Chapter Twenty-Three: The Gap Between Cultivators-The Descent of the Supreme Deity(Grilled Potatoes)

Liu Hu felt a deep sense of shame—shame that as a cultivator, he had been so easily defeated. Though both men practiced cultivation, how could the gap between them be so vast? Bitter indignation stirred within him as he glanced toward Wang Fan, his gaze settling on the man who was, after all, a patron at his noodle stall. Liu Hu’s mouth parted, blood trickling from the corner of his lips as he uttered two words: “Run, quickly!”

Wang Fan showed no response to Liu Hu’s warning, remaining steadfast where he stood. He simply adjusted his hat and fixed his eerie gaze upon the thin, monkey-faced man. The uncanny light in Wang Fan’s eyes unsettled his opponent to the core.

“If you won’t step back, don’t blame me for being harsh,” the monkey-faced man said, his expression darkening as discomfort gnawed at him. He glanced over at the women running toward him, then turned back to Wang Fan, speaking in earnest: “Two seconds. In two seconds, you’ll be lying on the ground like the noodle stall owner.”

With those words, the monkey-faced man vanished into the shadows, melding with the night as if cloaked in optical camouflage—an astonishing feat. Even with eyes as keen as an eagle’s, Wang Fan could not spot a trace of him.

Liu Hu’s face paled. He realized he himself had been subdued by this uncanny technique. He doubted Wang Fan could evade such an attack—after all, it was so bizarre, the attacker was invisible.

Yet Wang Fan’s expression did not change. The vital energy within him, at the limit of the Bitter Sea realm, surged wildly. Deep blue energy, like stormy seas, flooded through his limbs. The Golden Core at his navel pulsed faster, releasing medicinal power with greater intensity.

At the same time, Wang Fan heightened his focus to the utmost, shutting his eyes and relying on his sense of touch. His soul, strengthened to perfection by the Soul Stone of Soul-Sweeping Mountain, had pushed his five senses far beyond mortal limits.

The monkey-faced man’s tricks could deceive Wang Fan’s sight, but not his touch or hearing. The moment Wang Fan closed his eyes, darkness enveloped him, only for a new world to unfold—a world filled with countless noises, mingled with the sensation of shifting winds.

With his spirit razor-sharp, Wang Fan homed in on the subtle differences in this world of noise and breeze. In an instant, he detected the sound of air tearing to his right—near his shoulder—a sharp object slicing through the air. Along with the sound, his skin sensed a gust from that direction.