Ao Han was a modest stone dwelling, its exterior bearing a striking resemblance to the structures on the other peaks of Jing Ta’s Zhi Teng Peak. The environment was equally tranquil, the décor just as simple.

This time, the stone house’s door stood wide open, allowing Qin Fen to clearly see the master within without resorting to any elaborate measures.

The Qilin, clad casually in a long, jade-green warrior’s robe, sat upon a chair carved from purple sandalwood, yet already exuded an aura of imposing, unshakeable authority.

Qin Fen stepped into the stone house, examining Song Wendong in his state of quiet repose. Compared to the last time he saw him during their fierce battle, the man before him now seemed vaster than the sea, his depth utterly inscrutable.

In his hands, Song Wendong cradled a small, steaming teapot, his sharp eyes narrowed to mere slits as he gazed fixedly at the vapor curling up from the spout.

Qin Fen clasped his fists in a junior’s salute, then moved to sit on a nearby wooden chair, quietly awaiting the elder’s first word.

Steward Hou stood just outside the doorway, observing the silent tableau of elder and youth. His smiling eyes nodded repeatedly. The silent Qilin emitted a pressure that felt far more immense than when he spoke; few martial artists in the world today could sit before it so calmly, seemingly unaffected by every shift.

A profound silence settled over the stone house for a long half-hour. Slowly, Song Wendong lifted his eyelids to look at Qin Fen, and a faint ripple of shock immediately appeared amidst his placid brow. The truly awakened Qin Fen was immensely, overwhelmingly different from the state he was in just before his first collapse.

Both possessed the strength of a fifteen-star, yet the gulf between them was as wide as heaven and earth. Many Martial Arts Grandmasters only completed the Coagulation of Qi and Condensation of Gang (Jù Qì Níng Gāng) upon reaching the initial stages of sixteen-star, and only long after that did they gradually manage the stage of True Gang Entering the Body (Zhēn Gāng Rù Tǐ).

The Qin Fen before him had already achieved the Coagulation of Qi and Condensation of Gang when he first confronted Yan Lin Feng—a feat that embarrassed many sixteen-star Martial Arts Grandmasters. A person achieving True Gang Entering the Body while at the fifteen-star level had virtually never appeared in the history of martial arts.

Even more surprising than the True Gang Entering the Body was Qin Fen’s mental state. Simply sitting there, he exuded a majestic presence that only Grandmaster-level martial artists could sense.

Song Wendong’s eyelids lifted slightly further. Qin Fen’s martial foundation was surely not yet at the Grandmaster realm, yet his bearing was already beginning to radiate that quality. A martial artist of the same rank fighting him would be unable to suppress Qin Fen through sheer imposing presence; it was almost a defeat before the first blow was struck.

A sudden, massive leap in martial progress overnight! A slight smile of astonishment touched the corners of Song Wendong’s lips. He had assumed he was the biggest beneficiary of their last confrontation, yet the awakened Qin Fen, after fighting in a purely instinctual state, had genuinely improved his strength by leaps and bounds. Though still slightly inferior to his instinctual fighting form, the overnight progress was astonishing.

“Your spirit is impressive,” Song Wendong finally broke the silence, his first words being a compliment, which greatly surprised Qin Fen.

At the moment before he fell unconscious during their previous battle, Qin Fen had seen a hint of sigh in Song Wendong’s eyes. He recognized that look from his school days—it was the expression a teacher wore when handing back exam papers to students who had just scraped by with a passing grade.

Passed, at least barely qualified for now! Qin Fen understood Song Wendong’s thoughts the moment he woke, expecting to hear something like, “You’ve barely passed.” He hadn't anticipated that the first remark would contain praise.

Could it be because of the battle with the Grandmaster? Qin Fen frowned slightly. If so, he could only be seen as borrowing glory; there was nothing truly worth pride or honor in that.

