloud of black smoke billowed out.

“Wow! That’s what it means to be struck by lightning! Did he survive? … He really is Zhang Sanfeng—after all that, he’s still alive. But surely he only has one pill left now?” Tang Yi watched as the soot-blackened Zhang Sanfeng swallowed two more pills, his injuries vanishing, though his clothes were a disaster. He quickly changed—into another identical robe. No sense of fashion at all; anyone would think he wore the same outfit all year long.

“The last bolt. Whether he succeeds or fails, it all comes down to this,” Zhang Sanfeng thought, fully recovered, gazing up at the dark cloud overhead.

At last, the final bolt of the Ninefold Tribulation descended. The pressure it unleashed was so intense that even Tang Yi, far away, felt deeply uncomfortable. “Damn, with power like that, can Zhang Sanfeng possibly survive?”

Boom…