Chapter 27: The Change in the Eyes (Please Recommend and Add to Your Favorites!)

Yang Fan was unwilling to accept this. After enduring so much suffering, how could he stand not receiving any reward? He tried again, but no matter what method he used, there seemed to be no change in his eyes.

After another round of futile effort, Yang Fan finally gave up hope. There was simply nothing more he could do, and he resigned himself to fate. He had already experienced the system’s unreliability, but this time that perception reached new heights.

He had put himself through unspeakable pain, only to be left with nothing. It was outrageous, but what could he do? He was truly at a loss.

Yet this system was beyond his control; he couldn’t even communicate with it, which was a constant source of frustration.

Life had to go on. With all the pent-up feelings in his heart, Yang Fan decided to consolidate his mastery of the “One Heart, Three Strikes” blade technique. Although he had already learned it, he needed to become thoroughly proficient.

But the moment Yang Fan gripped his blade with both hands and began to practice, he froze.

“Damn, is this for real?”

Yang Fan exclaimed in astonishment!

He swung his blade again.

“It’s real? Damn, I’ve wronged you, system!”

With each swing, it was as if something had been proven.

Yang Fan began to slash repeatedly, and then unleashed his “Crouching Burst Shadow” technique, pushing off with both legs and shooting forward ten meters in a flash. After several repetitions, his body grew fatigued.

Panting for breath, he stopped.

His face was alight with excitement. Talking to himself, he muttered, “This is heaven-defying—truly heaven-defying. Before, when I used the Thunderbolt Blade, I couldn’t even see the trajectory of my own strikes after the triple slash, only judge roughly. But now, with a single swing, it feels as if everything before my eyes has slowed down.

As for the Crouching Burst Shadow, it used to be a mindless charge—covering several meters in an instant, with no time to react. Last time, I almost crashed into a tree, but now, it’s as if everything before me slows down, and I even feel I can adjust my direction slightly as I launch the move.

This must be the change brought by the eyes after my last lottery draw, right? Or is it only triggered when I unleash my vital energy?”

Yang Fan’s face was flushed with excitement. What did it mean for everything in battle to slow down before his eyes? It meant that, with accurate judgment, whether attacking or defending, he would be far more composed than before.

When others relied on muscle memory and instinct to attack or block, everything would play out before Yang Fan’s eyes in slow motion, giving him ample time to dodge or counterattack.

He dared not claim invincibility, but this ability was certainly a trump card.

Swallowing a second-grade vital energy restoring pill, Yang Fan began to recover his energy.

He wanted to test it further, to see whether his eyes would change again when unleashing his vital energy, and to find out the limits of changing direction during Crouching Burst Shadow.

After waiting for his energy to recover and the effect of the pill to fade, Yang Fan stood up again and walked to the mirror, letting his vital energy surge through his body.

“When my vital energy bursts, my pupils contract for a moment, then return to normal—no other changes,” Yang Fan observed in the mirror as he spoke.

Then he began to perform Crouching Burst Shadow. With his current level of mastery, one burst would carry him ten meters in a second—an explosion of force, but also a great strain on the body. At his present second-grade, mid-tier strength, he could only manage seven to eight bursts before his body could bear no more.

Channeling his vital energy into his legs, he shot forward in an instant.

Once again, everything before his eyes slowed down. Exactly how much, he couldn’t say.

As he charged out, Yang Fan adjusted his stance, and in the blink of an eye, appeared ten meters away, but his direction had shifted.

“I started out straight ahead, but now I’m about two meters off from the spot I’d picked. Not bad, but forcibly changing direction like this puts an even greater strain on the body,” Yang Fan muttered.

He tried three more times, then sat cross-legged and stopped. “The strain really is too much. I could manage seven or eight bursts before, but now it’s only three or four before my body gives out!”

Sitting on the ground, Yang Fan began to ponder.

Changing direction after accelerating was effective, but the physical toll was far greater than he’d imagined. Altering his trajectory at high speed, the air pressure, the strain on his body’s functions—all these combined to put him under more pressure.

He didn’t take another vital energy pill, but instead slowly regulated his breathing and let his energy recover naturally, which took longer.

Three hours later, Yang Fan got up again.

This time, he refrained from further experiments—he’d already learned what he needed to, and his body needed a break; restored energy didn’t mean all fatigue was gone.

“System, I was wrong to blame you, but you really are unreliable,” Yang Fan said as he walked downstairs.

Once outside, wearing his coat, Yang Fan left the house. His confidence was soaring; it was time to accept a mission and put his training to the test.

...

On the train to Luoyang, Yang Fan rested with his eyes closed.

This mission required him to go to Luoyang’s Mang Mountain, where a wanted criminal—a second-grade martial artist—had killed several people in the city and fled into the mountains. The regular police lacked the strength to pursue him; entering the mountains would be suicide. The Cultivator Administration also lacked manpower, so they had no choice but to request help from the various cultivator academies.