Losing a match to a Divine Beast was not something Qin Fen cared about; winning would have been the strange thing. But to be praised because of the Grandmaster—stealing the fruits of another's labor—no man would feel proud or honored by such a thing.

“To dare come to Qilin Mountain ahead of schedule—your spirit is impressive.” Song Wendong offered a slight clarification to his statement, and Qin Fen’s discomfort vanished instantly. The spirit the Qilin referred to wasn't the fighting spirit from the final moments of their battle, but the audacity to come to Qilin Mountain at all.

Indeed, the status of a Martial Arts Grandmaster commanded absolute, lofty respect in civilian circles, but before a Divine Beast martial artist, they were a step down—perhaps even several steps down. To ascend Qilin Mountain under such circumstances would, in the eyes of many, be nothing short of foolishness or reckless impulsiveness. Yet Qin Fen knew that a true man should dare to express his intentions directly, not hide them away.

“Your martial strength, not so great,” the Qilin stated, taking a gulp of the hot tea directly from the teapot spout, completely foregoing any pretense of refined scholarly affectation.

Qin Fen smiled silently. In this world, few people could truly be considered strong in the eyes of a Divine Beast. He wondered if the Star Constellation Generals’ strength would even qualify as "decent" in the eyes of the Divine Beast martial artists.

“You misunderstood,” Song Wendong set the teapot down on the table and shook his head. “A three-star martial artist can be considered top-tier in my eyes. The strength of the Star Constellation Generals? Perhaps they don't even qualify as entry-level.”

Qin Fen adjusted his posture, revealing an expression eager to hear more. What was this aloof Divine Beast Qilin truly thinking? Even using the psychological profiling techniques learned from Captain Xing, along with the gathered intelligence, he still couldn't grasp his thoughts. Perhaps only direct face-to-face conversation could truly clarify things.

Initially, Qin Fen thought the Qilin, Song Wendong, disliked communicating with him, but this elder seemed quite inclined toward conversation.

“Potential, which forecasts the future, does not equal strength,” Song Wendong’s eyes shot out light as sharp as lightning, piercing directly into Qin Fen’s pupils. “The ability to ignite potential—that is true future and true strength.”

Qin Fen inwardly chewed on the meaning of Song Wendong’s words, nodding lightly to show his understanding. No matter how vast one’s potential, if it can never be activated, what difference does it make compared to having no potential at all?

“Your potential is astonishing,” Song Wendong admitted with clear approval. “Setting everything else aside, judging purely by potential, few people in your generation can match you.”

Potential? Qin Fen’s smile held a touch of helplessness. Having climbed up painstakingly from the bottom, he understood better than anyone that his potential differed from others. Even Song Wendong had misjudged this aspect.

The potential of others might stem from genetics, congenital nourishment, or a superior martial foundation—an abundance of innate factors. Their potential was often taken care of by their families before they even grasped what it meant.

Qin Fen’s potential was fundamentally different. While others’ potential was largely congenital—like Xue Tian, who ate when full, slept when tired, and achieved results with minimal effort, fitting the category of innate super-genius—Qin Fen categorized his potential as acquired. This potential was almost entirely built up through his own relentless practice, contemplation, and insight, slowly accumulating it to become his potential, which he then slowly drew out.

If using an analogy: Xue Tian was like the ancient Arabs, whose very ground beneath their feet held endless oil from birth—that was their potential. Qin Fen was like someone born in the Sahara Desert, starting with nothing. He had to gather trees and animal carcasses everywhere, bury them deep, and wait for time to transform them bit by bit into oil and coal, which he then had to excavate.

Xue Tian required only one process: developing potential. Qin Fen required two: creating potential, and then developing it! Consequently, the time required was far more arduous than for those with innate potential.

If he had to name any innate potential, Qin Fen thought it was only that unique spiritual space, the seven masters already manifested there, and that utterly emotionless figure—the Guang Ren—who treated killing as easily as communication. These were perhaps his innate potentials. But even this so-called potential still required a degree of personal conversion; transforming it into his own potential still meant one extra step compared to Xue Tian.

