Chapter 591: . Fists pushing back the ancient starry sky of the Fifth Season, too bad, just a little short

Book 1: *Fist Thrust into the Ancient Starry Sky*, Season Five—alas, once again, just a hair’s breadth short.

“No.” Lin.

And Xiao Ping: “First Peng Mei.”

“Saya—naïve, foolish, impulsive, cowardly… Hmm, and kind, too.

Not a single trait befitting a clan patriarch.

A idle, dissolute young master, utterly useless.

A spoiled wastrel.

He’s simply too far away.”

Ping.

At Saya’s appraisal, he let out a hearty laugh.

“You’re right.

Even you believe Saya has virtually no chance of becoming heir—do you truly think the Baiyue Shi Clan is blind to this?

Moreover…”

Wells casually raised his wine goblet: “The nearest reach of the Baiyue Shi Clan’s influence lies several star sectors away.

Even if they truly lost their minds and staked everything on Saya—

we have nothing to fear.”

Wells swept his gaze across the banquet hall, smiling faintly: “See these people? Over eighty percent of them support me.

Even if Saya remains safely within the clan now, doing nothing at all—I need not lift a finger—and still, he may well fail to seize that seat.

The elders aren’t senile enough to entrust the entire clan’s fate to a worthless, unlearned fool—

just because he’s the first heir?”

“Strip away bloodline and title—where do I, Wells, fall short of him? In every single regard, I surpass him a hundredfold!”

“The helm of the Laiersas Clan belongs solely to me!”

*Crack!*

Wells crushed the goblet in his hand with raw force.

Crimson wine, like fresh blood, oozed between his fingers, drawing glances from nearby guests.

Yet Wells had already regained composure, offering each curious onlooker a calm, smiling nod in return.

“Enough. Every soul at this banquet knows you outshine him a hundred times over—

that you are infinitely more worthy of this seat.”

Meifu hurriedly soothed Wells with gentle words, her voice soft—but her eyes turned glacial.

“Rest assured, Saya won’t always be so lucky to slip away.

I’ll find him, and eliminate him for you—once and for all.”

“Mm.”

Wells accepted the white silk cloth Meifu offered, wiping his hands absently as he nodded.

Just as he finished cleansing his palms and lifted a fresh goblet—

his gaze pierced through the thronging crowd, settling upon the distant entrance.

There, three figures stepped inside.

Leading them was a girl adorned in opulent finery—azure hair, obsidian eyes—

poised, serene, radiating an innate nobility, the unmistakable aura of one born to rule.

Behind her loomed a grotesque figure, seemingly assembled from countless black granite blocks, hulking and menacing.

And beside him walked a handsome youth, clad in equally lavish formal attire.

His expression remained composed, yet upon closer inspection, beneath that feigned calm simmered palpable tension.

At the sight of the young man, Wells’ eyes froze.

Then, slowly, a smile bloomed across his face. Softly, he murmured: “No need to waste further effort searching, Meifu.

Our esteemed young master… has delivered himself straight to our doorstep.”

Meifu followed Wells’ gaze—and instantly, her eyes hardened into ice.

“Wanxiang Gu Ji Sha!”

Haiji Dao roared, his bone-scythe flashing—within a single breath, unleashing countless streaks of ashen-white, frigid blade-light.

Each slash reeked of decay, of desolation, of utter rot.

Even the void itself corroded under their touch, fracturing into vast patches of stark, mottled monochrome.

A martial cultivator who commands Law-force transcends mere ‘limit-breaking’ metrics.

Under the weight of Law, energy lacking Law-support crumbles like brittle paper—easily pierced, effortlessly torn apart.

This is the terrifying might of a Thirteenth-Rank warrior.

Of course—

exceptions do exist.

Now, one stands before them.

Lu Sheng, like a celestial deity of the stars, his snow-gold hair stirring faintly—not wielding weapon, not invoking technique—

simply reached forward, bare-handed, with effortless nonchalance.

*Clash! Clatter! Clatter!*

Ashen blade-light met flesh—ringing like struck metal, sharp and clear.

Lu Sheng’s five fingers tensed, then closed—each grasp shattering blade-light into dust.

“A monster!”

Haiji Dao gritted his teeth, eyes and face alight with shock, awe, disbelief.

Had he not witnessed it himself—

who could believe it?

A mere Twelfth-Rank novice, newly ascended—

daring to tear apart the Law-infused blade-light of a Thirteenth-Rank master…

with bare hands alone?

It was utterly absurd!

Lu Sheng’s martial physique and martial energy were simply too overwhelming.

The former seemed as unyielding as the hardest cosmic crystal, while the latter possessed a purity and density so staggering it defied belief.

That terrifying white-golden flame—

Hai Ji Dao could clearly sense no trace of any law embedded within it, yet he still dared not lightly approach or touch it.

The sheer intensity of that heat surpassed plunging into the core of a star by a hundredfold—or more.

Even from a great distance, Hai Ji Dao felt the hairs on his skin curling slightly under its searing presence.

It was just too outrageous.

Hai Ji Dao had already resolved to abandon this meaningless battle.

