Chapter Forty-Three: The Realm of False Core

A streak of azure energy rendered him utterly powerless to resist. When Song Hai wielded his Reliant Saber, the earth split open at its edge, and the scattered saber energy reduced everything around to dust. The world, once filled with obstacles, was instantly cleared. Yet, even so, when confronted with this blow head-on, Leng Feng's expression remained unchanged. Not a trace of effect could be seen upon him; even his most fragile strands of hair drifted along their original path, utterly unperturbed by the blade, as if he considered it beneath notice.

Realizing this, Zhou Yi immediately understood that this man's strength had already broken through all known limits, reaching a realm almost unimaginable—his methods of attack no different from those of the immortals in legend. Song Hai’s saber strike could not be cleaved. Had it been possible to achieve any effect—even wounding Leng Feng in the slightest—Zhou Yi would never have uttered those words. Yet, deep in his heart, he knew it was impossible.

Song Hai understood as well, which was why he altered the trajectory of his blade upon hearing Zhou Yi's warning.

As these many thoughts flickered through his mind, Zhou Yi slowly raised his head and looked toward those beside him.

"And who might you two be?"

The chasm between Leng Feng's realm and their own was far too vast for speculation to matter. It was better to let such concerns go, deal with the present, and revisit the rest later.

"Autumn Wind," one replied.

"Yellow Moon," said the other.

Hearing Zhou Yi’s inquiry, neither Daoist Autumn Wind nor Yellow Moon chose to hide their identities, answering forthrightly.

"Oh," Zhou Yi responded. At once, he matched their names to information he possessed and understood who they were: Daoist Autumn Wind, true disciple of the Azure Ox Court, and Yellow Moon, saintess of the Peach Blossom Hermitage.

Once he understood their identities, Zhou Yi fell silent, lowering his head in thought.

Though he had resolved not to dwell on Leng Feng, some matters cannot be put aside just because one wishes it. Similarly, after revealing their identities, neither Yellow Moon nor Daoist Autumn Wind had any desire to speak; their thoughts were even more complex than those of Zhou Yi and Song Hai.

Leng Feng’s appearance was brief—shockingly brief—but the impact he left was immense. From the moment he emerged, aside from a single glance at the two of them, he gave them no further acknowledgment and departed without another look.

It was utter disregard. Yellow Moon and Daoist Autumn Wind were both prized disciples of their sects, paragons of their generation, and at twenty-one or twenty-two, in the prime of youth. Outwardly they might feign indifference, but deep within, their pride was undeniable. To be so openly ignored—how could their hearts withstand it? The humiliation was stifling.

Yet what stung most was that, no matter how much they resented it, they were forced to admit that Leng Feng truly had the right to ignore them. Whether by birth, strength, or talent, he surpassed them to an unimaginable degree; his disregard was justified in both reason and principle. This was the hardest truth to bear.

To be in the bloom of youth, a time meant for forging a name and basking in glory, yet to find themselves so utterly outclassed, with not even a sliver of hope to catch up—it was almost unbearable.

Unlike Zhou Yi and Song Hai, who devoted themselves to cultivation and rarely delved into ancient texts, Yellow Moon and Autumn Wind were well versed in such matters.

It was common knowledge that cultivation was divided into three great realms: Postnatal, Innate, and Heaven-Man. Yet few knew that above the Heaven-Man realm, there lay another: the False Core.

Originally, the False Core realm did not exist; the pinnacle of martial prowess was the Heaven-Man realm. But ever since the advent of the Demonic Calamity, the lowest-ranked members of the demonic race were all at the Heaven-Man level, while their most powerful could slaughter martial artists as effortlessly as chickens—utterly beyond comparison.

At first, the martial community was both grieved and indignant. How could there be such a gulf within the same realm? Only after the return of those who had trained on the Island of Peerless Power did the truth become clear: these beings were not merely superior—they existed on an entirely different plane.

It was then the world learned that, beyond Heaven-Man, there was yet another stage: the False Core.

If the Postnatal stage was about honing one’s physical force, fighting with raw blood and sinew to rule by strength; and the Innate stage was about cultivating inner energy, contending with deep reserves of power to earn renown; and the Heaven-Man stage was about refining the spirit, connecting the soul to heaven and earth, opening all 365 acupoints to command one’s domain—then the False Core realm was the union of essence, energy, and spirit, infusing all acupoints with inner force to stride alone through the world.

Martial cultivation was arduous. To pass through the three great barriers of Postnatal, Innate, and Heaven-Man required extraordinary fortune and resolve. Even reaching Heaven-Man was a matter of chance, let alone the False Core beyond.

Moreover, according to all records, every person in the martial world who attained the False Core had—without exception—once set foot on the Island of Peerless Power; none who had not been there ever broke through to that stage.

It was as if an iron chain shackled every martial artist in the land.

It was said that, upon reaching the False Core realm, essence, energy, and spirit would merge as one, allowing a protective aura to form outside the body—unbreakable by any but those of equal rank. Furthermore, with these three united, inner energy mingled with spiritual force, responsive to thought and moving like a living thing—swift as lightning and devastating in power.

When Zhou Yi and Song Hai saw the blue energy Leng Feng summoned with a mere wave of his hand, they were puzzled as to its nature; but Yellow Moon and Daoist Autumn Wind had already guessed. If they were not mistaken, that blue energy was simply inner energy—nothing more, perhaps not even of great quantity. Yet, by virtue of its sentience, it could utterly suppress nearly two centuries' worth of Zhou Yi's cultivation.

Leng Feng had not used his full power against Zhou Yi—that much was certain—but to Yellow Moon and Autumn Wind, it was even clearer: not only had he held back, he had not even employed any martial technique. A single strand of inner energy had defeated Zhou Yi.

By this measure, Zhou Yi had not even withstood a single move from Leng Feng.

"False Core..." Daoist Autumn Wind suddenly sighed, the sound long and drawn out, filled with helplessness, deep envy, and a profound sense of emptiness.

"False Core?" Zhou Yi’s ears twitched, and he glanced at Song Hai; the doubt in both men's eyes was identical.

False Core? Was this the realm beyond Heaven-Man? Was Leng Feng in the False Core realm?

With those two words, Zhou Yi’s mind was set alight with questions.

He pondered further: "False Core? Could it be there is also Gold Core? Nascent Soul? Tribulation Crossing?" The term "False Core" reminded him of certain novels he had read in his previous life, where the ranks were divided precisely in this way.

This thought gave rise to a wild conjecture: was this world truly a land of immortals and martial heroes, its realms divided into False Core, Gold Core, Nascent Soul, and so on?