Receiving a word of acknowledgment from the Qilin made Qin Fen feel that the 'potential creation' work of recent days had not been in vain.

“But when it comes to the ability to develop potential,” Song Wendong showed a flicker of disdain, shaking his right index finger a few times, “you fall very short! The young men with potential nearly identical to yours—it seems every single one is better at developing their potential than you are.”

Qin Fen remained silent. Engaging in a verbal debate now held no meaning. Laying out his analysis and summation of potential creation would earn him no praise or approval from the Qilin. Many things were judged solely on results; people seldom cared about the process unless you succeeded spectacularly. Only upon true success would people examine the process, analyze it, and generate entire theories around it. Before success, almost no one saw the effort. It was like a school exam: no matter how many sleepless nights you spent studying, if you showed up with a fever of 100 degrees Fahrenheit and botched the answers, the examiner wouldn't add points because you studied all night.

To reach the ranks of Martial Arts Grandmaster by age twenty was exceptional for anyone else. But,” the Qilin shook his head slightly, “from my first encounter with you, I could clearly feel you could be stronger. Therefore, you should not be compared to other Martial Arts Grandmasters; your opponent should be yourself. At least, until you face the two most prominent young masters currently making waves, your target must be yourself.”

“Yourself…” Qin Fen quietly pondered the Qilin’s words again.

“Yourself,” the Qilin nodded softly and posed the question: “If there were another Qin Fen in this world, could you defeat him?”

“Therefore,” Song Wendong’s gaze suddenly sharpened like a spear, “if you aren’t qualified, you aren’t qualified. There is no excuse to hide it! What does it matter if you surpass most of your peers? Truly capable people must prioritize surpassing themselves first.”

“You have been in the martial world for some time now; you must have heard the name Shangguan Chuanqi, yes?”

Song Wendong spoke lightly, his eyes fixed on the sky beyond the doorway, rambling as if to himself. “You must wonder why Shangguan Chuanqi hasn’t sought you out for a fight. It’s because he doesn’t even consider you in his vision. His eyes are fixed only on Divine Beasts, and on himself.”

Qin Fen’s eyes held a touch of admiration. Regardless of whether Shangguan Chuanqi was born with a golden spoon, his current strength was earned through his own efforts. He certainly had a better starting point, but that starting point wasn't the entirety of his current strength; the offspring of Divine Beasts carried immense pressure alongside a high starting point.

“Hades,” Song Wendong’s rarely emotional eyes showed a faint flicker of approval, mixed with a hint of appreciation. “You know about the current state of Hades, the White Tiger’s Scion, who is in the Initial Phase, I presume.” Qin Fen nodded lightly. Few people knew the true condition of the Little Underworld King Hades; he was one of the few. Currently, the Little Underworld King Hades was not only the White Tiger’s son but also a Insect Martial Artist capable of maintaining self-awareness and control.

“The Founding Council, hah…” Song Wendong casually uttered the top-secret military term, his expression carrying three parts admiration. “Not many know Hades’ situation, but almost everyone who does despises his current state. In their words, what future can something that relies on external power possibly have? But…” Song Wendong narrowed his eyes slightly, a look of faint doubt coloring his soft question: “Is that truly the case? How many people in this world are willing to sacrifice everything in the pursuit of power? Can such an outstanding figure, possessing potential no less than yours, truly amount to nothing? Do you believe so?” Qin Fen lightly shook his head. The look Hades emitted when he encountered him in the Sahara was unforgettable—a gaze erupting with endless, sharp hatred, like a knife.

