After seeing Gu Ya off, Feng Zikang left the thatched cottage and flew out of the Dragon Tiger Mountain territory on a spirit craft.

Once he was a safe distance from Dragon Tiger Mountain, he switched to his cloud carriage, summoned his Celestial Steed, and comfortably steered the carriage eastward. The past few days had been continuously overcast and rainy, the sky dim, but soaring above the clouds, he was greeted by dazzling sunlight, instantly lifting his spirits and soothing his body.

The little fox scrambled into his arms, chirping happily.

He hadn't flown far before a large group of people suddenly surged out from the clouds, blocking his path.

"Halt!"

The leader, clad in ornate robes and a tall crown, holding a multi-colored wooden staff, stood directly in front of him. The men behind him were similarly dressed, all wearing expressions of fury.

Could it be that even the cultivation world had highwaymen?

Feng Zikang glanced over them. The leader appeared to be only at the eighth layer of Qi Induction, which immediately settled his heart. He let out a cold snort.

"Who are you people, and why are you obstructing my way?"

The leader's face darkened. He raised the wooden staff high, pointing it directly at Feng Zikang's nose, displaying utter disrespect. "Are you Feng Zikang, the Military Strategist from Dragon Tiger Mountain?"

So, it wasn't robbery; it seemed more like revenge. He wondered how they had recognized him.

"Who I am is none of your business," Feng Zikang replied coolly, which only fueled their resentment further.

"Senior Brother, don't waste words with him. Give him a taste of his own medicine quickly! Let's see what this sneak-attacking Military Strategist disciple is capable of!"

"That's right, Senior Brother! Hurry up and avenge Junior Brother Leng!"

The crowd grew agitated, clenching their fists and stamping their feet, all clamoring together.

Feng Zikang had a sudden realization. He scrutinized their attire again and sneered, "Are you perhaps fellow Daoists from the School of Diplomacy and Politics? Have you come for revenge on behalf of Leng Jinchan’s severed arm?"

These were indeed disciples of the Luochuan School of Diplomacy and Politics. After Leng Jinchan fled with his arm severed, he returned to his sect to lament. However, this was precisely when Feng Zikang’s reputation was skyrocketing. The consensus among several cunning elders was to avoid a direct conflict with the flourishing Military School for the time being, advising him to set aside his grudge over the arm for now.

Leng Jinchan harbored deep resentment and had incited his fellow disciples to seek vengeance.

"I am Zhang Qi of the Luochuan School of Diplomacy and Politics. Since you know our purpose, you had better give us an explanation!"

Zhang Qi, the senior disciple of the Diplomacy school, pointed fiercely at the cloud carriage Feng Zikang was piloting, his face gloomy with anger. "This carriage was originally passed down from our Master to his beloved son, Junior Brother Leng Jinchan. How dare you, as a cultivator of the Righteous Path, injure someone and steal their treasure, committing such an unjust act?"

"Nonsense!"

Feng Zikang scoffed lightly. "The injury inflicted had its cause; since I obtained this treasure, it was granted to me by Heaven. Why the endless prattling?"

That Leng Jinchan was the beloved son of some elder in the Diplomacy school—that was somewhat troublesome, but Feng Zikang didn't mind. He had acted honorably in that matter, stepping forward for his friend Mo Li, denouncing the source of the Southern Border unrest, and publicizing it. The School of Mohism, which prided itself on righteousness, would naturally support him.

As for seizing the treasure, that was commonplace. He had nearly taken the man’s head off; was he expected to return the cloud carriage as well? Though the carriage was valuable, it was ultimately only a low-tier mystical artifact. Was it worth the Diplomacy school risking an offense against the Military School just to reclaim it?

These dozen or so individuals lurked suspiciously not far from the exit of Dragon Tiger Mountain but dared not enter the mountain to press their case. They clearly intended to vent their anger privately. With just these few people, what was there for Feng Zikang to fear?