Lu Sheng—this celestial prodigy, unmatched in his entire life—

was best left for other stellar anomalies at Tianwei Academy to grapple with.

After all, he was merely an ordinary Level Thirteen martial artist.

If this fight continued, who knew—perhaps *he* would end up being the one trained instead.

Yet before Hai Ji Dao could even shout for a halt—

Lu Sheng, riding the long-simmering tide of battle intent, seized upon that fleeting spark of inspiration.

In an instant, Lu Sheng’s gray pupils flared with incandescent brilliance.

Without hesitation, he struck.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his fist toward Hai Ji Dao.

“Fist-Push: Five Seasons!”

At once, ten thousand suns seemed to ignite within this vast emptiness.

*Roar!*

The Fifth Season of the Ancient Starry Sky descended.

Thousands upon thousands of Golden Crows burst forth from Lu Sheng’s body, wings unfurling in a storm of light.

A wave of apocalyptic heat swept across all existence—scorching, consuming, annihilating.

Planet after planet ignited, burned, and crumbled into ash…

The entire cosmos plunged into a furnace of infernal torment.

In that split second, Hai Ji Dao’s every hair stood rigid, his instincts screaming dire warning—a visceral, life-or-death crisis surging from his core, hammering violently against his brow and temples.

Without pause, he roared low and deep.

His entire body erupted in an incomparable radiance of ashen-white light.

An endless tide of decay and desolation coalesced upon his skeletal longblade.

This was the Extinction Slash—the final breath of a world, the ultimate expression of law-force pushed to its absolute limit.

Clutching the blade with both hands, he slashed with all his might toward the blinding silhouette before him, barely discernible through the glare.

Simultaneously, he bellowed—

“Stop!”

*BOOM!*

The colossal ashen-white blade-light collided with the blinding fist.

A deafening thunderclap tore through space, shaking reality itself.

Terrorizing torrents of energy surged outward like a galactic tempest, lashing in all directions.

Ornon Tuling, mere spectator, recoiled in sheer horror, unleashing his full power and fleeing backward with desperate speed.

As he retreated, he watched the floor beneath him peel away in layers—shattering, disintegrating, vanishing entirely.

Had he hesitated even a fraction longer, he feared he’d share the same fate as the training chamber’s floor.

And this was only the *aftermath*—the residual shockwave!

What, then, awaited at the very heart of the collision?

Ornon Tuling could scarcely conceive it.

Who knew how long passed before the raging energies finally subsided, their fury ebbing.

The white-golden flames dimmed, retreating inward.

When Ornon Tuling lifted his gaze once more, he drew a sharp, involuntary breath.

Before him lay the training chamber—renowned for effortlessly withstanding Level Thirteen martial energy assaults—now reduced to utter ruin, as though scoured by some cataclysmic apocalypse.

Every inch was scarred, shattered, obliterated, radiating outward from the epicenter of combat.

Even memory-alloy, designed to retain form through trauma, would never recover its original state.

Had the chamber not been embedded within the ship via spatial-folding technology,

Ornon Tuling half-feared this clash might have punched straight through the ancient vessel—and blown it apart.

Following the trail of devastation forward,

his eyes reached the heart of the battlefield—

and his pupils contracted violently, as if witnessing something impossible.

Unbidden, he whispered, voice trembling: “How… *how* is this possible?!”

There, at the center of the explosion’s origin, two figures stood motionless.

One—white-haired, clad in black—gripped his skeletal longblade with both hands, face etched with raw astonishment and disbelief.

A short distance ahead, the other figure remained frozen mid-punch, eyes shut tight, as though lost in profound revelation.

But what truly stunned Ornon Tuling—

was the undeniable gap between Hai Ji Dao’s blade and Lu Sheng’s fist.

A considerable, unmistakable distance.

Which meant—

that cataclysmic wave of energy, that world-shattering aftermath…

had erupted *before* their attacks even fully connected.

Lu Sheng's fist

did stop in the end, never fully thrown.

"Even with the force withdrawn, it's like this—what if it weren't?"

O'Nong Tulin's mind wandered, a soft murmur escaping his lips.

At that moment, he truly felt the vast chasm between himself and Lu Sheng.

This gap.

Was far, far greater than he had ever imagined.

And Hai Ji Dao's heart was equally tangled with unspoken emotions.

"He actually stopped."

Hai Ji Dao stared at the bone longsword in his hand, his expression profoundly complex as he whispered to himself: "Was he truly afraid that a single punch would

kill me on the spot? Ha—"

A bitter, helpless smile crept across Hai Ji Dao's face.

Only now did he realize.

That the strike he had just poured all his strength into resisting.

Seemed to carry less force than the word "stop" shouted from his mouth.

Truly ironic.

"He didn't even use his real trump card—the power of the Thunder Law."

Hai Ji Dao watched Lu Sheng, who was meditating in the distance, shook his head, sheathed his longsword, and fell silent.

At that moment, Lu Sheng in the distance quietly opened his eyes.

As his eyes opened, a hint of regret spread across his face.

"A pity."

"Still just a little short."

Lu Sheng had once again fallen just short of breaking through to the sixth realm of fist technique.

This was the second time.

Sigh.

………………………..

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