Song Wendong’s gaze settled upon Qin Fen as he spoke calmly: “I don’t want you to marry Jia Jia, and that has something to do with Hades. You will fight him eventually. The fact that he couldn't beat you before doesn't mean that as an Insect Martial Artist, he can’t kill you now.” “Of course…” Song Wendong placed both hands on the arms of the chair, leaning back slightly with a proud expression. “Hades isn't the main reason! If you hadn't taken up martial arts, I wouldn't object to your marriage with Jia Jia. Since you have chosen the path of martial arts, you should be prepared for certain things!” Song Wendong pushed off the chair arms and slowly stood, the green warrior uniform making him look exceptionally upright. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced toward the door, sighing: “Some things can only be done by martial artists. Once you step onto the martial path and become a true warrior, when you encounter certain matters, your martial identity will leave you with no option but retreat. At that point… that girl Jia Jia…” Qin Fen frowned secretly, confused. Even if a Divine Beast wanted to split the Federation, it shouldn't be so easy or simple. Without complete assurance of victory, the Divine Beasts shouldn't easily initiate conflict.

Besides, the White Tiger was already dead… Qin Fen remembered that a year ago, when the Federation was at its most tense, rumors had faintly circulated that it was connected to the Gold Star White Tiger. Legend held that the White Tiger of the Slaughtering Dao possessed extraordinary ambition. Even after becoming a Gold Star Divine Beast martial artist—making him equivalent to the Emperor of Gold Star—he still desired to become the true Gold Star Emperor. The news about splitting the Federation seemed to originate with the Gold Star White Tiger.

Song Wendong stepped out of the room and slowly turned back to face Qin Fen: “Where did the mutated animals come from? Where was the leak? Has there ever been a nuclear leak?” With a cold sneer, Song Wendong looked up at the sky: “Behind everything, there is always something others cannot imagine. As for the reason, do not ask me. It is not that I don't trust you; it’s that Divine Beasts have agreements among themselves. For now, you can court Jia Jia, but you cannot marry her.” Song Wendong turned back to Qin Fen: “Call me domineering, call me barbaric, I don't care! No marriage unless you become a Divine Beast martial artist! Otherwise, I will give face to no one!” Divine Beast! Qin Fen’s eyes instantly shone with a brilliant light. Song Wendong felt as if thousands of gleaming battle sabers were erupting from Qin Fen’s eyes, capable of inflicting near-physical harm. Having witnessed the fierce battle between Song Wendong and the Grandmaster, Qin Fen felt an inexplicable yearning for the martial path. Becoming a Divine Beast wasn't just to marry Song Jia; it would also allow him to visit the Azure Dragon on Jupiter to see if that was truly his brother, Qin Zhan, and to understand the hidden implications behind Song Wendong’s vague remarks. Through Song Wendong’s words, Qin Fen sensed that this lofty Qilin knew far more about the Founding Council than the military did, yet his tone also carried other undertones.

“I have said all I needed to say,” Song Wendong waved his arm. “That’s enough. You can leave now.” Qin Fen looked at the empty ground outside the door, his mouth tasting bitter. This Qilin, Song Wendong, was even more tyrannical than rumored; having spoken his piece, he simply turned and walked away.

Steward Hou ambled into the room with a gentle smile: “…Lad, would you care to chat a bit longer with an old man who’s nearly in his coffin?” Qin Fen quickly rose to offer his seat, preparing tea and water. He always felt a sense of kinship toward this kind-faced elder, not just because he had helped him before, but out of genuine admiration and respect.

Steward Hou sat down grandly, taking a sip of the tea Qin Fen offered, clicking his tongue appreciatively. “…Lad, the Master rarely speaks this much to anyone.” Qin Fen nodded lightly. According to Steward Hou’s physiognomy methods, the Qilin was indeed not a talkative person.

“To tell you the truth,” Steward Hou set down his cup, “the Master isn't talking this much because your aptitude is good. He’s seen plenty of people with good aptitude. It’s all for that girl Jia Jia. Since you’ve barely passed, then for Jia Jia’s sake, I have a few things I need to tell you. Sit down and listen.” Qin Fen resumed his seat. Steward Hou narrowed his long, thin eyes: “What I’m about to tell you concerns Divine Beast martial artists.”