The train ride would take more than ten hours—this was the furthest Yang Fan had traveled since joining the Shanghai Cultivator Academy.

The main draw was the generous reward.

Because the fugitive had gone into the mountains and would be hard to find, the reward was high: thirty credits and a cash prize of 150,000 yuan.

One hundred and fifty thousand! Yang Fan had never seen so much money in his life.

Of course, he didn't count the wealth in the system, since he couldn’t spend any of it. At present, it only increased his available points, but with his cultivation not yet at third grade, he didn’t dare to use those points to enhance his sea of energy.

For Yang Fan, now at second grade, these points were like a chicken’s rib—tasteless, but a pity to discard. No, he couldn’t even discard them.

Lying on the sleeper berth, Yang Fan gradually drifted off. With more than ten hours to go, he needed rest before tackling the mission.

Who knew if he’d even be able to sleep once he was in the mountains.

By noon the next day, Yang Fan arrived in Luoyang.

At the cultivator’s office in Luoyang station, he retrieved his Miao blade, which had been kept for him since he boarded the train, and headed to the city’s Cultivator Administration Bureau.

There, Yang Fan was briefed on the mission.

“Liu Qiang, male, twenty-nine, origin of cultivation method unknown.

Currently a second-grade martial artist, specific cultivation level unclear. After committing crimes in Luoyang, he fled into North Mang Mountain and is currently at large, but it’s certain he hasn’t left the mountain!”

Yang Fan read the file, feeling a bit lost.

“How can his cultivation be unclear? And how do you know he hasn’t left the mountain?” he asked.

“Because last time, it was just regular police who tried to catch him. The level of skill Liu Qiang displayed was definitely second grade, but the details are unclear—we don’t know if he’s trained in martial arts techniques, either.

As for him not leaving the mountain, that’s easy to confirm. Last night, Liu Qiang tried to break through a checkpoint and was beaten back. It’s only been six or seven hours since then, and all the exits near Mang Mountain are tightly sealed.

If there weren’t concerns about ordinary people getting hurt during a search, we wouldn’t even need to issue a mission—second-grade martial artists are still vulnerable to firearms,” the staff explained.

Yang Fan felt uneasy, but he’d come this far, accepted the mission, and arrived on-site—he couldn’t just turn back.

“Understood. I’ll enter the mountain as soon as possible,” Yang Fan replied.

“Good. Be careful—Liu Qiang is quite cunning. Here are some supplies for you to use in the mountains,” the staff said, handing Yang Fan a large backpack filled with a tent, rations, water, and other outdoor necessities.

Yang Fan took the pack and left.

...

The sun rose, marking the start of a new day.

Deep within Mang Mountain in Luoyang, a lone figure advanced, cursing under his breath as he hacked at the undergrowth with his blade.

“What kind of godforsaken place is this? What wretched mission? Who knows why I even chose this—must have been blinded by the promise of a hundred and fifty thousand. Searching for one person in all these mountains, and I’m the only one looking—how long is that going to take?”

No need to ask—it was Yang Fan.

He had already been in the mountains for five hours, entering before dawn, unimpeded by police at the foot of the mountain thanks to his permit.

But once inside, Yang Fan regretted his decision. Why had he taken on such a task? How big was Mang Mountain? He didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t small. The mountain was dotted with tombs; Mang Mountain had been Luoyang’s cemetery since ancient times. Entering before dawn, Yang Fan felt a chill down his spine—this was too nerve-wracking.

Searching for one man in such a vast area—how was that any different from looking for a needle in a haystack? The more he thought about it, the angrier and more regretful he became.

He even considered turning back, but that would be far too humiliating.

He could only grit his teeth and press on.

A young man’s pride is a powerful thing—he would do anything for the sake of his reputation.

Time passed. After another three hours, Yang Fan looked around at the unchanging scenery of the forest and felt helpless.

“I think I’m lost. This is unreal,” he muttered.

He pulled out the compass from his backpack to confirm his direction, then continued forward.

But after a while, he felt as if he’d walked in a circle and returned to his starting point.

This time, Yang Fan was truly unsettled. How could he get lost even while following the compass? He’d never heard of such a thing.

And this was a military-grade compass—the needle always pointed true, never wavering. How could he still get lost?

Yang Fan slumped to the ground, took out some rations, and began to eat. Trekking through the mountains for hours had consumed a lot of energy.

He checked his phone—signal was weak, but still present, which brought some comfort.

As long as he could make a call, there was nothing to fear. If worst came to worst, he could call the Cultivator Administration for rescue.

After a short rest, Yang Fan set out again.

This time, he ignored the compass. After all, last time he’d followed it, he’d just walked in a circle.

Now, Yang Fan relied entirely on instinct, going wherever his feet took him.

In the boundless mountains, Yang Fan pressed on.