Volume One: The Youth Enters the World Chapter Twenty-One: Ambush

The night wind whispered relentlessly against Fang Tian’s face, bringing with it a thread of chill. The moon was absent from the sky, leaving the world in utter darkness—so profound one could not see their own hand stretched forth. Yet this posed little challenge for Fang Tian. Once cultivation began, spiritual power heightened the senses immeasurably, allowing one to perceive clearly even in the opaque depths of night. Thus, the darkness was scarcely a hindrance to him.

At that moment, Fang Tian was crouched upon the ground, meticulously inscribing a spiritual array. Its pattern was intricate, at times winding this way, at times twisting that, increasingly complex and demanding. After roughly an hour, he had completed half the design. Where spiritual power had etched the lines, an azure glow shimmered, illuminating the gloom with a faint radiance.

But only half the array had taken shape, leaving its purpose a mystery. The pattern resembled the branches of a tree, though not quite, as they extended outward in one direction. Surrounding these “branches” were convoluted lines, trapping them within. These lines formed the foundation of the spiritual array—the array base.

The array base served to stabilize the formation, ensuring spiritual power circulated and the array remained intact. It was a vital step in the process. Following the base, one could see spiritual energy flowing like water along the direction of Fang Tian’s drawing, gradually infusing strength into the array.

If Fang Tian succeeded, the entire formation would circulate spiritual power and activate. Spiritual arrays were infinitely variable, and higher-tier arrays imposed ever greater demands upon their creators, making the task progressively arduous. Control over spiritual power was crucial, as was the strength of the cultivator’s soul. A single misstep would doom the effort, forcing one to begin anew.

Hence, those who crafted spiritual arrays could not afford disturbance or sabotage. This was especially true for someone like Fang Tian, who had only just entered the Seeking Form stage. Only as one’s soul advanced in cultivation would array drawing become easier—at the highest realms, one could inscribe arrays at will.

The most formidable array masters could conjure arrays in mere moments, using them in combat with overwhelming force, against which ordinary cultivators stood no chance. Fang Tian had not yet reached such effortless mastery; array drawing remained a difficult pursuit, requiring continued cultivation.

As Fang Tian concentrated on his task, he suddenly sensed something amiss in his surroundings—a feeling that unsettled him, even provoking irritation.

He halted his movements, rose slowly, and regarded the gathering figures emerging around him. With a faint sigh, he murmured, “The tree wishes for stillness, but the wind will not cease. You certainly seem determined to trouble me.”

He glanced at the unfinished array on the ground. Deprived of his spiritual power, the array began to unravel and fade. This vexed him—his nearly completed formation dissolving into nothingness.

His brows knit, a chill flickered across his handsome features, which shifted from calm concentration to composed severity. Never had he imagined these people would pursue vengeance to such lengths—for merely crippling their young master’s hand, not taking his life.

Daytime harassment was expected, but lurking in the night was unexpected indeed. He realized now how lawless and arrogant they were, heedless of consequence, unwilling to let any grievance go.

He stood quietly, watching as the encircling group pressed closer, mentally preparing his response. In moments, they formed a ring around him, enclosing him tightly.

Their faces brimmed with malice, regarding him as a lamb led to slaughter—eyes full of disdain, lips curled in cruel smiles, as if plotting how best to torment him once captured.

Fang Tian saw he was thoroughly surrounded. He reasoned he could not leave without dealing with them, and his attempt to draw a second-tier array had been thwarted.

At that instant, one among them stepped forward, shouting, “Boy, we finally caught you. Wasn’t easy!”

Fang Tian, amused, asked, “Why do you say that?”

The man chuckled, replying, “You don’t know what my brothers went through waiting for you. Staking you out by day and night—exhausting work!”

“In that case, why not go home and rest? Staying up all night—surely you have nothing better to do.”

“Well, we could—if you’d come with us to the Chen family and let our young master deal with you. Then we could finish up early.”

Fang Tian sneered, “With you rabble? Do you really think that’s possible?”

“Hahaha! Don’t worry! We’re not so stupid as to think it’s so easy.”

“If someone could render our young master unconscious so effortlessly, how could it be simple? But do you think we’d act without proper preparation? You underestimate us.”

“Oh? Yet I see nothing here that gives you the right to take me.”

“Young and stubborn, aren’t you? I suppose you won’t cry until you see the coffin. Soon you’ll know whether we have the right or not!”

Fang Tian said nothing, curious to see what tricks they might have. Their confidence seemed genuine, not mere bravado.

The spokesman, seeing Fang Tian silent, laughed even harder and taunted, “What’s wrong, boy? Not talking now? Just makes you look like you’re pretending to be calm!”

Fang Tian remained silent, his gaze shifting behind the group. Though obscured, he sensed someone else lurking—someone whose spiritual power rivaled his own, perhaps even exceeding it.

Now he understood why they, knowing his strength, were so fearless—so sure of victory. Their confidence lay in the person behind them.

As Fang Tian continued his silent observation, the man spoke again: “Hey! Boy, still not speaking? Are you so scared you don’t know what to say? Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle with you. Right, brothers?”

The group erupted in laughter, mocking Fang Tian without pause. Yet he paid them no mind. To him, dealing with them would be as effortless as slicing melons—no trouble at all.

His only concern was the person standing behind them.