Chapter Twenty-One: Martial Gathering

At the entrance of the White Cloud Dojo, a crowd of disciples pressed around a newly posted notice.

Chen Fan paused to take a look.

“A Martial Gathering for the Talented Youth of Feiling?”

His eyes lit up.

It turned out that, in order to encourage the disciples to strive forward, the martial arts schools of Feiling County had jointly organized a special exchange tournament. Participation was limited to disciples under the age of eighteen, with a registration fee of one tael of silver. The competition was open to all within the county’s jurisdiction.

Those who ranked in the top thirty would receive a reward of twenty taels of silver; the top fifteen would be awarded thirty taels. The top three would not only gain forty taels of silver but also receive additional prizes. First place would be given ten Deer Fetal Pills, second place thirty bowls of White Cloud’s Secret Medicinal Soup, and third place another twenty taels of silver.

Chen Fan knew little about the other prizes, but the secret soup of the White Cloud Dojo was worth one tael per bowl, and thirty bowls were only the second prize—he could well imagine the value of the Deer Fetal Pills for first place.

“Heaven truly helps me!” Chen Fan thought.

The money he had left could barely cover a few months of expenses. Without hesitation, he used one tael of silver to sign up. He was short on funds and also wished to show his “talent” to gain the dojo’s support. Discovering this opportunity ahead of time was truly killing two birds with one stone!

Even without the mysterious Deer Fetal Pills, the silver alone was enough reason for him to participate. Making it into the top thirty meant twenty taels—already a considerable sum!

After all, the dojo’s elders were aware of his martial skills, and revealing a portion of his strength was hardly unusual.

Currently, apart from the “White Cloud Pine and Crane Palm,” Chen Fan’s most formidable technique was the “Ferocious Tiger Fist,” which he had independently advanced to the sixth form.

He had also learned that the “Ferocious Tiger Fist” was not an exclusive secret of the Flying Tiger Sect, so there was nothing to keep hidden.

The age restriction of eighteen meant that no martial artist with overwhelming strength would appear!

This tournament was not just a chance for Chen Fan to earn money, but also a rare opportunity to test his abilities and prove himself.

Back when he killed Pi Liu, it had been a fight for his life, but that had started with an ambush and was unlike an ordinary contest. The White Cloud class held practice bouts, but never formal matches, so Chen Fan lacked the spark of enlightenment that true combat could bring; his real experience was limited.

He still remembered that it was through battle with Pi Liu that his “Ferocious Tiger Fist” broke through, showing that real combat could indeed fulfill the hidden requirements for martial advancement!

He also harbored another thought: if he displayed enough talent and strength, the White Cloud Dojo would surely invest more in his training.

His cultivation was unusual, and a measured display of talent would do no harm, so long as he never revealed his ability to train in three arts at once, nor that he had mastered over a dozen force-building manuals.

Three days later.

At dawn, Chen Fan arrived early at the entrance of the White Cloud Dojo.

He saw a row of carriages waiting.

Today was the day the martial gathering would begin.

The disciples of the White Cloud Dojo were led by an instructor named Zhu, moving as a group. Over fifty students from the dojo had signed up—some confident in their strength, others eager to broaden their horizons.

Boarding a carriage, Chen Fan spotted his classmates Lin Mo and Su Qingyang, both considered talented by Instructor Feng Cong, second only to He Hongshan in terms of potential. Su Qingyang, in particular, was the young master of the Datong Trading Company, whom Chen Fan had known for some time.

The two were seated together, whispering quietly.

He Hongshan was absent.

Chen Fan nodded slightly at them. “You’re both joining the exchange as well?”

The pair noticed him—Lin Mo nodded coldly, while Su Qingyang merely glanced at him without reply.

Though classmates, they had never been close. Sensing their indifference, Chen Fan did not press further and sat elsewhere in the spacious carriage, which could seat more than ten.

Lin Mo and Su Qingyang paid him no more attention.

Soon, another boarded the carriage and made his way straight to Chen Fan. He was Meng Qi, a member of Bao Tianyou’s clique, an outer disciple for over two years, and another wealthy student.

Though he and Chen Fan had only met a few times, Meng Qi was affable and sat beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulder in camaraderie.

Compared to Lin Mo and Su Qingyang’s aloofness, Chen Fan could only smile wryly.

Meng Qi asked, “So you’re joining the tournament too, Chen Fan? I’ve heard you’re talented, but you’ve only just joined the dojo. What’s the rush?”

Chen Fan smiled. “I’m naturally robust. Even before joining, I’d trained in martial arts. Who knows? I might just break into the county’s top thirty and win a prize.”

On the other side, Lin Mo and Su Qingyang watched Chen Fan banter with Meng Qi. Hearing his words, their expressions turned odd; exchanging glances, they suppressed a laugh.

Neither spoke. Each considered themselves stronger than Chen Fan, yet even they would be content with winning two or three matches—the top thirty was no easy feat. They possessed the potential to master first-class manuals and were counted among the most gifted in Feiling County, but they were still young, with five or six years until eighteen.

Countless prodigies under eighteen would compete. The top thirty would not all have mastered true skills, but at the very least, they would possess strong vital energy and outstanding talent.

At thirteen or fourteen, with so little time to train, breaking into the top thirty was nearly impossible.

Unaware, Chen Fan was brimming with confidence, certain of his own abilities, but to Lin Mo and Su Qingyang, he seemed a naïve country bumpkin.

Meng Qi pursed his lips, chuckling. “It’ll be tough. You know, there are few disciples under eighteen who have mastered true skills, but they do exist. Such practitioners need resources and money—so many will join. Still, those who have awakened internal energy need to be more concerned…”

Chen Fan was surprised. “Internal energy cultivators? Aren’t they just outer disciples?”

Meng Qi shook his head. “If you compare outer disciples to all initiates, of course there’s no contest. But the biggest restriction in this gathering is the age limit—eighteen and under. Your instructor Feng must have told you: the best time for foundation building is in your teens…”

Chen Fan nodded. “He did say that.”

Meng Qi continued, “Unless someone has extraordinary constitution or immense inner strength, or is truly exceptional and has already mastered a top-tier manual, most wouldn’t rush to begin true cultivation before eighteen, even if they’ve awakened internal energy.

‘A towering building must be built from the ground up’—the importance of a solid foundation goes without saying. We’re classified as outer disciples because we haven’t awakened internal energy yet. But some stay outer disciples by choice, aiming for a higher goal…”

Chen Fan understood.

Those with great talent might master one manual before eighteen, yet seek to master another, further strengthening their foundation. They weren’t in a hurry to practice advanced techniques.

Those less gifted struggled even to sense vital energy before eighteen, and even if they did, it was likely through inferior manuals; even if they cultivated advanced arts, their progress would be slow, and their strength limited—nothing to worry about.

Of course, there were exceptions: those with solid foundations who had also begun advanced cultivation. Such individuals were strong contenders for the championship, though they were few.

“So we have to watch out not just for a handful of initiates, but also many outer disciples!”