"Arrogant!"

Zhang Qi was an undeniable authority among the third-generation disciples. How could he tolerate being spoken to like this? He instantly flew into a rage, swinging his wooden staff toward Feng Zikang’s head.

"Retreat!"

Feng Zikang glared, his hair lifting without wind, his gaze sharp! Zhang Qi felt a sudden violent tremor in his chest. For some unknown reason, terror seized him, and the staff strike remained suspended in mid-air; he dared not bring it down.

"Fear!" This was the subtle divine ability attached to the eighteenth ascent of the Formless Heavenly Demon Incarnation. Against a mere Qi Induction eighth-layer disciple, it could directly pluck at the strings of the heart, instilling dread and preventing rash action.

Since Zhang Qi couldn't complete his strike, he staggered back several steps. The others from the Diplomacy school were all standing on the auspicious clouds crafted from silver silk gauze. With his lurch, he nearly lost his footing and fell, but several junior brothers rushed forward to support him, saving him from tumbling.

"Senior Brother, even a lion must use full strength to catch a rabbit. Junior Brother Leng said this brat relies on strange sneak attacks. We should deploy our formation to deal with him!"

"Form the array! Form the array!"

Zhang Qi forcibly suppressed the fear churning inside him, wiping the cold sweat from his brow, and screamed hysterically. Although his junior brothers found it strange, wondering what hidden blow their Senior Brother had suffered to lose composure like that, they obeyed, spreading out to take their designated positions, secretly channeling their techniques to set up a linear formation.

"Oh, a formation method?"

Feng Zikang let out a soft laugh. The Military School was the progenitor of formation arts. Although the Diplomacy school had gleaned some superficial knowledge, it was merely a trivial display meant to dazzle the eyes. How dare they try their amateur skills in front of the masters?

Yet, watching those dozen or so people darting around in the sea of clouds, their movements constantly shifting, lent a certain air of inscrutability to the setup. The formation was indeed quite profound.

"Feng Zikang! Do you dare accept our Nineteen Lines of Diplomacy Formation?"

Zhang Qi stood at the Tianyuan core of the formation. The earlier sense of terror had completely vanished. He felt even more humiliated. Now that the formation was set, he felt certain Feng Zikang could not resist. He began to laugh wildly, his tone utterly provocative.

"The Nineteen Lines of Diplomacy?"

Feng Zikang focused his gaze, mentally counting. Indeed, there were nineteen disciples moving in crisscrossing paths, transforming extreme motion into ultimate stillness, resembling a Go board. The changes within were unpredictable, somewhat interesting.

This formation was clearly derived from the game of Go—novel and engaging.

Nineteen people, each controlling two lines (one horizontal, one vertical), creating 361 possible intersections. With every step forward, there were 361 more choices. Extrapolated, this could lead to infinity!

"Though Go is a minor art, its changes can reflect the shifts of heaven and earth. Not bad!"

Feng Zikang nodded in approval, his tone carrying a hint of commendation, which only enraged Zhang Qi further. "You junior brat, who do you think you are to casually evaluate the foundational array of our Diplomacy school, the Nineteen Lines of Diplomacy?"

Feng Zikang smiled faintly. "Your Diplomacy school does have some clever tricks. If all 361 disciples were present, and each controlled just one intersection point, perhaps I couldn't break this formation…"

"But now…"

Feng Zikang laughed heartily several times. "Since there is nothing else to do, I shall indulge you in a game!"

In just a moment, Feng Zikang had discerned several major flaws in the hastily constructed formation. He gently patted the little fox's head, placing it on the back seat to rest undisturbed, then deliberately stepped down from the cloud carriage. He stood upon his iron sword, relaxed and unrestrained.

Just as he was about to make a move, he heard an angry shout echoing from not far away.

"Hey!"

"You people, relying on your numbers to overwhelm one person—do you feel no shame?"

It was a clear, crisp, and spirited female voice.